Three days later:

Charles had already decided that the next time the girls wanted to go on vacation in South America; they could very well take Sean and Erik with them because the two of them were being of no help here.

"Fessor, can I have a puppy?" Kitty asked him while Erik lounged about in the living room, his eyes skimming a newspaper. He was doing very well at pretending to ignore the chaos that surrounded him. It was well after noon, and for some reason Sean had deemed it wise to give all the kids candy right after breakfast.

Charles wasn't sure how much more he could take.

"A puppy?" He demanded, cringing when he heard a crash come from upstairs.

"Sorry!" Jean yelled instantly, sounding appropriately contrite. She was probably trying to levitate heavy things again. Kitty stood in front of him, still clad in her pink Princess outfit. Her wide brown eyes stared up at him pitifully.

"Yeah!"She cried.

"What in the world do you want a canine for?" Dogs were notoriously dirty, and Charles could barely handle his own hair, how did Kitty expect him to handle dog's hair too?

Kitty hugged her wand-stick-magical-relic thing to her chest tightly. "So I can love it and cuddle it forever. I want to name him fluffy," she told him factually.

Charles snorted and quickly warned Warren against trying to lift Bobby by flight. He called upon Alex and Michael-who were currently trying to get Rogue un-stuck from between the staircase railings-that they might want to check on them when they were done. "Fluffy is an entirely unoriginal name, Kitty. If we were to get a dog, we would name him Reginald," he decided.

Kitty didn't seem to care. "So can I have one?" she asked.

"No."

"Ah, fessor!" Kitty pouted. "It's only a puppy!"

"Which would grow up to be a flea-ridden, hair-covered, slobbering mongrel. That would require sustenance," sort of like Erik, he shot to his unhelpful friend. Erik pretended not to notice his telepathic insult.

"Fessor," Kitty stomped her foot. "Everyone else has a puppy but me!" she whined. Charles gazed at her confusedly, trying to make out the jumbled emotions of the five-year-old's mind.

"How would you know that? You don't go anywhere else but here," he pointed out. Kitty ignored his logic. She probably learned it from Erik. Bobby suddenly rushed past him a blur of frosty snowflakes, laughing manically. He was followed closely by a frantic and frustrated Logan. The two rocketed past like cartoon characters, Logan cursing beneath his breath violently. Charles sighed, Kitty would not be dissuaded.

"Why can't I have one?"

"Kitty, we do not need the extra responsibility of a puppy right now,"

"Yes we do! I want an animal friend!" Kitty asserted, crossing her arms grumpily. Tears built in her eyes. Charles was at a loss for what to do.

"I thought you made friends with the squirrel outside your window,"

A large tear dropped from her eye. "Nutty got eaten by a bird!" She told him in a wail of remorse. Charles patted her on the shoulder solemnly.

"Nutty had a good life. It was the bird's turn to eat. I'm sure he would understand," he assuaged her. He thought he heard Erik let out a guffaw of laughter.

"Now I don't have any animal friends! Fessor, can't I have a puppy? I'll take care of him!"

"What makes you think a bird won't eat the puppy?" he inquired. Kitty's bottom lip trembled.

"I'll tell him no!" She cried.

Charles struggled to make her understand. "I'm sure Nutty told him that too," he reminded her.

Kitty hung her head. "I'll protect him! He'll be my friend!"She promised.

Charles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose stressfully. "Kitty, you don't need a puppy to have an animal friend," he told her compassionately.

She blinked away more tears. "I don't?"

"No, of course not. I'm sure Hank has some bacteria in his lab that can be your friends. There are a whole lot of them, too," he told her enthusiastically.

This seemed to perk her interest. "What do they eat?" She asked.

"Air."

"I can't feed them that!" Kitty wailed.

"Yes, you can. Blow on them a bit. They like carbon dioxide… Ah, look, there's Hank. Let's ask him, shall we? Hank, could you…?" Charles trailed off as he saw the expression on Hank's face, as well as the stark feeling of terror emanating from his psyche.

"Kitty," He patted her on the back. "Go to Erik. Maybe you can find a new squirrel to be your animal friend," the metal-bender perked up when he heard Charles's tone of voice, gazing at him with inquisitive worry. Charles gave him a discreet nod of the head towards the backyard. Take her. Erik put his newspaper down and was up at once, coming over to offer Kitty his large fingers. She grabbed them instantly, probably intending to convince him to persuade Charles to let her have a puppy.

"Come, little one," he said, narrowing his eyes at Charles momentarily. When he saw no answers in his eyes, he merely led Kitty outside into the fresh daylight. Charles turned to Hank immediately.

"What is it?" He asked. Hank came nearer, his eyes full of anxiety.

"You have a call, Charles," he said softly. Charles frowned.

"Was it the wrong number?"

"The person on the other end asked for Professor X specifically," Charles's blood ran cold. No one on the face of the Earth knew where Professor X's real home was. He had not even hinted at it in any of his speeches. He hadn't even written the address in any paperwork for college or bank accounts or anything. The mansion had always been a back-up, a safe house, a sanctuary where he could hole up Raven should the need ever arise. Absolutely no one should have been able to find it out.

No one.

"Hank," he spoke calmly, though his heart was pounding. "Get everyone to the safety room. Now," the room where he had trained Alex to use his powers. The place that could withstand a nuclear attack if need be.

Hank's face had morphed into seriousness. "Right," he turned, then seemed to remember something. "What about you?" He asked, but Charles was already wheeling away towards his bedroom, where the spare telephone was.

"I'm going to answer it of course," he called over his shoulder and did not wait for Hank's reply before he was heading up the elevator towards the second floor, heart still hammering, his mind going over the hundreds of responses that he could have to whatever threat or bribe would be issued. Was it the CIA? Had they captured the girls? Or could it be-he snorted at this-his mother actually calling for once? That thought was dashed to pieces before he knew it, and Charles felt a bead of sweat travel down his forehead when he saw the phone sitting there lying on its back on his dresser. Innocent. Quiet. He closed the door softly.

Slowly, he wheeled himself over to it, yanked the cable to make it fall to his seated height and then slowly placed the cold plastic next to his ear. He could feel the minds of the others, all scrambling down into the protection chamber. Erik, as he had predicted he would, was running headlong up the stairs towards Charles, taking two at a time.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively into the phone.

"Hello?" Came the hesitant response. The voice was female, young, but as solemn as Erik when he was in one his moods. "Is this Professor X?" Charles mind spun for an adequate answer. He could deny it, but what did it matter? His voice was on televisions all over the world. He was relatively sure he would be recognized.

"Yes," he replied reluctantly.

"Ah," he heard the relief. "Good. You're a very hard man to track, Professor," she didn't sound dangerous, but Charles knew that voices could be faked. Erik thundered down the hallway towards him."My name is Eliza Worthington. I'm a big fan of yours," she didn't sound very fan-girlish, but Charles decided this was unimportant.

"How did you get this number, Ms. Worthington?" he asked as Erik stuck his head in the door. All of the metal in Charles's room vibrated. He waved a hand impatiently, signaling knock it off.

"It's a long story. Suffice to say I went through some of your father's records. I knew him once, you know," that explained the English accent. Charles hated this person more and more by the minute; especially since she had known his father. "Anyway, I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Xavier. I know you must be very busy, but I have a proposition for you," Erik grabbed a chair and sat it down in front of Charles, the back facing him. Then Erik plopped into it, studying his face keenly.

"Who is it?" he mouthed. Charles gave a brief shrug, twirling the telephone wire around his finger nervously.

He struggled to keep his voice calm, unemotional. "Really?" He asked.

"Yes," Eliza continued. "You see, my husband and I- his name is John-are mutants. I have the healing ability; he has biological growth. So he makes my flowers grow. We had this idea and I suppose I just… Well…" She sounded sheepish now. "We need your help to make it a reality, Professor," she told him. Charles was still baffled.

"Forgive me Ms. Worthington, but…What is the idea? I can't very well help if I have no clue what you're talking about," Erik cocked his eyebrows.

"What do they want?" he mouthed again. Charles sent him an irritated glance, a sharp retort firing from the annals of his mind.

Would I have asked if I knew, Erik?

"A school," Eliza burst out. "Or, schools, to be more exact. We wanted to create schools for mutant children all over the country. The world. Places where they could learn how to use their powers and embrace their differences. So many children are afraid or ashamed of their gifts Professor, as you well know. And now that a Mutant Movement has started up, we thought that now is as good a time as any," the irony of the situation was not lost upon Charles.

He stayed silent for a long span of time in which Erik seemed to grow ever more impatient and Eliza sighed nervously on the other end. He had the distinct feeling that she was twiddling her thumbs in apprehension just as much as they were-though for very different reasons.

At length, though, his caller could stand little more of being ignored. "Professor?" She asked. Charles snapped out of his déjà vu with a shake of his head.

"Forgive me Ms. Worthington," he said, finally relaxing into his seat. He nodded at Erik and sent out the call to the rest of the house.

All safe.

"Your idea is wonderful. I would certainly fund such a thing," he was under no illusions about what sort of help she was asking for. She had known his father after all. She had to know he was wealthy. "Tell me, what name would these institutions have?" he asked. He could feel her smiling one the other end.

"Well, Professor, we were thinking to call them The X-Men Schools for Mutant Youth."

"I'm listening."