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Charles had never been someone who wanted for material possessions or comforts. He grew up with everything he could ask for and other things he wouldn't have thought about, so he never truly appreciated his bedroom for what it was.
He had touched the children's minds as they adapted to living at the school. Doug and Laurie, who came from comfortable homes, were a touch awed and uncomfortable with the extravagance.
Ororo took a more pragmatic approach, finding the bed a touch unwieldy, the room too big and empty, which explained her preference for Scott's room. To Ororo, home meant other people.
As for Scott, who seemed to be recreationally heartbreaking, he hadn't liked his room at all. He didn't like the floor, or the linens, or the nightstand. He didn't like it because every footprint, tear, stain, or dent made him feel ashamed for destroying something worth more than him.
Unfortunately there were simply no rooms in the mansion with twin beds or Charles would have placed the children there (all right, Hank would have suggested that Charles place the children there) to help them feel less out of their depth. Most of them were at least familiar with twin beds—even Ororo had slept in one at the orphanage.
Seeing the rooms through their eyes gave him a greater appreciation of his own, but that wasn't the reason he loved his bedroom this morning.
It was the view.
More than a nice view, a beautiful view. Breathtaking, really. Charles peeked through his eyelashes, trying not to do the slightest thing to spoil—
"Charles Xavier, are you staring at me?"
Ruth was lying on her belly beside him, propped up on her elbows, reading. Which would have been a beautiful sight under any circumstances. Her lack of shirt helped immensely all the same.
Charles gave a less than convincing fake snore.
Ruth laughed. "You do not snore like that."
"Yes I do," he replied. "I'm asleep."
She leaned over and kissed him. "You are not. Good morning."
Neither of them had brushed their teeth. Somehow, the kiss was not unpleasant.
"Mm. It is now."
"Yes, because you are awake."
He laughed and opened his eyes. "All right, I'm awake."
"Do you know what you say in Israel, if someone says to you 'good morning'?"
From what Ruth told him and what he had learned from knowing her, he was inclined to guess that an Israel would give an honest answer—and tell you if she was not having a good morning. This Israeli most certainly would.
"I don't know. What do you say?"
"You say 'boker orr'. Morning light."
"Morning light," Charles repeated. "I like that." He leaned up to kiss her again.
She only stopped him when his hand migrated south.
"I do not have time."
He groaned. "You're tormenting me!"
"I know. It is a hobby. But the children will wake up."
"They can make their own breakfast."
"I know they can." She kissed him in a sweet, disappointingly chaste sort of way. "Later. I promise."
Charles scanned the other minds nearby.
He respected that Ruth cared so much for the children and admired that while he had been dragged, reluctant and uncertain, into a paternal role, Ruth seemed to eagerly embrace playing mother. It was surprising, really, because she was gentle and loving and beautiful and she cooked, and she was a warrior who could kill him three ways with her pinkie.
Still, sometimes he wished she were keener on being his girlfriend than being their mother. It would make him feel less guilty that he entertained such thoughts himself.
She was already stepping into sweatpants when Charles emerged from his scan. "Scott's making pancakes," he reported.
Ruth paused. "This is true and you are not only saying it?"
"It's true."
After another pause, another consideration, she asked, "Shall we talk about what you have hidden in your study?"