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"His father?" Ororo repeated. She looked between the man emerging from the spaceship and the boy beside her.

"Are you certain?" Professor Xavier asked.

"His father?" Ororo asked again.

"Scott?" the Professor asked.

Ruth cleared her throat. "I believe we have another matter," she said. Little frightened Ruth, but from her tone it seemed this had done the trick.

"What is it?"

"A spaceship just landed on the front lawn," Hank guessed. "And considering where Ruth's from, I think…"

"Ah." Charles felt foolish then. He could have been more considerate, more aware of how different his perception was from that of his Israeli… companion.

They still hadn't put words to their relationship. He preferred the term 'lover' but she found that amusing. She had literally laughed when he said it—not unkindly, but he still felt quite silly.

Meanwhile, of course an unexpected aircraft would seem threatening to a woman accustomed to war.

The man who looked startlingly like Alex's father approached, taking his time. It made him seem nonthreatening. If they wanted to take any defensive action they certainly had the opportunity. Instead they stood and waited.

"Good afternoon. I apologize for the damage; I lost control of my craft. I'll do all I can to fix it. The damage, that is, but the craft as well. I mean no harm to any of you."

They all glanced at one another. There was no protocol for this situation. It wasn't every day an apparent spaceship crashed on the lawn. It wasn't every day a ringer for the father of two orphans stepped out.

Finally, Ruth asked, "Why are you here? Of all places, why here, this is not a coincidence."

"No," he agreed, "it's not. My ship tracked the most advanced technology on this planet." Hearing that, Hank stood a little taller. "Earth isn't engaging in space travel yet. If anyone could accept someone who had come from another planet, possibly offer any sort of assistance with a damaged craft, I thought that person would be using more advanced technology."

"You look human," Hank observed. He knew something about looking human. For most of his life, he thought he didn't. Now he really didn't. The man in front of him did. "What planet are you from?"

"Initially," the man replied, "I was from Earth."

There was a pause in which the X-Men considered two things. First, here was a man who had left their planet, possibly their solar system, and traveled among the stars. Second, as unlikely as it seemed—Alex's father was from Earth, too.

Then Charles suggested, "Perhaps you'd like to come inside."

"I'll make tea," Scott said. He didn't wait for an agreement before disappearing.

The group, minus Scott, moved to the sitting room. Ororo found that title hilarious—a special room just for sitting!—but she didn't object to a room filled with soft chairs. Best of all, there was a window seat, which she claimed. Okay, sure, spaceman and all that, but she wasn't giving up her favorite spot!

Charles noticed this and cleared his throat meaningfully. Ororo took her dirty feet off the cushions.

The spaceman himself was if nothing else polite. In fact, he and Charles were about equally matched in terms of manners. He did not sit until invited to do so, and Charles allowed him a moment to settle. At least he seemed to wait politely. In fact the mutants were chatting telepathically.

"He likely knows nothing of mutants," Charles began.

"Then perhaps the geneticist should explain," Ruth retorted.

"Are you going to invite him to stay?" Hank asked.

"Who said anything about—" Ruth began, then glanced at Charles and realized that was exactly what he was planning. That was so… so Charles.

"Scott?" Charles asked. "Is that all right?"

"I'm—I can't say—I don't know, Professor. I think you should do what you think is right."

"He has to know about us," Ruth insisted. "How else will you explain Hank?" Another person might have added that no offense was meant. Ruth did not. What she had said was straightforward true to her: Hank was furry and blue and that called for explanation. "And you cannot ask the children to hide who they are."

"Nor should I ask you," Charles replied.

He cleared his throat. "Mr.—ah, I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced. My name is Charles Xavier. You've landed at my school for gifted children. This is Ruth Bat-Seraph, our history teacher, Hank McCoy, science teacher, and—Ororo, take your feet off the cushions."

She did—again.

"Ororo is our youngest student. Most of the children are away now; it's summer," Charles explained. His explanation omitted several key facts. Only two students were away. They were a school with rather specific entrance requirements.

The spaceman nodded as Charles spoke, attentive. He did not look old enough to be Alex's father, only a few years older than Charles and Ruth. Although the lines of his face were similar to Alex's, his hair was dark and his eyes were blue while Alex was blond with hazel eyes. There was nothing either conclusive or inconclusive about his appearance.

Then he volunteered, "My name is Chris Summers. Thank you for your hospitality. I'm sure this is… unexpected."

"It is," Charles agreed.

"So aliens are real?" Ororo asked.

"On many planets," Chris said. "Think of the strangest person you can imagine. Maybe I've met them."

Ororo raised her eyebrows. "I'm African and I have white hair and I control the weather, I am the strangest person I can imagine."

Ruth said something to her in Arabic. Charles did not understand the language, but he got the gist.

"We intended to share this a little more… tactfully," he said, "but Ororo is not exaggerating. There are people in this world with special abilities. In Ororo's case, the ability to control the weather."

"I see," Chris replied, a note of skepticism in his voice.

It was understandable. Charles did the math. Scott had estimated that Alex was two or three years old when they were orphaned, more than twenty years ago. Ororo alone had to be a surprise—schools were not integrated when Chris left. Mutants were completely unheard of.

And my ability, he continued, speaking telepathically, allows me to read your mind.

Before they could go further on that subject, Scott joined them, carrying a tea tray and looking like he had never concentrated this hard on anything in his life. He had, but he could be clumsy, especially when he was nervous. Luckily the tray made it to the table without anything breaking.

"This is—" Charles began.

Scott interrupted, "Matthew." He stuck out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Chris shook hands. "Chris Summers. Good to meet you, too."

"Dad, shouldn't… someone else be here?"

"Would you like to go find him?"

Scott nodded and left the room.

While Chris's attention was elsewhere, Ororo mouthed, Matthew?

The only answer was a look from Ruth telling her to be polite and patient.

"If you are from Earth, how have you traveled so far beyond it?" Ruth asked. "This country does not have that ability now, let alone when you are from."

"It's a fair question," Chris agreed, "with an unfortunate answer and I hope you'll forgive me sparing some of the details. We were kidnapped, my wife and I, by a race called the Shi'ar. The Shi'ar are… brutal. Conquerers. What they do to those they capture…. After some time I escaped them. My wife…" He shook his head, communicating clearly enough what had happened. His wife did not survive.

Charles could not help thinking that apparently this was not a story Chris told often, given how emotionally he reacted to it and how long ago it had occurred. Perhaps aliens did not see other aliens as so strange. Perhaps on other planets, such an explanation would not be called for.

Charles was not inclined to like Chris. The man seemed well-meaning enough, but two broken boys had come to Charles for help. Alex was in mourning for his friend, but otherwise doing well. Charles did not know that Scott would ever fully heal from what was done to him in Omaha. Could anyone truly recover from that?

He was almost disappointed that their father had perhaps the most compelling reason possible not to be there to protect them.

And now he had done it! He had gone ahead and believed that this was their father.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss," he said. As he did, he picked up a caustic thought nearby and gave Ororo a warning look. She was not to remark that he was among good company. It was true that most in the house had experienced loss, but Chris seemed too raw for such a joke.

Charles pressed, however, "If I may ask, how is it you first encountered these Shi'ar?"

"I was a pilot," Chris began, "a foolhardy pilot. We were going to see family when we spotted an unearthly craft. What I believe they were doing is evaluating the usefulness of Earth, but they hadn't wanted their presence known. They pursued us and their crafts were superior. When they caught us, they captured us."

"You and your wife," Charles said.

"Yes."

"No one else was with you?"

Chris had been bent under the weight of memory, but now he raised his head and looked directly at Charles. "You know," he observed.

"If you are who I think you are," Charles replied, "yes, I know."

Chris looked from Charles to Hank to Ruth, searching for some explanation—and Charles prepared to give one. He did not mean to make their guest uncomfortable.

"Chris—"

"What the hell."

Alex stood in the doorway, staring. He looked comfortable and slightly disheveled, a familiar look for him. And shocked, less familiar.

He turned to Charles. "What is this?" he asked. "This is low, Charles."

"Alex, it's not a trick."

"Not a… there's a dead man sitting in the fu—"

"Language."

"In the goddamn parlor!"

"Alex," Chris said, his voice suddenly ragged. Alex turned to look at him. "Alex?"

Alex gaped. Then, in more tentative a tone than anyone had heard from him before today, "Dad?"