Thanks to hippiechick2112, ellie, and feathered moon wings for reviewing!

They begin to walk closer to one another, until her pinkie brushes his as if by accident, until they come so close their hands cannot fit and must be intertwined, drawn to one another like gravity.

The sad truth is that even now, even days as bare as these, courting is costly. A man brings a woman things. Chris never had the scratch for it, not with his family needing him, but Katherine is different.

She only wants him.

And, increasingly so, he wants her.

He feels like he's a teenager again, only that instead of wanting someone—anyone—he wants her. Desire concentrates to an aching point. Tough as diamond. Hot as coal.

Stolen moments aren't enough. Her hand in his, his arm around her shoulders… it's never enough. She stays late, gives them a few quiet moments with the other girls gone, and leaves slim, tiny finger-shaped bruises she holds him so tightly when they kiss.

Until the day he stumbles back, shocked at himself, at the sound of ripping fabric.

"Katherine." He looks at the tear below her collar. Looks at his hands. The worst part: he feels this same ache for her. And ashamed of it.

Chris grew up in the church. He learned that lust was a sin. Then he learned what lust was and had to wonder how this could be wrong. Stunned, staring, he understands.

She shakes her head. "No…"

He takes a step back, puts more distance between them. "I'm sorry."

"No, Chris, don't—!"

Still shaking his head, he walks away.

But he sees her the next day. She sits with two other factory gals, and how is it the gals always look fresh as daisies while he's sweating out mile 4 of a fun run?, but they pass just close enough that when she flips up her collar he sees the pure white thread stitched over the tear.

She smiles, flashes a wolfish hint of canine.

Suddenly this run really is fun.

Once Charles approved the idea of an extended underground facility and Chris approved the use of his technology, there was no good reason to wait. Charles made some calls on Monday and on Tuesday a small work crew would arrive to begin excavating.

"How did you explain it?" Ororo asked.

"We told them we wanted to expand our current nuclear shelter," Charles replied. "Now, Matthew, you cut the deck—like this," he demonstrated, then handed the cards to Scott, who separated it into two roughly even halves. Scott ended up with an ace and Charles with a queen.

"Aces high or low?"

"Low, which gives you first move."

It was Monday evening. Charles and Scott sat on opposite sides of the chess board in Charles's study, though the chess pieces themselves were put away. In their place was a cribbage board. About a third the width and the same length as the chess board, the cribbage board featured a three-lane pathway of pegholes.

"I thought you said nothing could bust through the nuclear shelter," Ororo persisted. "You said Scott and Alex's powers were safe in there."

"Alex and Matthew's powers are safe there."

Charles took the deck, shuffled, and dealt six cards to himself and Scott. As he did, he continued to explain, "Alex and Matthew produce energy—and, in Alex's case, heat—which is different from physical force. How's your reading?"

"Boring."

"Let me see." Scott held out his hand and Ororo passed over the book. "Boring? Stuff's just heating up! Plus isn't this right after the, uh… there's an encounter with three ladies…"

"Which is not as interesting as it could be," Ororo retorted, grabbing the book back, "and Mina is a whiny pain." Nevertheless, she returned to her book. She had not done her reading that day.

"Now…" Charles explained the rules of cribbage, which came with so much new terminology it was all Scott could do to smile and nod—then look confused and nod. Charles chuckled. "Let's cover the rules as we play, shall we?"

"That sounds much better," Scott agreed.

They played for a while, moving pegs along the board in what seemed to Scott a terribly elaborate exercise to make him practice basic math.

Finally, he mentioned what was worrying him: "But all these new people? Strangers? Me and Ororo are one thing, we just look a little odd. How can we explain someone who looks like Hank does—or the spaceship on the front lawn?"

"I can easily enough conceal that with telepathy."

Scott nodded.

Charles thought the mattered finished.

The next day he thought otherwise.

When Scott did not arrive for his geometry lesson, Charles sought him out. It wasn't like Scott to skip lessons, even math, and Charles found himself worried. And he found Scott, skulking around down the hall from the builders.

Apparently he had been unable to deny his curiosity after delivering a packet of supplies to Hank.

The second day, Scott suggested, "Maybe I could spend some extra time at the library."

"You're there every day," Charles pointed out.

"Did anyone ever tell you that?" Scott retorted. He looked up from his geometry workbook, a smart-aleck expression on his face. "Too much time in the lab?"

Charles sighed. "I suppose they did," he agreed, "but I wasn't neglecting my studies."

"And I won't," Scott promised.

Charles raised an eyebrow. This felt an awful lot like a conversation they were having instead of studying.

"You would have more time for yourself," Scott offered. He must have seen that this fell on deaf ears, because he added quickly, "Or you could do something with Ororo. I think she'd like that. You do math with me, but she reads by herself."

"That's not true. She reads with Ruth."

Scott's tone was not especially judgmental, but to Charles it felt like criticism. He had never been particularly fond of criticism.

"Ruth trains me," Scott said.

"I know she does."

"Every night. Except Friday."

"Yes, she's particular about that."

Scott set his pencil down. He wasn't doing math now. "Does she tell you about that?"

"Believe it or not, we do have things to talk about besides you."

"She takes my glasses," Scott said. It had the effect he wanted: Charles was really paying attention now. "Then she fights me. Without my glasses."

Charles took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew you wouldn't like it. You want me to be happy and well-educated, like you are. Ruth wants me to be strong, like she is. And when me and Ororo were attacked in town, I couldn't even run away without her leading me. Now I can. I can move and fight without my glasses, if I need to, because Ruth trains me the way she does."

"Happy and well-educated?" Charles asked.

Not as happy as you would be without me.

"You have a doctorate from Oxford."

Charles was always surprised at how well Scott concealed that. Looking at the boy now, he could have sworn this was a light-hearted teenager. He was halfway smiling, maybe a little preoccupied. And he genuinely believed that he was a burden to the first person to keep him without using him.

Scott was a preoccupation. He was not a burden.

Charles couldn't explain that without acknowledging his awareness of Scott's thoughts and feelings. He couldn't do that. He didn't know how to help Scott, so he avoided the matter.

He leaned back. "You can have both. You can be strong and well-educated and happy."

"I'm" stupid "not sure I…" can be happy "um… but the point was that Ruth trains me and you teach me. Maybe you could do something with Ororo, too. I think she'd like that. Even though she'd probably act like she didn't."

Charles wanted to object that he didn't actively avoid Ororo and he did work with her, but he understood. He spent a lot of time with Scott and there was no set time at which he worked with Ororo. Though it was worth noting that her needs were different to his.

"You have a point," Charles said, "but you need to understand something. I've told you before that life is not a zero-sum game. You don't need to give up this time for me to work with Ororo."

"It's… not that. I mean, a little bit—if you wanted—"

"I don't."

"I just… don't… I don't like the builders," Scott admitted. Suddenly he was much more interested in his geometry work.

Of course he didn't.

"Why?"

Scott shrugged. "I understand that this is important. Hank talked to me about Cerebro—I would never do anything to interfere with his work. Or yours. I want some distance for myself, that's all. And I'm learning so much at the library."

Charles considered that. He liked Scott spending time at the library. He had always been fascinated by genetics, by change, by how people became what they were. Hank was driven by a need to understand how everything worked. And Scott… would never be a scientist. But he had the makings of a fantastic English teacher.

Of course Charles assumed Scott would teach. The school would grow again, there would be more students, and yes he would hire others as teachers if needed, but he assumed Scott would stay. Wouldn't leave home. Ororo might, too, of course, though her future could be more difficult to picture.

But there were limits to the eccentricities he would accept without question.

"Why don't you like the builders?"

"I don't know."

"Scott."

"You know how… you and Hank… you barely ever raise your voices?"

Charles nodded. He liked to think of himself as controlled. When losing your temper can mean a psychic blast of pain, 'control' is important.

"Raised voices make me uncomfortable." Scott nodded like he was agreeing with himself—or reassuring himself. He swallowed, half shook his head, and added, "Especially men."

Oh, this boy…

"Talk to Mae. If she agrees to keep you on for extra hours, you have my permission."

Although Scott seemed uncomfortable with the builders, Ororo was fascinated by them. She was often nearby, watching the excavation. Hank had suggested a quite deep pit and Ororo wasn't sure why, she just liked watching the hole disappear deeper and deeper into the ground.

One night, she stared into it. The darkness fascinated her. The nothingness. She waited for her eyes to adjust. So far they had given her a few outlines and she knew they would give her more.

"You should be careful. It's a big fall."

Ororo shrugged, though she doubted Chris would see it. "I am careful."

"I'm sure you are."

She had heard him approach but chosen not to walk away. Now she wondered, "Why does it need to be so deep?"

"Have you asked Hank? I understand he designed it."

Ororo shook her head. "No. Will you tell me something, honestly?"

Chris hesitated, then took a seat beside Ororo. "What would you like me to tell you?"

"Do you like me?"

"Of course I do."

"Yes, and you are saying so because I'm fourteen and you think I'm a kid. But do you actually like me, for who I am?" Ororo had noticed that adults in this country were not overly honest with children. She wasn't sure when it changed, because Alex was very straightforward with them and Hank was a terrible liar, but even Ruth told the same old fibs.

Nobody said they disliked a child.

"Try not to faint from the shock," Chris retorted, "but yes, I actually like you for who you are. You're clever and you speak your mind."

Ororo sighed. "People don't like that," she said. "They didn't like it back in Africa, either." In Egypt, she learned to hold her tongue around tourists, back in the very early days when she begged instead of stealing. It had been the same among the Maasai. Although the behavior was somewhat overlooked in the girl who rode the wind, girls in general were not encouraged to voice their opinions.

"That may be," Chris allowed, "but they still like you. Most people shouldn't speak their minds because they don't have minds to speak. You're not like that."

"I know I'm smart, that's not a question. It's just… I've never been an adult in this country, only a kid. Or in any country. I'm a girl and I'm black, do you know what black women do in this country? Not much! If I want to amount to anything, I can either stay here, or go out there and fight for every inch. They expect me to stay."

Chris was out of his depth. He had two sons whom he loved, but he hadn't been there to raise them, didn't know how to talk to teenagers. Even more so, he didn't know how to talk to teenage girls. He had not been lying when he said he liked Ororo, though, and for her he tried.

"Do you want to stay?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know what I want to do. I could become a doctor—I'm smart and I would fight for it, but I don't want to be a doctor. I don't know what I want. I know I didn't have these questions before."

"It sounds like," Chris said, his words carefully measured, "what you really want is options."

"No I—well. Yes. I do," Ororo admitted. "I want to stay here, but I don't want to have to stay here. Your sons—nice and all," she quickly changed what she had meant to say. Son's, not sons. "But Alex really doesn't know how good he has it being a white boy. Not that there's anything wrong with being African or being a girl. It's wrong that he just has to try a little bit and things just come to him."

"Alex is trying very hard."

She sighed. "Now." And it wasn't fair. Things were falling into place as Alex started trying.

"I'd like to tell you something personal, but I want your word that this will stay between us."

Ororo nodded, but it was dark out. It probably wasn't so dark that she needed to say it aloud, but she did anyway: "It will."

"I know a woman very much like you—her name is Hepzibah. She's a Mephistoid. Her planet is as good as gone, her people with it, and surviving that loss has made her strong. Sometimes she can be cold and angry, she's had to be and it's a tough habit to break, but I don't know if surviving gave her her spirit or she survived because of it, but…. So it's unfair, I know that, but maybe you've made it this far because you're already a fighter. I think that's something you do without even thinking about it."

Ororo considered that. She did not think of herself as a fighter, but she did think of herself as tough. She survived the desert, killer robots, horrible men and blasts of lightning.

She wondered why. Why did she have to survive a childhood on the streets of Cairo, why did Ruth have to see so many wars, why did Hepzibah lose her planet? Why did women have to be strong and men just had to be?

"Is it a secret because you don't want Alex knowing you've got a lover?" she wondered.

Chris hid his surprise poorly. "Who says she's my lover?" he retorted.

Ororo laughed. "You sound like Charles does when he talks about Ruth. If she's not your lover, you really, really want her to be."