"My hair is fire,

Your hand is kerosene."

Wir Werden Sehen, 2raumwohnung

triple impact

The first time Charles had been to the university on a Sunday, he had barely registered the hooligans practicing various stunts in the parking lot. He had glanced out the window of his shared office to watch the group of four riders swap between a red-and-black dirt bike with street tires and a stripped down motorcycle Charles had been unable to identify. The group was far enough away from the building that the only identifying features he could pick out happened to be breasts and long black hair on one and height on another. The engines weren't annoyingly loud and the squeal of tires was usually short-lived.

A month later, it was as though they were demanding that all the residents of the science building pay attention.

The sound of screeching tires would not have bothered Charles to the same degree had the noise not stuttered so much nor lasted quite so long. As it was, the screeching continued off and on for well over a minute. While waiting aimlessly for Hank to finish helping organize the underside of his desk, it was impossible to ignore for Charles to ignore for long.

Charles closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He wasn't sure why security allowed motorcycle gangs to use the university's parking lot for their mischief. Were he in charge, knowing what he knew of such people, he would never have allowed it. It seemed absolute hypocrisy in the face of the security team's insistence that he be photographed without a decent amount of sleep. Any sleep at all would have improved his chances of a photogenic ID badge.

Curious despite himself, he took another calming breath and walked to the window where he could see clouds of smoke billowing up from the parking lot. He frowned as he got closer; he knew from experience there was far too much smoke for just one tire.

It was little wonder. The vehicle doing wide, drifting figure eights and 360s, was not a motorcycle. It was also close enough to the building that he could make out a young man's angular face and pale hair. Head tilting to the side in contemplation, Charles stood, transfixed by the sight.

"Hank," Charles asked, voice pitched to carry over the screaming tires, "is this normal?"

The young PhD candidate didn't look up from underneath Charles' desk when he answered. "No, I've never heard them that loud before. Is it a new motorcycle?"

"No," Charles shook his head reflexively, bemused, "it seems to be a Honda Civic."

The next thing he heard was something hitting the bottom of the desk's wide drawer. "Civic? Is it black?"

"As a raven," Charles smiled fondly.

"Black and silver rims? Plastic cover over the license plate?"

Charles turned toward the desk, eyebrow raised in query as Hank emerged, one hand held to the top of his head. "You seem to know this car."

And then it hit him. Darwin's car.

He jerked his face back to the window. "Darwin isn't driving it. Hank, call security!"

Without further thought, Charles pelted from the room. He wasn't sure what he would do once he got outside, but that didn't slow him. Ignoring the elevator, he took the stairs two at a time and jumped halfway down the last set.

The thick smell of burning rubber swallowed Charles the moment he threw the outside door open. The Civic had stopped its rotation and was sitting still, facing the school. The light-haired driver was grinning wickedly as he revved the engine and spun the wheels. He ripped a prolonged growl from the Civic the moment his eyes lit on Charles. It certainly didn't sound like any Honda Civic the professor had ever heard.

"You there," Charles called. He stepped off the sidewalk's curb and headed across the asphalt at a jog. "Turn that engine off!"

It was unlikely the driver heard him over the throaty revving he was wringing out of the engine. But just to make sure Charles knew he saw him, the dark blond threw his left hand out the window, middle finger extended in a meaningful salute.

Charles continued his advance, undeterred. Some people, he knew, did not listen to reason. The young thief looked to be exactly the sort that respected actions over words. Action hero was not Charles' preferred role, but he could play the part.

The hooligan pulled his arm back inside the Civic. Gunning the engine, he began another billowing burnout. Then he launched the Civic forward, toward Charles. It halted just as quickly, the driver quickly throwing the emergency brake again to put the rear wheels back into a spin.

The initial surge startled Charles, feeding him an adrenaline spike. He came around the side to the driver's side, heedless of the youth's cocky grin.

"Turn it off," he ordered calmly, despite the rapid beat of his heart. He looked the tow-headed boy in the eyes. At that moment, he reminded Charles strongly of somebody he'd known in his youth. "Turn it off."

"Yeah?" The grin turned into an annoyed sneer. "Fuck you."

Faster than anyone would expect from an academic like him, Charles punched his right hand forward and grabbed the steering wheel. He wrenched it hard to the left. The hooligan's eyes stuttered wide in shock. His right hand had shot forward simultaneously, but it was to release the emergency brake.

Luckily for Charles, when the back of the Civic spun suddenly around, ripping the wheel from his grasp, its momentum was immediately arrested by one of the light poles. It hit with a hideous crunching sound and a strange sort of double impact before bouncing back the way it came by nearly a foot.

"Holy mother fuck!" The blond howled, immediately killing the engine, and throwing the door open.

"Alex, you fucking asshole!" Another person shrieked from the other side of the car, their voice breaking halfway through.

From the direction of the building, another voice rang out, "Charles! Leave them alone, its okay!"

Charles stood, stunned, left hand gripping his right in shock. Everything was confused. He looked back to Hank, who was running across the lot to him. "Did you get security?"

Hank shook his head, "No, you don't understand! These are Darwin's friends!"

Blue eyes widened. "They are? But why would they steal his car?"

Hank frowned severely. "I don't know. A prank? But they obviously brought it back."

"Help me lift it up! Oh shit, help me lift it up!"

"For fuck's sake, Sean, grab the fucking brake lever!"

"I am, asshole, I am! Brake fluid's dumping all over the place!"

Grimacing at his mistake, Charles carefully picked his way around the Civic. On the other side he found the blond young man helping a redhead lift a blue and white motorcycle upright. They were likely barely out of high school, Charles realized, perhaps freshman at the university. The redhead, Sean, was especially young-looking, but it was likely his distress making him appear so youthful.

"Oh my God, Alex, he's going to kill us. He's going to kill us with death."

"Shut up, Sean, just shut the fuck up."

"Guys, I'm sure Darwin will forgive you," Hank ventured. "He's on his way over from the admin building right now."

The blond, Alex, whipped his head in Hank's direction, his eyes narrow and measuring. His lips compressed into a thin line, but he didn't say anything. Sean, however, had none of the same tight-lipped recalcitrance.

"I'm not worried about Darwin," the redhead whined miserably. "He'll get over a little bodywork. The R6, though? The R6? Killed by death…!"

"I told you to shut up, Sean," Alex shot, keeping the blue and white motorcycle upright, "and go get some water before the brake fluid starts eating the paint."

"Hank, why don't you take him inside for water to dilute the brake fluid," Charles suggested in his best professorial voice, absorbing and processing information as quickly as possible. "Quickly, DOT 4 fluid is corrosive. I'll help with the Yamaha."

Hank nodded obediently and gestured for Sean to follow him. Sean sprinted right past the taller boy in his haste, demanding that he hurry faster.

Charles looked at the motorcycle critically. The Civic had hit the front left side of the bike, propelling it into the light pole. The bike's front cowling was cracked, both sides of the tank were dented, but the left was scraped where it impacted with the asphalt. The brake lever was broken in half, the front brake fluid reservoir was still attached, but the brake line was punctured. The side stand had snapped, hence Alex was stuck holding the bike upright.

"Does the owner know Sean borrowed it?" Charles asked, looking for more damages. He sighed, seeing the Arrow exhaust. At least it wasn't a Yoshimura; he didn't think he could have handled that.

Alex stared hard at Charles. "I'm the one that borrowed it. But then I needed somebody to ride it so I could get Darwin's car over here. Should have had Sean drive. I'm fucked."

"You should probably give your friend a call," Charles sympathized. "Perhaps Darwin's insurance will cover it."

The young man snorted in disgust. "You have no idea how bad you've fucked me over," the dark eyes flicked down to Charles' lanyard, "Mr. Charles F. Xavier, Ph-fucking-D. The F stands for Fuckwad, doesn't it?"

"Fuckwad may be an improvement," Charles returned evenly, refusing to be baited into an argument with the hostile young man.

Alex paused and visibly reassessed Charles, a little respect appeared in his eyes. "Huh. Okay, Dr. Xavier, didn't see that coming. Never expected a guy in a sweater vest to pull that sort of stunt, either. This," he pointed down at the R6, "could have been you."

"I'm glad it wasn't." Charles agreed even though he thought turning the wheel to the left had made it less likely to happen the way Alex hinted. Of course, he wasn't certain; physics was Hank's realm, not his. He made a mental note to ask the doctorial candidate later. "And please don't call me doctor. Now, would you like me to hold the bike up while you call your friend? Or we could lean it against the light pole. Will it roll?"

Relaxing a little, Alex sighed. "It'll roll; that's one reason Sean couldn't pick it up, but the fluid will spread all over the rim if it does."

"So I'll hold it for you," Charles offered again. "Don't worry; I used to have a Ninja."

The boy's eyebrow rose dubiously. "You used to have a Ninja?"

"1997 ZX6," Charles managed to say without choking. "Yoshimura exhaust."

"Slip on, bolt on, or full system? Aluminum, carbon, or titanium?"

"Carbon fiber slip on, I think."

"You think?" Alex gave him a hard look. "You got it used?"

"Yes," Charles nodded. "It was somebody's track bike. It had some sort of carburetor kit, too."

"That old pig was somebody's track bike?" Alex smiled grudgingly. "Wow, hope you didn't pay much for it."

It came as a shock that the insult hit a nerve even though Charles had been trying to forget that very motorcycle for almost ten years. "That bike was an excellent model!"

"No way, Mr. Xavier," Alex chuckled. "That thing was a pig: heavy and slow. The Yosh pipe you had wouldn't make a lick of difference. Might have made it sound better, but that's about it."

Charles opened his mouth to further defend the ZX6R's honor, but Alex was already offering him the R6's left handle bar. Cross for being goaded so thoroughly and unexpectedly, Charles took Alex's place without a word.

His temper smoothed out when he realized that sacrificing the ZX6's honor had bought Alex's first smile and then a brief laugh. For the first time in years, the Kawasaki's ghost seemed useful.

The blond pulled a battered phone from his front pocket, stabbed a few buttons, and started pacing. After pacing a few moments, he stopped, thumbed another button, and then typed on the number pad again. He had just started to resume his pacing when he received a response.

"Ah, hey Erik," the young man said, his voice pitching suddenly deeper. He stopped moving and stood at attention. "You free?"

There was a pause as Alex listened intently. "…That definitely had to hurt. Well, this sure isn't going improve your mood. I just pinched the R6 between the Civic and a pole here at the lot."

The boy's head lowered and shoulders hunched up as he listened to the response. "I'm sorry. I really fucked up. I haven't checked the frame, no. So, about forty-five minutes, if you stop at the drug store? Hey, there's a doctor here and I bet they have a first aid kit. The doctor used to have an old ZX6, so he's sort of like, okay, you know?"

Alex turned and looked at Charles with a smirk. "Yeah, I told him that. Cool. See you."

"You told me what?" Charles asked dryly. "That my bike was a pig? The owner of the R6 agrees?"

Snapping the phone shut, the blond nodded. "No wonder you're a doctor; you catch on fast."

"And I'm not a medical doctor," Charles continued. "PhD means doctor of philosophy: in my case, genetics. If the man that is going to kill you with 'death' needs a medical doctor, he should likely be going to a hospital or a clinic."

"Nah," Alex shrugged, "Erik'll never go to a hospital, no matter how busted up he gets. He's saved Sean and I visits there, too. He's pretty hardcore."

A campus security car pulling up saved Charles from deeply pondering what a hooligan like Alex considered truly hardcore. The young man bristled visibly at the car's presence until the tinted window rolled down and Darwin smirked out at them.

"Hello there, Professor," he said. "Not sure what to say about the company you're keeping. Car thieves, gang-bangers, and strippers, oh my."

"I've somehow missed the exotic dancers," Charles sighed, unable to make himself to repeat what he considered a slur. He had a fine respect for dancers which rose as their clothing fell. "However, this car thief seems to have a present for you. I dearly want to hear how you'll explain this to your insurance company."

"I dearly want to see somebody fix my car's bodywork." Darwin said lightly as turned off the car's engine and stepped out. "That body kit was not cheap. As for the 'exotic dancer', she had to work last night."

"Fuck your car," Alex seethed. "Look at the R6! Erik's on his way right now and he is pissed. Besides, do you have any idea what we had to do to get your fucking Civic back?"

Darwin shook his head. "I didn't ask you to get it back."

"You shouldn't have to," Alex snarled. He stalked over to Charles and motioned brusquely for him to move. "All of this is my fault anyway. Though, Professor Xavier here sure didn't do me any favors. If he hadn't grabbed the Civic's wheel, none of this would have happened."

Charles raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing. Though Alex kept throwing blame around, he had obviously taken the entire incident onto his shoulders. Hotheaded and under pressure, the blond young man seethed and lashed out at everyone, but in his head the incident was already resolved. He was a rash young man, but he had a grave sense of responsibility.

"You mean, if you hadn't been showboating in my car," Darwin said evenly and without venom.

The blond nodded, jaw tight. "I know. That's why it's really all my fault."

There was a commotion at the school building again as Sean came charging through the door with a gallon of water in one hand and paper towels in the other. He made it back to them breathlessly. Of Hank there was no sign; Charles wondered at that.

Charles held his hand out for the water when the redhead neared. "You don't need paper towels. The fluid has been on the paint too long; you would end up wiping the paint right off."

Uncertainly, Sean handed the gallon over to Charles. The redhead looked at Alex quizzically but the blond just shook his head. Sean then turned to Darwin and cheered up considerably, " Hey! Are you happy to see your car? That is, despite the motorcycle-shaped dent in your body work."

"I'm happy, yeah," Darwin admitted at last. "But I'm more surprised. It's been almost a month and the damn thing is still in one piece. I figured it was chopped the same day it was stolen."

"It was, but you got lucky," Sean grinned. "The whole club was on the look-out. Erik put word out to the Ruff Ryders and Angel told her ex in the PMS crew. It was like the United Colors of Benetton of motorcycle clubs!"

Charles listened closely to the chatter as he diluted the spilled brake fluid with handfuls of water. The casual banter about motorcycle clubs and thievery was all too familiar and disturbing. It worried him enough that he didn't find the mention of a group called PMS amusing initially.

The brake fluid on the tank was of no consequence; the tank would be trashed or be repainted, anyway. Charles focused his efforts, and more water, on the wheel's bronze paint, instead. If he remembered Max's lectures correctly, brake fluid was hydroscopic; it called water to it. Therefore, Dot 4 brake fluid diluted beautifully.

Vaguely, he recalled the lean older boy; shirtless and dirty despite the black butcher's apron. It was his standard uniform for working on the ZX6. Charles had once dared him to wear the outfit to one of the industrial clubs in the city. Max had readily agreed, on the condition that Charles would steal his stepfather's Mercedes for the night. And Charles had done exactly that.

Resting his head against one of the fork tubes, Charles tried to banish the memory. In order to distract himself, he tuned back into the conversation going on above and behind. He only caught the end of Sean's explanation.

"-it apart. It took awhile to negotiate it free and then to get it reassembled."

"PMS already call in the debt?" Darwin asked, his face thoughtful in his concern. Charles took Darwin for the type that liked to keep all his accounts settled.

"Yep," Sean nodded. "Erik's going to do some engine work for them or something."

Darwin took in a deep breath and let it out just as slowly. As he did so, he relaxed visibly. He slapped Sean lightly on the back. "You guys. Next time, don't bother, okay? I don't want to owe anyone. I don't want to get sucked into thug life."

Sean rolled his eyes. "Please. We're not thugs. Well, maybe Alex."

"Shut up, Sean," Alex sighed. He looked bored while he waited for Charles to finish with the brake fluid. Until Charles was satisfied, they couldn't roll the bike forward and lean it against the light pole.

"Erik then," Sean shrugged. "Anybody that does their own stitches is a thug."

Charles frowned at the thought and looked up at Alex. "Is that what you meant by hardcore?"

The blond looked down at him and sighed. "Professor, don't listen to Sean. We're not thugs. Not any of us. We protect each other."

"Oh, that's right," Charles replied, remembering. "Don't we need a first aid kit? I should run and have Hank get that."

"Yeah, where'd that geek go, anyway?" Alex straightened up and looked around. "Sean, did the geek stay inside after you guys found the water? We need a first aid kit."

The redhead nodded, "Yeah, he was looking for some sort of absorbing mat. Said he had to check the chemistry lab. I think he thought the radiator cracked."

"Radiator look okay?" Alex asked Charles, since he was closest.

Shifting back on his haunches, Charles searched the radiator and hoses for any damage. "Dented, but serviceable on my side." He reached up for the bent handlebar above him. "I can hold her, if you want to look at your side of the radiator."

"I already did," the blond returned. "You done over there? I'm tired of holding this thing up."

Charles nodded and stood up, wincing a little at staying in a crouch for so long. He handed the water gallon back to Sean. "Thank you for that. I better run in and find that first aid kit."

"No need," Darwin interjected, jerking his thumb at the security car. "I've got one in there."

Gingerly, Alex rolled the R6 toward the light pole. It moved easily, but there was a scraping noise that came and went at regular intervals. Nobody looked to see what could be scraping; it was likely a warped rotor rubbing against brake pads, or the brake pads were at a strange angle inside the calipers.

Once he had the R6 leaned as securely as possible against the pole, Alex turned to Sean again. "Two things, Cassidy."

Sean raised a pale eyebrow in inquiry. "Just two?"

Alex ignored the lip. "First, and most important; at no point do you mention your ass warming the R6's saddle."

Sean snorted. "Blackmail material."

"Second," Alex continued, still ignoring Sean's playful attitude, "where did you put the first aid kit that's usually in the Tacoma?"

Sean's eyes scrunched up in confusion. "What? Why? I had it in the game room. Remember? I had that evil headache."

Then Sean's face stretched into another look of horror. "First aid kit! Erik! Fuck!"

This time, Charles was less concerned than amused. He chuckled under his breath as the young man verbalized his thought process. Sean seemed to have very little in the way of a brain-to-mouth filter.

Charles wasn't the only one laughing at Sean's pain. Darwin had a hand to his mouth, laughing silently. He shared a kindred look with Charles and then pointed at the security vehicle. "I'm going to get that kit and then I'm going to drive my car back to my parking spot. I'll be back for the security car."

"Good sir," Charles said, taking on a concerned look, "How could you leave me with these hooligans?"

"I think you'll be fine with these goons for now." Darwin grinned, "You can re-enact Aesop's tales with Erik. Pull the splinter out of the lion's paw."

"A mouse, am I?" Charles asked, losing none of his humor. "If only I am Wibberly's mouse, armed with a Q-bomb of charm."

The gaffe was obvious when Darwin cocked his head to the side and gave the Professor a tolerant look. "Right, Prof. Q-bomb of charm. You keep that thing ready."

"Wibberly," Charles explained, feeling ridiculous, "You know, 'The Mouse That Roared'? Excellent book? Not-so-excellent movie?"

Pressing his lips together and nodding shallow and vigorously, Darwin headed for the campus security car. "Got it, Prof. Of course. Mom used to read it to me all the time."

"It isn't a children's picture book…" Charles finished lamely as Darwin ducked into the car to grab the first aid kit. He tossed it to Charles, a grin on his face.

Charles caught the spinning box without thought, suddenly rueful. Darwin had been teasing him. Though he still doubted 'The Mouse That Roared' was anything more than obscure to young people.

When Darwin brought the Civic back to life, he drove smoothly, with none of Alex's vehicular animosity. It was the first time Charles had seen the car move in a sedate manner. It was still loud, but Charles had heard worse; ZX6s with Yoshimura exhausts, for example. Better yet, most of the debris on the asphalt was the R6's blue rather than the Civic's black. It seemed the R6 had absorbed most of the impact.

Good for Darwin, perhaps not so good for the owner of the R6. Thus far there was no talk of car insurance, which led Charles to believe that there would be no claim on the motorcycle. That would be an expensive option. He looked at Alex and tried not to let sympathy filter from his heart and through his eyes. He doubted Alex would appreciate the sentiment.

The two boys had crouched together next to the motorcycle, trading what was left of the water between them. They were looking at the radiator again. Sean trailed one of the hoses with the tip of his index finger. He'd stuffed the wad of paper towels under the bike's cracked windscreen to prevent them from blowing away.

Sean looked miserable. Alex looked the stoic side of worried. Charles shook his head and, reminded by the water and radiator, decided he should check on Hank.

"Gentlemen," Charles said, "I'm going to run inside for a few minutes to check on something. I'll be right back."

Alex nodded solemnly and Sean threw Charles a half-hearted salute. The professor gave them back over to solemnity and headed for the university's sciences building. Sean's explanation about the absorbent mat would place Hank in the chemistry lab, but Charles returned to his office instead.

It came as no surprise to find Hank half under his desk again, zip-tying the last of the cables. It was the final step in bringing civilization back to the rat's nest of cords that had precipitated a printer crashing to the floor a previous in the week.

"Almost done here," Hank said, without looking up. "It isn't any trouble, so if it starts getting out of hand under here, let me know."

"Thank you, Hank," Charles replied. "Did you find that absorbing mat?"

Though there was nothing left to do under the desk, Hank paused there. "Yes, but then I saw it wasn't needed, so I returned it."

The pause was far more telling than any verbal response. Why wouldn't the physicist want to come back out? Surely he wasn't frightened of Sean. Alex, perhaps, though the ruffian's name-calling seemed like good-natured teasing. "Hank, what's troubling you? Why didn't you come back out?"

For another few moments Hank made no sound or any moves. Then he scooted back and looked up at Charles with wide blue eyes. Charles saw an ocean of turbulent naïveté behind Hank's eyes. "Professor, those guys are dangerous. They stole Darwin's car and then crashed it in the parking lot."

Charles' chin jerked to the side at the change in Hank's attitude. "They didn't steal it. Besides, weren't you the one that told me to leave them alone, because they're Darwin's friends?"

Hank turned his face toward the windows. His expression was apprehensive and conflicted. "I've seen them before, but I haven't talked with them much. They seem nice, but… reckless and frightening."

A wave of comprehension and nostalgia washed over Charles at Hank's words. It was like seeing a version of himself from the old days with Max. God, everything was reminding him of Max, he thought to himself.

Calm, dedicated, and controlled Hank was probably attracted to the dangerous aspect of the hooligan boys outside. Hank was feeling the irresistible pull of entropy on his orderly world, right in the midst of his PhD work. Of course he was frightened, Charles reasoned; his comfort zone resembled a Cold War bunker.

"They are, you know," Charles sighed, "all those things. You're right, but I don't think you are scared of them, Hank. I think you're afraid of yourself."

Laughter was Hank's first response, but it was not a lovely thing, rather it was ugly and turned inward. He stood up and brushed dust from his lab coat and hands with an air of finality. "Professor, your doctorial work is in genetics, not psychology."

Charles nodded his agreement. "Yet I don't need a PhD in friendship in order to talk to you as a friend. This is no lecture, Mr. McCoy. Take it as you will."

Hank looked down for a few seconds and then shook his head in exasperation. "I need to get back to the lab." He brushed by Charles with no further words.

Charles watched him go. Absently, he brushed his thumbs in circles over the surface of the first aid kit's plastic case. He would have to give Hank space to think; the young man would definitely mull things over. A month of acquaintance was more than enough time to notice that Hank often thought deeply about things sometimes only said in passing. His comment about fear would likely occupy the physicist's mind. That was perfectly fine with Charles; he was of the opinion that all conclusions were best made for oneself.

Scraping a thumbnail over the plastic first aid case, Charles walked to the window and looked into the parking lot. He supposed his timing was good. The two boys were standing up to greet a silver Tacoma coming down the lot toward them.

The truck had an orange and black dirt bike strapped down in the back; the dirt bike looked like it only had the right hand-guard installed. The truck's windows were tinted, which was common enough in Phoenix. The truck and the motorcycle were covered in a fine layer of orange dust. Charles supposed the R6's owner had been riding out in the desert earlier.

Charles smacked the first aid kit against one hand, wondering what kind of terrifying beast this Erik person was. Sean was obviously awed and terrified of him. He inspired a sort of hero-worship in Alex. Darwin was cautious. A figure took shape in Charles mind that took equal parts inspiration from his stepfather and popular media.

What stepped out of the Tacoma turned out to be worse.