Thanks to ellie, whylime, WaitingForLife2Begin, and booster for reviewing!

In the months Charles had known him, Scott cried twice during the day. There were nightmares and the sobs both Charles and Hank pretended never to have heard, which no one acknowledged. It would have humiliated Scott. On several occasions he had sulked about Artie being an outdoor cat—though that hadn't lasted long—and been frustrated nearly to tears with algebra or attempts to control his gift, but not actually cried.

It happened first at Christmas. That was when Charles began to appreciate how bereft Scott's life had truly been, that being given a gift reduced him to tears. He had run off and hidden for about an hour before being able to accept it. (Unsurprisingly, books; he borrowed them so often it only seemed right he should have a couple to call his own, even if someone else's name had been crossed out and his written in.)

The second time involved dishes. Specifically, it involved a knife that slipped and sliced into three of his fingers. He handled the cuts well enough. Hydrogen peroxide proved more of a challenge.

A year ago, Charles would have had no idea what to do in this situation. A year ago, he had not been responsible for a multi-fractured teenager. This moment was a long time coming.

He rested a hand on the back of Scott's head, well aware that the boy responded to touch about as well as his pet cat did. Like Artie, he became either completely docile or completely wary. Today he was docile.

"It's all right, Scott."

"I made so many mistakes."

"People make mistakes. It's how we learn."

After a moment's struggle for breath, Scott tried to shrug the whole incident off with a half-sobbed, "You really are a dork, you know."

"Yes, well, you're fifteen."

Scott laughed. A few moments later he managed to get himself enough under control to ask, "What if I really weren't? What if I'm right, if that thing Hank found in my blood means I'm all grown up?"

"You're not all grown up. Even if you were older than you appear to be, your mind is a teenager's. You are a teenager."

In a way, maybe that was lucky. A man in his late twenties with Scott's emotional and educational disadvantages would face a steep climb. A teenager stood a much better chance of catching up to his peers academically, and emotionally… teenagers were meant to be volatile.

A part of Charles did not quite believe he was considering this, but he could not help remembering how Scott talked about school.

I forgot things.

In Omaha, Scott had been in remedial classes. Charles assumed this was because nobody cared about him back in Omaha. His mind wandered a bit and he needed guidance, but he wasn't stupid. If he really was twenty-something, his education had surely been fragmented. Of course he had never learned properly.

"I'm confused. I'm really, really confused."

"I know."

Scott had enough control of himself now that he dropped his hands. He was still crying, but in a calmer, almost matter-of-fact way.

"Why did he do it?"

"If I had an answer…"

"I want to hate him. For everything he did, for my entire life—Mr. Milbury took everything and I should hate him, but I hate… being his experiment. Everything I am is because of him."

Moments like that one tried Charles's patience more than anything else, and he wondered if he could use Cerebro to find Milbury and kill him. It would be immensely satisfying for what he'd done to Scott. But it wouldn't be right and it wouldn't change anything, and worse, using Hank's invention to that end would be a slap in the face.

Instead he brushed his thumb against Scott's cheek, a mix of a tender gesture and a suggestion that he had perhaps done enough crying now.

"You are who you are, and that's nothing to do with Mr. Milbury. You are kind, insightful, and considerate; we've only just begun to see what you might be capable of. You're a person, not an experiment. And an exceptional one at that."

Charles suspected Milbury had taught Scott the insights he showed towards poetry and philosophy through resounding pains beyond what any single word expressed, but he didn't want Scott associating those two.

After a moment, Scott muttered a somewhat embarrassed, "Thank you. And I'm sorry for, you know, for all the whining and stuff, lately, and… crying…"

"You don't need to apologize for that."

"I mean all the times I've got like this."

"As do I."

Charles had always taken the 'tell me what's wrong' approach. It had been so much easier with Raven. Her problems were usually things he could fix. How could he fix Scott? Just tell him, over and over, that he was a good person until Scott was brainwashed into accepting the truth?

Scott shifted awkwardly for a moment, the way he did when he needed to say something but really didn't want to. "Aren't you going to yell at me or anything? For throwing the fork and cussing?"

"If there's one thing I won't allow in this house it's deliberate cruelty."

"I wasn't—"

"No, but Alex was. As far as I'm concerned, he is responsible for the events of this evening. I'm not mad at him," Charles added, hearing the protest coming, "but I fully intend to speak with him about his behavior and nothing you can say will change my mind."

Somehow, he needed to make Alex understand that there was no excuse for trying to hurt someone, or for hitting anyone and leaving the kind of bruises he had left on Scott.

Scott did have a role to play in all of this, though.

"I'll speak with him, you will stay out of his room, and hopefully this won't happen again."

Another nod. "Did Hank say anything about, um, what happened the other day?"

"Whatever has happened between you and Hank is your business and his," Charles replied, "but I'm not too concerned."

"Hank is the only friend I've ever had."

It wasn't meant as a slight and Charles understood that. He wasn't Scott's friend. He was not sure precisely what he was to Scott, but not that, because friends are equals and they both knew Scott would never see himself that way.

"And because he is your friend, he'll understand. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just… it's a lot to… process."

This time it was Charles who nodded. He wasn't sure anything he could say would help.

Instead, he suggested, "That's about enough for one night, I think. Besides, you must have library books in desperate need of attention."

"Yeah," Scott admitted, sounding a touch bashful and very much like his usual self. "And a Philosophy assignment I haven't started."

"I must be going deaf, I didn't hear a word you said."

As Scott headed for the door, Charles debated whether he wanted to raise one more subject. It was important enough to nag at his thoughts—but Scott was so deeply damaged. Many odd behaviors might be attributed to his time in the orphanage, and more often than not, Charles simply ignored it.

This time… "Scott."

He paused. "Yes?"

"Unpack."

Scott nodded.

"Never do that again. You are a person, not a thing to be got rid of. If you want to leave, you are free to go, but don't assume you'll have no choice. I'm rather hurt you would think so low of me."