Thanks to hippiechick2112 and guest for reviewing! As for Scott and Ororo being, ahem, "entangled"... I have no comment on this matter.
Apologies for the wait between chapters! The past few weeks have been a mess of laryngitis and more laryngitis.
The next morning, Ororo slipped out of bed. She padded to the closet and slipped her dress off the hanger. Ruth would have approved of that… something that made Ororo bite her lip as she did up the buttons. She missed Ruth.
Leaving Scott asleep, she padded out of the room.
The house didn't feel terribly different at this time of day. It had always been sprawling and empty when she walked through it alone.
As she approached the kitchen, she heard the television going in the next room. She hesitated. It sounded like maybe a news program.
She grabbed a slice of cold pizza and went to stand in the doorway to the sitting room. Hank was watching TV; Charles was probably still out. He had been drunk enough to puke on himself.
The newscaster was in full color. (Well, mostly pink, with gray hair, but that wasn't the point!) As Ororo watched, she noticed that he was more demonstrative than most newscasters.
Kind of a cute story: this week I'm lyin' in my backyard, sittin' in my hammock next to a keg of Schlitz Ice, got a, uh, Cheetos beard, y'know, with just a hint of that cheese dust down my happy trail—
Well, newscasters had certainly changed since 1963!
—and I'm flipping through the latest issue of the Pentagon's Joint Forces Quarterly Magazine. Y'know—it's a Sunday! So, I stumble upon this article about gays in the military that says, quote, "There is no scientific evidence to support the claim that unit cohesion will be negatively affected if homosexuals served openly."
And then I remember—what, wait. Gay people aren't allowed to serve in the military? I remember when our current President was running for office, he was pretty clear about one thing.
The news cut to a clip of a politician talking about a policy Ororo wasn't familiar with. She wasn't really listening.
She sat on the couch beside Hank. "So it's not 1985," she said.
"No," Hank said.
"And that's the President."
"Yes."
"Of the United States."
"His main opponent in the primaries was a woman. And the Speaker of the House is a woman."
"Was she his opponent?"
"His opponent was a senator."
"And they swear on the news now?"
"No, no, this is a comedy program. Ororo, it doesn't bother you, how long you've been gone?"
She shook her head. "I'm a little surprised. Scott's not going to take it well."
"I had hoped Charles could help break the news."
"I think we'll need to make do without Charles."
Hank looked away and took a deep breath. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. She only meant it matter-of-factly: from what Ororo had seen, they shouldn't rely on Charles. He was struggling.
Yes, that seemed like a good euphemism.
"Scott's grown up a lot," she offered. "Maybe he'll be okay."
They didn't have to wait long to find out. Ororo and Hank watched through the end of his comedy show, then another from the previous day. She was riveted. This was the new world, the one she had fallen into. And that was just the color, swearing, and thongs on TV!
By the time the show was over, she heard Scott moving around and glanced at Hank. Should they tell him…? Hank nodded. "We'll get it over with early," he said. "We have a lot to do today."
Hank headed to the kitchen. Scott, like Ororo, had opted for cold pizza for breakfast. It really was the best option.
"Good morning, Hank."
"Good morning. Do you want to sit down?"
Scott hesitated and gave Hank an uncertain look, but it was clearly what Hank wanted him to do. He sat.
Ororo stayed in the doorway, observing. She watched the way Scott's face crumpled when he heard the news. His lip disappeared under his teeth. Although she couldn't see his eyes, she knew he was staring at the tabletop.
He took a deep breath. Ororo shifted her weight, ready to move. Scott was teetering now. If he handled it well, she would stay here. Otherwise… well, they made it through the universe together. What was a few years?
"2009," Scott repeated.
Hank nodded. "Yes."
"Not 1985."
"No."
"So that's…"
"Forty-five years," Ororo supplied. Math had never been Scott's strongest suit.
"Yes," Hank confirmed.
Scott took another breath like it was the only thing he understood anymore. "That's a really long time, Hank."
"It is. Are you okay?"
"Yes. Sure. I mean—I have to be, right? It's—we can't turn back time, so, um…"
Ororo heard the catch in his voice. No, he wasn't okay.
Scott's head snapped up. "Anyway," he said, "don't we have things to do today?" He picked up his plate and went to wash it. There weren't enough dishes, really…
"We do," Hank agreed.
"Could you give us a minute?" Ororo asked. "We'll meet you outside?"
Hank looked between the two of them, then nodded. "Yes, of course."
Ororo waited until she heard the door close. Then she walked over to Scott. He hadn't moved from the sink. She knew that posture, knew he was twisting himself up and that was the problem. Scott twisted himself until he was ready to snap.
His hand was on the counter, palm against the countertop, twitching.
She waited for a twitch then slipped her hand into his. "Scott. Hey."
"It's fine," he said, "I'm fine."
Plausible!
Nothing Ororo said could make it better. She didn't know what was going on in his head. He was upset, but this was more than just the time lapse.
Which, like he had said, they couldn't undo.
"Whatever happens, it's me and you together," she murmured.
Scott sniffled and swiped at his cheek, then nodded.
"Now let's go get some new clothes, 'cause flares were square in 1963."
"Flares were groovy," he retorted, starting for the door.
Ororo followed, rolling her eyes. "Flares were always square."
Scott held the door for her.
"Hey Hank," he called, pulling the door shut behind them, "settle an argument? Were flares groovy or square?"
Hank gave Scott another one of those long, unreadable looks like he was weighing every word in his expanse of a vocabulary.
"Back in the sixties?" Hank asked.
"Yeah."
"Back in the sixties they were groovetacular."