Thanks to hippiechick2112 for reviewing!

Note: for context, $1.15 an hour was the minimum wage in New York in 1964-the equivalent of around $9 today.

Alex gave his grinder a couple of twists and tapped its contents onto a rolling paper. It was nine a.m. in July, already hot and sticky—he already felt like he'd painted jam on his pits. (Not that he had ever painted anything edible there.)

He leaned against his car, getting ready for the day. Mentally preparing himself, with a little boost. He already wore his uncomfortable shirt with the starchy collar, the utter dip of a hat sitting on the front seat.

"Aren't you working today?" Chris asked.

Alex still did not know how his dad managed to do that. Maybe Alex's awareness slipped at the mansion. He did feel safe here.

"I am," he confirmed.

Chris's exile from the mansion was no secret to Alex, who consequently spent more time with his father. He had no idea why Charles made the decision he had, only that it meant less of Chris, despite what Alex wanted. As per usual! Had he ever not been invisible in this place?

Chris gave Alex a disapproving look. "Shouldn't be using that before you work."

"It's just a cigarette."

Chris took it and sniffed. "We had this when I was your age, too."

"When you were my age, you had two kids."

"I had one kid and a pregnant wife," Chris replied, "but I still knew reefer when I smelled it."

Alex sighed. How was he invisible and yet so prone to getting into trouble?

"Look, my job… it's boring. Okay? And it's not like a little weed's gonna knock me out. It'll just make a miserable day go quicker."

The logic did nothing against Chris's disapproval.

"Dad, come on! How is this any different from me and you having a few beers?"

"Well, for one thing, it's nine o'clock," Chris reasoned. "I know I wasn't around to raise you, but I'd like to think no son of mine is afraid of an honest day's work."

"I'm a cashier at the drugstore."

Chris shrugged and handed the joint back to Alex.

"I'm not afraid," Alex objected. Fear and not wanting to be bored were very different things!

Chris offered no more arguments, but Alex still found himself sighing and depositing his stash in the glove box. He could always change his mind later. Meanwhile, he grudgingly offered an almost pleasant, "See you later, Dad."

Within the hour he regretted the decision.

Shifts at the drugstore stretched on into eternity. Then took a turn and came back through eternity, remembered they had forgotten something at the Just Past Eternity Inn, doubled back, ran out of gas and had to thumb it to the nearest station but finding someone—anyone—else in eternity was impossible, so they walked.

Shifts at the drugstore were a bit like that.

They carried on far, far longer than they had any business doing, until they bordered on torturous. It was an uneventful job that consisted primarily of ringing up purchases—men's over-the-counters, kids' ice creams.

Alex had gone in stoned a few times. It didn't make a big difference in his performance. Today's shift seemed to be dragging on extra slowly, like it knew he had been caught that morning just about to ease the pain of it.

The weirdest part about working a retail position was that customers assumed you were an expert, like because you worked for $1.15 an hour in a shop that sold over-the-counter medications next to the candies, you knew what you were talking about.

"Now on this one," the customer began, "the active ingredients are…" and he laboriously sounded out the scientific terms, "and this one…" again with the science. He was an older fellow, gray haired where he had any hair left, with Coke-bottle glasses and liver spots on his hands.

Alex let the words buzz around him. The trouble was that those scientific terms needed someone like Hank to translate them—but Hank, with his qualifications and giant juicy nerd-brain, would not be working for minimum wage.

"…which would you recommend?" the man concluded.

He would recommend not needing hemorrhoid cream.

Alex had learned not to snicker when asked questions like that, but it remained very much not his forte. He could recommend acne washes to pimply geeks—he even bought one for Scott once, during a particularly bad few weeks, which remained secret because Scott was too embarrassed to claim Alex was teasing him. (He wasn't.)

Hemorrhoids? Alex was twenty-three years old. All he knew about hemorrhoids was they happened to your butt. Or possibly your gear, he wasn't sure, no one really talked about these things.

"Uh, this one seems popular," he offered, indicating the yellow tube.

He had no idea. The other one was a sickly green color and you wanted something bright and cheery, didn't you? When you had butt problems? (He really hoped he died before he got old.)

The customer thanked him and counted out exact change.

Alex visibly exhaled after he left.

It wasn't that he hated the customers. Actually, that one had been downright friendly, if a little misguided. He just did not know what to tell them.

At the end of the day, he was all too happy to take off his stupid hat and head for the door. There was that delightful stash in his glove box and he really needed it right about now.

"Summers! Where are you going?"

He paused and took a breath before turning to look at his boss. The man had not said anything aggravating yet, but Alex knew he would. He had heard enough aggravating things from this man that just the sound of his voice grated.

"Goin' home," Alex replied. "My shift's over."

"Not yet," his boss said. He held out a broom.

"It's been eight hours," Alex pointed out.

"So? I thought you were saving up for school. You ought to be grateful the extra hours. Stop complaining and sweep up before I fire your sorry ass."

Alex might have quit then and there. He had such moments nearly every day he worked here, moments he was on the verge of quitting. He didn't, today, because he remembered the hemorrhoid man from earlier and bit his lip to keep from laughing. I'm not the one with the sorry ass, man…

By the time Alex made it home, he was in a foul mood. He sat in the garage for a few minutes. After a while he reached over and pulled his weed out of the glove box. It was just to make him feel a little better. It took the edge off the day. Still, a part of him felt rebellious as he did.

Okay now, right, Dad?

He had put in more than too many hours at his stupid, pointless, bullshit job. He wasn't really mad at Chris, either—just needed a few minutes to calm down before he could go help him with the ship.

Fixing a ship was in some ways similar to fixing a car, in other ways totally different. Alex understood that this particular type of ship was new to Chris, too, so they were exploring it together. Still… it was just different. Alex could rebuild a diesel or gas engine, but the way this ship was designed, it didn't have one power source but a constant resupply from its body.

He wondered what Chris would tell him today, what new thing he might have discovered about the craft. Alex himself had noted a few important things… but mostly he was learning. That was okay with him. Just being with his dad was great.

They talked while they worked. Talked about things, about life. About Sean and before. And Chris hadn't once given up on him or seemed mad or called him a loser.

Alex wondered what Chris would say about what happened at work today. Maybe he would think Alex should just do as his boss asked. Maybe he would say earning money for his education was important.

The truth was, and Alex knew this, he hadn't taken the job because he needed a way to pay for school. He had taken the job because he didn't want Charles to offer him for money for school—which Charles had done anyway, and Alex had accepted and earned less than fantastic grades, but that was after Sean.

Before, he had been doing better than ever…

"Alex? Time for dinner."

Alex startled awake. He was in the front seat of his car, halfway conscious. His mouth felt dry and sticky—dehydrated saliva, like the trickle on his chin. Alex wiped that away and stretched. "Shit, already?"

"You fell asleep," Ororo observed.

"I wasn't asleep."

"You looked asleep."

"Wasn't asleep, gnat. I was fooling you. Worked," he added, giving one of her braids a tug as he went past.

"Hey!"

Alex laughed and let Ororo shove him.

The idea of dinner sounded excellent. (Really, the idea of cookies sounded excellent, but dinner would be good, too.) Alex took his usual spot, noting the continued absence of Chris.

Suddenly that joint seemed like it had been a really bad idea. The calming down, chilling out half-hour (hour?) in the garage had been nice, but it cost him his time working with his dad. Alex sighed. He had a place with dad… now if only his dad could have a place here!

"Everything okay, Alex?"

He loved how Ruth said 'okay'. She sounded utterly unnatural saying it—it was adorable.

Alex pushed a half-chewed mouthful of noodles into his cheek. He didn't want to think what Ruth and Charles had spent the day doing, but a one-pot dinner always meant Ruth had been distracted.

"Yeah, I just—I was thinking," it was a bad idea and Alex knew that, but when had that stoppered his big mouth? "I was wondering when my dad was gonna be off the shitlist."

"Alex," Charles said.

Alex knew what Charles meant: don't swear. He had not needed to say 'shitlist', there were better ways to express that, and so forth. Set an example. All the greatest hits on one record! Drop the needle and let the good times roll!

"You kicked him out of the house!" Alex objected. He did not care to be told off. Yes, he had sworn at the table and that was wrong—somehow. Wasn't refusing to acknowledge someone's family worse?

Alex had suspected since the first night Chris was absent. Charles confirmed it by glancing at Scott, Scott by looking away.

"Chrissakes! I knew it!"

"Alex, can we discuss this later?" Charles asked. There was an edge to his voice, a request and a warning.

The right answer, Alex knew, was yes.

The only person still eating was Ororo. She was pointedly calm and collected throughout. Hank looked like he was trying to disappear; Ruth observant, calculating; and Scott, who was utterly responsible for this, looked desperate.

"He didn't do anything," Alex said. "Scott's having bad dreams again and you can't help him so you're taking it out on Chris! It's not fair, Charles, and you know that."

Charles looked between Alex and Scott, back to Alex, and began, "It's more complicated—"

"It's not."

Charles opened his mouth, but it was Scott who answered.

"Dad, please."

Alex wasn't sure what it was: the stress in Scott's voice, Scott calling Charles that, or just… Scott. Just his stupid, useless brother, who he wanted to hate but he loved too much. But something made the fury in Alex switch on.

He did his best.

As he left the room, he didn't hurl his plate at the wall.