Thanks to guest, mexicana, ellie, kristelalugo, and hippiechick2112 (twice!) for reviewing! As for what Charles and Ruth were discussing in the previous chapter, they're planning-okay, you all knew I wasn't answering that here. ;)
Hank never wanted to be a teacher.
Yes, he wanted to be a scientist, a researcher, and he knew that two of the most important aspects of research were replicability and communicability—publish or perish, and such.
But teaching was never the goal. It was something he might have to do. Even when Charles began planning his school, Hank did not jump at the opportunity to teach. Only after weeks of Charles' reasoning and cajoling did Hank give in, and then mostly because he would be here anyway.
He wasn't sure how he felt about teaching now.
At the moment, he sat in front of his favorite microscope, making semi-legible notes on his observations. He was quietly conducting his research with a mix of the best scientific implements a person could order through the mail with Charles's bank card, and things built himself because that was better. It was simply Hank's way. He started basic and progressed, like when he built a reusable drip coffee filter and eventually decided the moka pot brewed a better cup than a percolator.
From behind him came a frustrated sigh and the sound of an eraser.
"Stop it," Hank said without turning around.
The eraser stopped.
Hank returned to his cells for a moment, just observing now. It was fascinating. He had never seen reactions like this before. He could have watched for hours and found himself wondering: if this was the cells' reaction on a slide, what were they liked where they belonged? Watching altered cellular reactions to a bodily injury…
Luckily he was spared those fascinating and disturbing thoughts by the sound of a notebook hitting one of his cabinets. Hank looked up from his microscope.
He was pretty sure the appropriate reaction would have been contrition. (All those cells forming something much more confusing but often likewise predictable.) Scott just looked baffled. Hank watched him for a moment, then adjusted his glasses like the lenses repositioned half a centimeter would make the situation clearer.
"What happened that night?" Scott asked.
"Which night?"
"With Sean."
Hank shook his head. "I wasn't with them," he said, as he had dozens of times before. He respected Scott's need to learn the truth, but there was only one person who knew it and Scott would never ask him.
"Has the Professor talked to you about getting rid of me?"
Mostly, when that subject came up, Charles was talking about Scott's thoughts. He talked to Hank because he didn't know what to do about Scott's continued belief that he would be "sent back".
"The first few months, he would talk about it. You weren't happy. He thought someone else might be better able to take care of you."
Mostly that had been strange for Hank because he was used to self-doubt—he hadn't realized a man like Charles understood the concept.
"More recently?" Scott pressed.
"Not in a year, at least."
Scott nodded. "He's talking to Ruth about it."
"He should talk to Ruth about things."
Hank and Charles were friends, but Hank recognized that Charles's relationship with Ruth was something different. They were partners, in so many ways. So Hank didn't mind that Charles confided in Ruth, especially about the children.
The look on Scott's face said that Hank had missed something important.
"Oh—no, Scott, he's not talking about—he talks to Ruth about you and Ororo, but not about getting rid of you."
"Not her," Scott said, "just me."
"He wouldn't."
"I know what I heard." He didn't sound frantic or even afraid. He sounded a little angry and something else—resigned.
Hank shook his head. He knew Charles, knew that Charles would never do that. Scott was like a son to him.
"This is the only chance I'll ever have for a real education and I still can't do it." And so they returned to the discarded notebook lying on the floor.
When Scott first arrived, he was like a baby in some ways. He could basically look after himself, excepting looking after his education, but he didn't understand how the world worked. He still didn't.
That wasn't really something Hank could help with.
Science, however…
"Pick up your notebook and we'll start over."
"No."
It wasn't a 'no' like Ororo would give. This 'no' was accompanied by slumped shoulders and a head buried in hands.
Charles wasn't sending Scott away. Even if he would ever think that, which he wouldn't, Ruth would never allow it. Hank remembered the sound of Raven's bones crunching, the newfound appreciation he felt for Ruth's strength. In terms of brute strength he was actually the stronger, but Ruth was the soldier.
The sound—the crunching—just thinking about it made Hank wince.
Hank did not defend what Raven did. Ruth only hurt her because Raven threatened Ororo, held a knife to her throat. But he knew that Charles had been so determined to believe in Raven. Maybe it was easier for someone like Ruth, but that could have been the end of her and Charles. She didn't stop to think that Raven was probably bluffing—she was cold, but she wouldn't hurt a child.
Ruth didn't think about any of that. And she certainly wouldn't let Charles return Scott to an orphanage, even if Charles had been thinking about it. Which he hadn't.
Hank picked up the notebook and pulled a lab stool over to the microscope. It was an older one and not the best. When someone's eyes can destroy whatever lies in front of them, they're not an ideal candidate for using one's best laboratory equipment.
Hank peered into the microscope then looked back to the notebook.
Scott was supposed to be drawing what he saw, which should have been plant cells. He had been doing something vaguely akin to that, except that no plant cells were visible. Hank adjusted the slide.
"You should have a better view now. Try again."
Scott moved like his blood was slowly-setting cement, but he picked up the pencil and started to draw.
After a while, he asked, "Did you want more of my blood?"
Hank had been examining Scott's blood for some time, fascinated by the experimentation and the changes it left in the cells. He would be lying to say there were not three experiments currently under observation involving Scott's cells.
"Charles would never get rid of you. When you realize that, you're going to be embarrassed about what you just said to me."