Thanks to hippiechick2112 and Nostromo-8013 for reviewing! Way to cheer up a Sunday! :)

Alaska winters mean days of night. For Chris, it means the base is under harsh, stadium-style lighting and cold so intense his shirt chafes his nipples. He feels the temptation to lose his mind a little and worries about Katherine. Chris is strong, with years of military training, and even he finds it difficult to endure.

To his surprise, Katherine thrives.

He arrives home late to find her sitting under the stars on the front steps. He will never forget the glimmers of starshine on her face, her sweet smile, the way she holds out a blanket to wrap them up together.

He arrives home early to find her practically singing the poetry she recites to Scott while she (optimistically) cooks dinner.

He arrives home, always, to find her smiling. Now that Scott sleeps through times Katherine designates as night, she is happy again. So he doesn't worry about home, or about Katherine. Instead he looks forward to the end of the day.

So he is surprised when she asks, "Do you worry about another Great War?"

Chris lies beside her, happy. Sated. Wondering how her brain forms deep thoughts when his struggles to understand sentences. "Hm… no. War to end all wars," he recounts. Casual as it sounds, he is truly grateful he was too young for the Great War.

"But, Chris, there is still war! There's the war in Spain."

"Civil war." Terrible, yes, but unlikely to involve foreign powers.

Katherine sighs and caresses his face. "I have this terrible fear that one day I'll be far away from you again."

Chris wants what any man would want: he wants to promise he will never leave. He loves his wife. He loves his son. He loves this silly little family of theirs… but he loves his country, too. And he is a soldier.

He takes her hand and squeezes it, and he makes the only promise a soldier can. "You might, one day. I'll always come back to you."

It had been years since Charles stood up for anything, let alone to pull on a pair of trousers. In a way the task was disappointed. He hadn't tried to stand in the lab, even though Hank claimed he should be able to. If it wasn't going to work, it wasn't going to work in private.

Charles finished buttoning his pants, tucked in his shirt, and took another step.

What a thing to do!

He paused and took a deep breath. Tears prickled at his eyes. He looked down at his feet, feeling them support his weight—feeling them at all. But he knew Hank's cure was temporary and there were things he wanted to do far more than weep for his now-functional legs.

Instead, he went to find Ruth.

Hank had warned that the serum might dampen Charles's power. Although there were only two other people in the house, two others within range, he already felt the difference. It was a bit like the way being high gave one a break from intellect. (Not that Charles knew, if one of the kids were nearby to hear the answer!)

So it was an interesting experience for him, searching someone out by his senses and by his knowledge of her. Not that she was difficult to track down. Half the mansion smelled of dry-roasted spices, which meant Ruth was measuring out and preparing what she would need for the week.

Charles decided to surprise her. What other opportunity would he have? So he made his way, softly, around to the door—only to step into the kitchen and find it empty.

The lights were on and several bags of spices sat open. She always bought the bags from the specialty shop; it was about half an hour's drive, but where else would you find 150 grams of ground cumin?

He looked around. Ruth had been here, that much was clear, but she was gone now.

And then, quite suddenly, Charles felt himself slammed against the wall, his arm wrenched up behind his back. He groaned. He had never been much of a fighter even at the best of times—did his best against Erik, but never stood a chance here.

"Who are you?!"

"Ruth, it's me."

"This is a stupid lie."

He tried to shift his hand, but she was having none of it. He had always known Ruth was strong. He had seen her training the others, so he knew she was a skilled fighter, too. This was the first time he was on the wrong end of those skills.

He insisted, "It's true. Please."

"Raven—"

"No! No, it's me. Hank designed a cure."

"Of course he did."

"You have a birthmark on the underside of your left breast and freckles on your back. And scars from two bullets, and an otherwise… flawlessly beautiful body."

There was hesitation, her grip loosening just slightly. Charles flexed his fingers. She had to know how she had limited the circulation!

And then her grip tightened again.

"Charles Xavier is not the only man I have screwed," she said. Only she didn't say 'screwed'. "This is not private information."

A tiny part of him felt absolutely delighted, totally in love with her.

A larger part of him was worried about how cold his fingers felt.

"For pity's sake, Ruth, it's me! You know me! You kissed me under the mistletoe last Christmas—after calling me an idiot—we've got two children—" Not biologically, but they both knew it was true "—you make them milk and honey when they're sick, you know me."

Finally, she released him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded.

"I was trying to surprise you. It was meant to be romantic. Rather spoiled the effect," and he was a touch sore about that. Charles did not get many opportunities to be playfully romantic with Ruth and, no, he probably wasn't strong enough to sweep her off her feet, but…

Well, he had been an imaginative man once, in that way. Just for once, just for tonight, he thought Ruth might be with that version of him.

"So you decide to frighten me," she said, shaking her head. "I know the footsteps of every person in this house, I thought…"

Charles sighed. Of course—she thought he was an intruder. He had never been a soldier, himself, but he had heard such people were never off their guard. Clearly it was true of Ruth.

He reached out to stroke her cheek, aware of the conflict there, the question. Would she allow it? It was the first time Charles realized how short Ruth was. Tall, for a woman, but several inches shorter than him now.

"I'm so sorry, love. I didn't think."

She slipped her hand over his and brought it to her lips.

"But you are walking!"

"I am. I… Hank's worked out a cure. It's temporary—"

"Hank can cure a spinal cord injury?"

Charles opened his mouth to explain the science, saw that would be lost on Ruth and changed his mind. "He can temporarily reverse the effects using some of the same technology he's using to fix Scott's aging process."

Ruth was a difficult woman with whom to read specifics, but there was definite disapproval and a touch of confusion there. "This is technology from Scott?"

"Well, yes, but of course he's aware—"

She took a step back, away from Charles. "I cannot believe… I thought you were a good man."

It hurt. It truly did.

"How can you say that?"

"You are benefiting from this! From experiments run on children, your child, you are benefiting from it. For what? To walk for a few hours?"

"To… for you," he managed. "I wanted you to have someone normal for one night. To make you happy."

"I am happy," she said.

Clearly, this was a general statement. Now, specifically now, she was beginning to cry. It just about broke his heart.

"This is what you think?!" she demanded. "You think I am… you think it is important to me that you cannot walk?" She shook her head, almost like an instinct. "Charles," almost a whisper, cracked and broken, "what have you done?"

He wanted to say that she was overreacting, that he didn't see what all the fuss was about. Didn't he? He was walking. For the first time in years, he was walking, and it felt like the entire world.

What he did not fully understand was her objection to it.

"You are benefiting from the exploitation of a child and you have done this in my name."

Charles objected, "For pity's sake! It's only a few hours of walking!" Really, she was overreacting. It was just a bit of fun.

"For what? Sex?"

"Well…"

"And for this you will use the mistreatment of a human being! For sex!"

She stared at him for a moment, seething, then shouted something he couldn't understand. The anger was clear, so much that she had switched to Hebrew to express herself fully. It certainly sounded angrier than English.

It didn't matter. She had put firmly into his head the idea that this was wrong and selfish, all the things he tried to push away when he rolled up his sleeve for the injection.

Charles couldn't help offering the last defense he had before she crushed him—and she had come quite close. He was small and sad and pathetic, and even he wasn't sure why he thought this was a good idea, but he was still a person.

"I just wanted to feel normal."

The words had their intended effect. They brushed the anger from Ruth's face, leaving gentleness in its place.

Then, stupidly, he continued: "I wanted to feel like a man."

Ruth kissed him, perhaps the tenderest kiss they had ever shared, then stepped back.

"Oh, Charles," she said. "This has made you far less of a role model. Far less of a man."