Thanks to hippichick2112, ladygris, and ellie for reviewing!

The world didn't really look better.

Alex stepped outside and squinted against the bright sun. His head felt better. It was just so bright. But he had spent too much of his time inside or in his own mind, and getting out was nice.

He walked to the newly planted patch of plants. They smelled familiar. Alex leaned in. One of them was definitely mint. The other one…

"That's rosemary."

He straightened and turned. "Hey Ororo."

"Me and Ruth planted."

Alex nodded. "Looks good," he said. It was the first thing he could think of that Ororo had really done. Day-to-day realities of the students' lives were generally uninteresting: the kids tended to mostly have their classes and do their homework and be boring, kid-like… kids. So he added, "Smells good, too."

Ororo tilted her head. She regarded him for a moment, then asked, "How are you feeling, Alex?"

Alex looked at her. Ororo was the sort of kid you knew would be pretty when she grew up, but who now looked awkward, like she hadn't grown into her limbs yet. Most significantly, she looked earnest.

"You're the first person who's asked me that."

She shrugged.

"Like shit."

"That makes sense."

Alex reacted initially with surprise. Then he thought about what she had said and decided he appreciated it. Ororo hadn't lied to him and said it wasn't his fault or that he didn't deserve to feel that way. She hadn't told him he did deserve it, either.

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

No you're welcome. He liked this kid.

"When I was in the orphanage, they told us good people go to Heaven. But the Maasai just put them for the hyenas."

"Maasai?"

"They're a tribe in Africa."

Besides giraffes, elephants, and bright sunshine, Alex didn't have a very clear idea of Africa. He used to have a clear idea of what sort of people he thought lived there, but that was before meeting Ororo. Now he wasn't sure he knew anything about it.

"I don't think I believe in Heaven," he said.

Ororo shrugged. "Nor do I, but the hyenas were real."

"Sean did. He believed in Heaven."

"Did he?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Alex nodded. "He was real religious, but he was all right about it. Never needed everyone around him to know."

She nodded.

"Want to show me around the garden?"

"Scott, I'm glad you're here, I wanted to speak with you about—please stop doing that."

There was the trouble with addressing someone you had telepathically sensed. Charles did not know until coming into the kitchen that he had a more immediate issue to address.

Scott stood at the sink, nearly bent in half as he drank directly from the tap. He straightened up when he heard Charles's voice, guiltily wiping his mouth. Although he knew what to do, his brain skipped like a scratched record.

"A glass," Charles prompted.

"Right!" Scott filled a glass, gulped its contents, and filled it again. His hair and shirt were damp with sweat, his face still red: he must have just come in from a run.

He put aside his glass and began to fill the kettle.

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't mind."

The table had been cleared, Scott and Ororo's blanket fort put away, although one of the phone books was still on the counter.

"Scott?"

Even with the glasses, it was clear he wasn't focusing.

"Right!"

He put the kettle on.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah—yes, of course."

Charles glanced out the window and immediately understood. There were Alex and Ororo, talking, looking… happy. He had not seen either of them smile like that in a long time.

"Sorry, Professor, you were saying you'd heard something?"

Getting the words out was a huge accomplishment. Scott's voice was high and tense. Charles understood: there was something he was afraid to hope for, but he did anyway.

"Nothing's official," he warned, "there will be papers to sign, processing times—there are no promises with the timeline, but it is a sure thing."

Scott didn't respond. He couldn't. He was trying to catch his breath, to take a shock of information and make it a fact he knew.

"You're to be adopted."

Still he couldn't say anything, but Scott began to grin, slowly and then like it might break his face in two. He began to laugh. He ran a hand over his face, awkward and not sure what to do with this really good feeling.

They sat in silence for a while. When the kettle whistled, Charles set the tea to brew. Only then did he ask, "Are you all right?"

Scott nodded. "I, uh… can I call you Dad now?"

"Well, yes, if you like." His voice sounded light, his usually certain and factual manner replaced with one of emotion, but the truth was Charles felt a charge from that word. Just hearing Scott say it, imply it about him… well, as a scientist he was inclined to point out that "heartwarming" was merely a slightly increased rate of blood circulation.

Scott glanced at him. For a moment, they both waited, both expecting him to say that one tiny word.

Then he looked back to the table and laughed, his face turning impossibly redder. "I can't—it's too weird, I can't. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"But you are," he added, looking at the table. He did that often, looked down when he said something that was meaningful to him. Usually he wasn't grinning. "My dad, I mean. Can we talk about what I said to Alex?" Scott could only acknowledge his emotions for so long.

Charles poured his tea, then brought it back to the table. He did not bother appealing for a quiet, peaceful cup of tea—what were the chances, after all?

"You were angry and upset."

Scott couldn't deny that. When he found out about Artie, he had seemed devastated and everyone knew it. Nonetheless, "I meant what I said. I have his schedule and I'm going to his classes with him from now on—I'll wait for him in the car. He can go to the classes on his own, but I need to know he's getting to school. This is the only way I can do it."

The plan sounded reasonable, but Alex and Scott's classes were often at the same time. It meant Scott missing a significant amount of his own schooling.

"You're not putting your education on hold to see to your brother's."

"Ruth said she would give me assignments to do on my own. I do okay in history. I'd miss part of science on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I'm not struggling so much in science."

Charles sipped his tea. "Well," he said, "I suppose we shall simply have to have algebra and philosophy in the evenings."

Scott looked like he had just been given a puppy. "Really?" Despite his planning and convictions, he probably had not believed he would be allowed to see this through.

"Of course. Besides, if this goes badly, there's always summer. You must understand that Alex may not appreciate having supervision from anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old."

Scott nodded. "Well—yes, but…" he shrugged. Alex would "He's my brother. He'll get over it."

If only it were that simple! The comment made Charles think about his own sibling. He had forgiven Raven if that was called for—he wasn't certain. She had left him. But had he had overlooked her, not made her happy—he only meant to protect her…

But that was an issue for another time.

"How do you do it, Professor?"

It was an issue for another time, because here was a boy looking to him like he had all the answers.

"Something's going to go wrong again. And Alex and Ororo, they'll get hurt, and I know that."

Charles noted that Scott had left out the possibility of himself getting hurt. Then again, that was Charles's to worry about, wasn't it?

More, here was the same mistake he had made. Scott only wanted to protect the people he loved and Charles determined to see to it that he understood: he couldn't. People got hurt, made bad choices, and you had to let them.

"That's the way life is. Sometimes people do get hurt, and it's unavoidable, but we can't grow without adversity. Not as a species or as individuals. Besides, Ororo and Alex know they'll always have you. And you'll always have me."

"What about you? Who do you have?"

You.

Charles didn't dare say it. He knew Scott would always be loyal to him, always be his son, but he couldn't ask a sense of obligation. He wanted Scott to be ready to leave for college in a few years, not feel that he had to stay to be a good son.

Of course, that was slightly less than half of it, but it was the half Charles acknowledged. He wanted to teach his son that it was okay to need people; he wanted Scott to be someone who asked for help, built symbiotic relationships, and who, above all else, was not alone.

But Charles could not live that moral.

The past years had forced him to ask for help and deep down Charles knew he was better for it, but he couldn't admit to needing anyone. He needed his independence. Since the paraplegia, he needed it.

Of course, there was the exception: "Ruth."