Thanks to hippiechick2112, ladygris, feathered moon wings, and ellie for reviewing! A few of you have asked why Chris doesn't recognize Scott. He was really given clues about Alex's identity: Charles had just mentioned that he knew about the boys, then addressed someone as Alex. Scott, however, is ten years too young and calling someone else 'dad'. He's also avoided Chris, giving limited opportunities to recognize him.

Notes: I've tried to update this story regularly. Unfortunately I've had some computer issues and won't be able to update for another week or so while my computer is being repaired (bright side: warranties rock). I'm sorry about the wait!

When he finds her again, the not-beautiful-but-still-pretty blond, he is surprised to learn that she works on the base. How is there a gal like her hanging around and it slipped by him? And him thinking he was sharper than that!

So he sees to it they run into each other again. He manages to catch her after work.

"Good evening."

He expects a swoon. Who doesn't love a man in uniform? Even he appreciates uniforms and hers is baggy and drab.

She glances at him and smiles. Impersonally.

"Good evening."

"We met last week—"

"Oh, the park!"

He nods. At least he exists! His ego smarts and in part, he admits to himself, because he's a good-looking man and she's pretty enough, but nothing special. She should be flattered by the attention and she isn't.

"May I walk you home?"

"Well… I suppose, if you like."

As he walks beside her, he asks, "Have you worked here long?"

"Not very. About a year. Yourself?"

"Only a few months here, nearly three in the service. What is it you do? No, let me guess. Uniforms."

"I paint the planes."

"I was close," he applauds himself. "You like it?"

"I like the planes," she replies. "I don't get to see much of the engines, but I wish I did. That we build these devices—the incredible power in making a metal machine fly… it's astounding. It truly is."

He looks at her differently now. Although not so openly astonished, he, too, loves the inner workings of airplanes. He loves the engines. And he finds himself discussing how engines work with such enthusiasm he is both surprised and disappointed when she stops and announces she will go her own way from here.

"So what's your first name, Airman Summers?"

"Chris."

"It's nice to meet you, Chris." She offers her hand. When he shakes, he notices how small her hands are, delicate but not soft. He notices that she grips his hand firmly, like a man. He notices, as he walks away, that he forgot to ask her name.

"Is it rude to discuss your mutations?" Chris asked.

"Not at all," Charles assured him.

"Pass the salad."

Alex boggled pointedly at Ororo. "That sentence has never been uttered at this table," he said. "Salad?"

"Just shut—um, stop arguing and pass it," Ororo retorted.

"We're having noodles!" Alex said. "You can't have salad and noodles!"

"Alex," Matthew murmured. Alex gave him a rude look, to which Matthew responded with a firm expression. Alex sighed and passed the salad. Matthew returned his attention to his plate and Ororo stuck out her tongue at Alex.

Throughout all of this, Chris tried not to comment on Alex's behavior because Ruth and Charles did not. He wasn't thrilled with his son's teasing, yet it seemed okay.

They were siblings, he realized. It was okay because Alex was as good as a brother to Matthew and Ororo.

"Chris, you had questions about mutants?" Charles asked. He permitted the banter. He did not seem to approve, however.

"Many," Chris replied. "Are all powers unique?"

"It doesn't seem so," Charles said, "I've met another telepath—a woman who could read minds like I can. Both Ruth and Hank have enhanced speed and agility."

"Alex and Matthew have similar abilities, too," Hank offered. Alex glared at him. "It's actually fascinating, we don't know what causes mutations—there are theories, but no conclusive evidence either way—so understanding how a person's mutation works… well, it's fascinating. Like I said. I've been looking into how—and this is of course strictly physiological—on a cellular structure—they're able to—"

As Hank spoke, Matthew's eyebrows had been creeping away from his red glasses and were now about hidden under his hair.

"Hank," Charles interrupted. "We're a little off-topic, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

An awkward quiet settled over the table. Aware that his question had caused this and not wholly sure what had just happened, Chris tried to change the subject just slightly: "Are you born with your powers? I wasn't around as much as I'd like to have been when I had the chance with Alex, but I think I would have noticed something like that."

"Why weren't you around?" Ororo asked.

"I was a soldier," Chris replied.

"Of course, that must have been the second World War," Charles realized.

Chris nodded.

"So while Alex was a baby you were killing Germans?" Ororo asked.

"Japs, actually," Chris said, "islands in the Pacific until I took a piece of shrapnel to the knee. Spent some time over there. I wasn't fit for duty after that and I was discharged."

Ororo looked to Ruth.

"Sent home," Ruth translated. "Shrapnel is… Charles, how would we explain this?"

"A scrap of metal that's been knocked loose by an explosion," Charles tried.

Ruth nodded. "When you are in the military, you cannot leave until you have permission. And no, Alex did not have powers as a child. He had the potential for them."

"Most powers manifest at around puberty, but there is a variety. Hank was born with certain physical… differences, whereas I didn't begin hearing others' thoughts until I was nine years old."

"I was eleven," Ororo offered. "I think, anyway. Maybe twelve. With lightning."

"I think I am a late bloomer at this table," Ruth said, "I was fourteen."

"I wasn't blue until I was nineteen," Hank offered.

"Hang on, you were younger than Sean?" Alex asked.

Hank shook his head. "No, I'm about a year older than he is—was."

"Who's Sean?" Chris asked.

"He was one of us and a good friend of Alex's," Charles said. "He passed away recently."

"I'm sorry."

"So," Ruth redirected the conversation, "what was Alex like as a child?"

"Oh—energetic," Chris said. It had been twenty years ago and he had little time with Alex, but that was not the sort of thing one forgot. "He loved toy cars and playing outside, regardless of the weather. He was happy, friendly, easygoing, just a complete joy. But this was the 1940s—his mother was the one changing the diapers."

Alex liked that a bit less, but he was a good sport about the laughter that resulted.

"What was she like?" Matthew asked. "Alex's mother, what was she like?" He rarely spoke without being prompted and so personal a question surprised Chris.

"Matthew," Charles murmured gently.

Finding Alex alive and knowing Scott might be out there somewhere had, strangely, made the pain of losing Katherine so much fresher. Being caught unawares did not help. Most things Chris could weather easily. Katherine was his Achilles' heel.

"He mentioned her," Matthew persisted, "she's relevant!"

"That's enough."

"He's mentioned her several times—"

"Matthew!"

"And if he was gone so much of Alex's childhood, maybe he would actually know something about her if he was half—"

"Go to your room. And no reading."

Matthew looked between Charles and Chris. He knew he had crossed a line, that was clear on his face. His mouth opened and closed a few times.

"I'm really sorry, Dad, I didn't mean to."

Charles sighed. "I know." He gestured and Matthew left the table.

Yet Chris still wanted to answer the question—not so much for the boy or even for Alex, but for Katherine and for the sense that maybe, if he could just share the slightest bit, the loss might hurt less.

All he could think, and it was not nearly enough, was, "She was beautiful."

"No reading, huh?" Alex asked.

Charles sighed. "Well, it goes against my principles, but I didn't mean to reward him."

Later that evening, Chris received a somewhat unnerving telepathic message: 'Chris, if you have a moment I'd like to speak with you privately.' The message itself was not unnerving. He still wasn't used to hearing Charles's voice inside his head, nor the accompanying knowledge of the man's whereabouts and how to reach his study.

Nevertheless, Chris had the time. He was in his ship, cleaning up the tools and pieces from the day's attempts at rebuilding. If he was completely honest, this was as much exploration as rebuilding, not only because he was learning about the ship but because he was spending time with his son. He wanted this rebuilding project to last.

He finished tidying and went inside again.

"Charles."

"Thank you for coming. Drink?"

"Thanks. Hm, I almost forgot what Earth alcohol tastes like."

"Incomparable?" Charles suggested.

"There's a subtlety to it you just don't get with the high-proof common on other planets. But there's something to be said for rotgut, too."

They exchanged an understanding look and each sipped at their drinks.

When Charles stated his purpose in asking Chris to speak with him, Chris wasn't surprised: "I apologize for my son's behavior at dinner. I'd like Matthew to apologize for himself and I hope he will, but until then, I'm sorry."

Chris nodded. He wanted to shrug it off if only for simplicity's sake, but this seemed important to Charles. And Charles's relationship with his children interested Chris. "I thought perhaps it was to do with the loss of his—er…"

"His birth parents?" Charles asked.

"Yes."

"More than you can imagine."

"He doesn't seem to like me much, but I can see that Matthew is important to Alex. For that—"

A knock at the door interrupted them.

"Come in," Charles called.

Matthew opened the door and stepped inside, then paused when he saw Chris. He wore his pajamas and dressing gown and his hair looked like it had been washed and then combed.

Casual was not this boy's forte.

"Um—I'll come back—we could talk tomorrow?"

"Matthew, you're being rude to our guest."

Again.

"I don't want to interrupt your guy talk. Like when Ororo and Laurie have girl talk. I don't interrupt that either."

Charles raised his eyebrows. It was an excuse and he knew that. Nevertheless, he ceded, "Nor would I. You're still meant to be in your room for your behavior earlier."

"Mom said I could do krav maga."

"That looks like it's complete."

"It is, but I—it's about—" Matthew looked between the two men. His head tilted slightly, the only cue as to where his attention was focused.

"May I ask you something?" Chris said. "Did Ruth and Charles name you Matthew?"

"The other parents named me."

"It's a good name. I wanted to name my oldest Matthew."

The look on Matthew's face was difficult to read. It was Charles who asked, "What made you change your mind?"

"I never did," Chris said, "but I was away when Alex's brother was born. By the time I returned, Katherine had named him Scott."

"Wow, they must have been important to you."

The look Charles gave Scott was part warning, part shock. Scott had lost his temper a few times in the past, but the outright disrespect was new. This was not how he behaved.

"That will be all, I think, Matthew."

Just as he had earlier, Scott looked a touch stunned, like even he could not believe he had just mouthed off like that. Then he nodded and ducked out of the room, pulling the door to behind him.