Thanks to Melissa hearts fiction, kristelalugo, hippiechick2112, halfsquirrel, and ellie for reviewing! About Charles's childhood being normal, it's more reservedness and a lack of physical affection-so the goofing around is what's confusing him. And the sheets... you'll see.

Hank's lab was not only well-lit but full of shiny metal surfaces that bounced the light and multiplied it. The whole thing seemed to Ruth a little like a discotheque. It was the scientific corner of a discotheque, the ball deconstructed and re-purposed as Hank had done with a car mid-February—that had been an amusing day.

"Good morning, Hank."

He replied with an observation about his experiment.

Ruth gathered from his tone that it was going well, but she asked, anyway: "This means it is going well?"

"Not precisely." He looked up from his microscope and turned. The combination of scientific terminology and his shaggy blue face made Hank seem like an alien species sometimes. "What I hoped to achieve," he began. And she barely understood half of what he said until, "…but all data is valuable, particularly in this endeavor, the more I know the better, you see, to avoid any… well, any mistakes. They could be costly and—are those pancakes?"

"They are." Scott was both very aware that Hank didn't show and busy cleaning up, and Charles had a phone call with a lawyer, so here was Ruth. With pancakes. "Since when do you care for cost?"

"I don't mean financial cost," Hank clarified. Ruth handed him the plate and he sliced off a bite with the side of his fork as he explained, "In this experiment the cost would be so much worse, I could hurt someone. Green?"

Ruth chuckled. "You know, to think of you and green, you do look a little like this character, the Grinch. You know him?"

Hank adjusted his glasses.

"This is upsetting? I apologize."

"Actually, if you have the time, I could use an opinion."

"I will understand?"

She wasn't trying, he noticed. She formed her questions as statements and let her tone clarify the meaning.

"It's an ethical dilemma."

Ruth hopped up onto a lab table. Making herself comfortable was her way of saying that she would be happy to help him.

At first, Hank did not begin to speak. He tried, then took a few thoughtful bites of pancakes. Finally he said, "When you were in the Army, did you ever have to do something you didn't want to do?"

She laughed. "It is called being in the Army!" she cried. "You mean did I do drills in the mud, or when it is forty degrees out? Of course. This is the life."

"No—well, yes, but I meant it to be more. When you're in the Army, you follow orders, right?"

"Yes."

"What if you're ordered to do something you think would be wrong? Like… open fire on civilians?"

"I would not do a thing like this," Ruth replied.

"Even if ordered?"

She shrugged. "Israeli Army, it is different. They tell us to refuse orders. Well, not to refuse—to think, and if it is wrong, then to refuse. Many will never need to do this. Sometimes I did. Why do you ask?"

Hank looked evasive even before his pathetic attempt at lying. "Curiosity."

"For perhaps the first time in your life, Hank McCoy, I think this is not the case."

After her chat with Hank, Ruth headed back for the kitchen. Normally she did not spend quite so much time there, but it was Ororo's birthday. Ruth was a firm believer in birthday cake. Or, in this case, birthday baklava, which needed several hours to set.

Ruth paused just outside the kitchen. She knew she could count on Scott to keep it clean, as he had done. But the small kitchen table was usually not covered with bed linens. They weren't stacked but laid out, draped to the floor. Phone books pinned the sheets to the top of the table.

She could guess who was behind this, but the shushing and giggling really gave them away.

Like she hadn't noticed, Ruth continued into the kitchen. She put a small pan on the stove to melt butter and poured out walnuts to chop them. It was a difficult thing sometimes. Part of her power included enhanced strength: if she wasn't careful, she would break the knife. Chopping felt painstakingly slow and only when it was finally finished did she grab the nutmeg to mix with the thoroughly-chopped walnuts.

Then she took a moment to knock, hard, on the table.

"We're under attack!"

"Protect the Citadel!"

"You're such a nerd."

"What are you two doing?" Ruth asked.

"Um…"

"It was Scott's idea!" Ororo yelped.

"What the—? I mean, yeah, but—!" Scott stammered. "And there's three of us."

"Artie doesn't count."

"Yes she does."

"Nuh-uh! Artie's not a person!"

"Well she didn't say 'you two people'. Maybe it was a count by heads."

"If it was by feet, we'd be eight."

"Yeah, but Mom said 'two'."

"Fine! Four pairs of feet!"

Ruth rolled her eyes at the bickering. Sometimes it concerned her—Ororo was aggressive lately and Scott was sensitive—but this sounded like play. "Well. Enjoy your… burrow."

"It's the Fortress of Solitude," Scott said. The sheets didn't do much to muffle sound this way and there were only a few feet between them, so he didn't need to shout. Ruth recognized the term 'Fortress of Solitude', so she knew it was a Superman place, but she could still guess what Ororo murmured. The kids both laughed.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Ororo."

"Are you going to be in here a while?"

Ruth nodded before realizing that was silly. Then again… she was talking to a pile of sheets. "A little while, I am making your birthday cake."

"Will you ask Alex if he wants to play with us in the Fortress of Solitude?"

She laughed. "I will relay this message."

"Thanks, Mom!"

"Thanks, Mom!"

"Stop mimicking me."

"I'm not mimicking you, I'm agreeing with you."

"Well… stop agreeing with me. It's unnerving."