Thanks to hippiechick2112 and feathered moon wings for reviewing!

Hank didn't seem to speak to anyone anymore, but, by his standards, he was doing quite well. His appearance needed to be hidden during the day with the construction crew here so it was simply easier to sleep, set an alarm just before dinnertime, and spend the nights working.

Construction was completed on Cerebro's new home.

Once the outward construction was complete, Hank began amending the concrete sphere. The panels he had designed helped both with the radio waves' amplification and with the lighting. Much more productive than the harsh concrete and bare bulbs!

Of course that only set the stage for Cerebro itself. Never had Hank appreciated his gifts more than when he was crawling across those curved walls, threading them with wires.

And he did this all at night. It made no difference in the echoing chasm. Hank set another alarm clock to tell him when seven o'clock a.m. rolled around, giving himself ample time to clear out. Construction continued on the bunker.

Today he did not need an alarm. He dropped to the floor and looked around, an expression of absolute pride on his face. Not that you would know, not unless you were Hank, but it was finished.

He hurled himself up the stairs like a ball and bounced from wall to wall, easily the most enjoyable way to get around the mansion. He checked the study first and found it empty.

"Charles!"

He was in his bedroom, the next obvious place to look, and Hank was at first too excited to think about anything else:

"It's finished!" he announced.

This was the first time Hank really talked to anyone in about a week. Even when he sat at the table with the rest of them, no one talked to him anymore, realizing he was wrapped up in his own thoughts and projects and equations. Being very, very clever was a lonely endeavor.

"Cerebro—it's finished—it's been moved to the basement and the wiring is—"

Hank abruptly cut himself off.

It was a challenge, really, paying attention to trivialities. The world went on around him and Hank had just built the ability to amplify the most powerful brain on the planet (which, stingingly enough, was not in his head but someone else's but proximity was a factor)!

Charles was giving him a less than appreciative sideways look. It was quite literally a sideways look: Charles was still in bed.

"What time is it?" Hank realized.

Charles fumbled for his alarm clock and squinted at the numbers. "Three thirty."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

Hank noticed his surroundings, but thought little about them. Now he grasped the implications of the second form in the bed. Ruth was asleep, but nonetheless.

"Ah."

"Good morning, Hank."

That ostensibly polite phrase was used, in this context, to convey something quite different. Busting into someone else's bedroom wasn't exactly polite now was it?

Looking away, Hank explained more calmly, "I finished Cerebro."

"Yes, so I gathered."

"It's ready to be used."

"Yes."

He understood the rebuke, but was a bit incredulous nonetheless: "You really don't want to try it out?"

Charles gave Hank the sort of withering look he used to keep the kids quiet—well, to keep Scott quiet, Ororo was less susceptible to such things.

Then he admitted, "I want to try it."

"I knew you would."

Hank waited about three seconds, which was long enough to feel impatient.

"Hank."

"Yes."

"I'm not going like this."

"Wha—oh!"

Ruth began to laugh so hard the bed shook.

"I knew you were awake," Charles grumbled at her.

Ruth just kept laughing. While he waited outside, Hank heard her continue to snicker.

When Charles emerged from the bedroom, Hank concluded that even he was excited about Cerebro. Otherwise he would have taken the time for more than pajamas and a dressing gown.

They were halfway to Cerebro before Hank scraped up the courage to say, "I'm, uh, sorry for… not knocking."

Charles chuckled.

Not knocking really had been the least of it, hadn't it? Bursting into someone's bedroom at three-thirty in the morning wouldn't really have been improved that significantly by knocking.

"That's all right, Hank." A few moments later he observed, "We don't talk much anymore."

"Did we ever?"

Hank asked it innocently, but he had a point. There had been a brief period where he was Charles's chief confidante.

After the first group, after Erik, Hank was the one who stayed because he had nowhere else to go, but Charles wasn't keen on chatting with anyone. Hank had cautiously suggested Charles pick himself up and Charles had responded so vehemently opposed that after the second time, Hank dropped the idea entirely.

It changed after Scott arrived, but even then, Hank hadn't thrown himself into the idea of the school. He liked the idea—he just didn't like the idea of people seeing him. (He never told Charles that having Hank and Laurie work together was outright cruel. It was supposed to help Laurie adjust, see that Hank wasn't a monster, but his appearance always unsettled her.)

So Ruth was and had been Charles's second. She was more involved with the school and the students, and she had no trouble telling Charles when he was being an idiot. She was all but his wife at this point.

Hank didn't mind his limbo-esque state, but he wouldn't pretend it was otherwise.

"Well. Perhaps we should have," Charles replied. "You're my friend. You know that, don't you?"

Hank fiddled with his glasses. "That's an… odd thing to say."

"But you do know."

"Well, I am a genius."

"An insufferable genius."

"Still a genius."

Either Charles had no retort or accepted that they were now at the open door to Cerebro.

"It's keyed to my handprint," Hank said, "but I've thought that we might… well… we could key it to retinal scans, that's… doable, but…"

"Yes, that should be sufficient, I think," Charles replied.

Hank didn't state outright what he meant. They both knew. The problem with any sort of physical proof was that it meant Raven could access Cerebro—but what would Raven do with it? She wasn't psychic. Hank didn't want to give her that opportunity, but he knew Charles still loved her.

Besides, as they stepped into Cerebro, he stopped thinking about that. Even the air felt different in here, the sound altered by the shape of the room, making it that much more impressive.

"Hank… this is amazing."

Hank was pleased to hear it. Nonetheless: "Wait until you try it."

Charles nodded. He approached the headpiece slowly and, from the way he lifted it, seemed to be discovering it for the first time. He set it on his head, leaving his uncombed hair to splash out in every direction, then took a deep breath.

The lights went out.

"Hank?"

A soft glow started.

"That's the emergency lighting," Hank observed.

"So it is."

"I think I overestimated the power supply."

"It would appear so. Still, for a first try, it's phenomenal."

That didn't make him feel better.

"I'll check the generator," Hank said, already planning how he would improve Cerebro's power supply.

Others in the house waited until a much more reasonable hour to wake up. When Alex rolled out of bed at 10:30, the sun was up and bright. He wandered through the kitchen, decided he didn't have the patience for toast, and grabbed a piece of bread to eat as he headed to the ship on the front lawn.

Ororo was already there, sitting on the wing, her legs dangling over the side.

"Hey gnat," Alex said, grabbing a bare foot and tugging.

"You're not funny," she informed him, yanking her foot back.

"That's hurtful."

"You're not."

"I'm telling Charles you said that."

Ororo stuck out her tongue.

Alex laughed and headed into the ship. "Morning, Dad."

Chris was on his back, his head under the dashboard. Well, Alex thought of it as the dashboard, it was where the steering was and the spaceship version of an ignition switch.

"Rosary pliers."

Alex was used to this. He located the pliers and set them in his father's outstretched hand.

"Are you okay?"

"I think if I can just… get… this one… aha! Golden once this is patched up."

"Yeah—that's great, Dad," Alex said. His heart wasn't in it. He had a hard time being thrilled about the idea of Chris being ready to go. Besides, "That's not what I meant."

"Wouldn't think a puddle-jumper would be this difficult to maintain," Chris replied. "Been a mechanic since before I was your age, alien mechanic for more cycles than I can count. This… best I can do is solder her up and hope she holds."

"Huh."

"The Starjammer—my ship—she's got her eccentricities, personality if you like, but she's a logical creature. Well-designed."

"I'm not staying here if you do this."

Chris paused. Alex heard him tinkering around with the dash, then he inched out until he could sit up.

"If I do what?" he asked.

"This!" Alex said, thinking it should be obvious. "Shutting me out. I was there yesterday. Remember?"

Chris considered that a moment, pushed his hair out of his eyes, and said, "I didn't think you liked being in the middle of it."

"I don't, but I don't like being outside of everything, either."

Alex didn't want there to be a middle at all, but since there was one, he accepted being in it. He didn't know what was going on between Chris and Scott. He knew Scott was scared, though, and when it came right down to it he didn't care why.

But he had offered to stay with Scott yesterday because it made him feel safer. If he had to do that, if he was in a position to protect his brother from their dad, he was damn sure not going to be shut out.

After a pause, Chris asked, "What happened to that boy?"

"I don't know."

He didn't, not in detail, but Alex had seen the scars. Some of them, anyway. He knew more than he let on.

"Scott was such a sweet child."

"Oh, okay, puberty happened," Alex joked. It wasn't funny, but he needed something to say.

"You were both monsters at first," Chris said. "When your mother was pregnant with you, she could barely get out of bed. We thought you would be sickly. Looking back, I think you were bored. You took your sweet time getting out of there—"

"Dad!"

"I meant her womb, son."

Alex was still squirming from the misunderstanding. That wasn't a great improvement, anyway.

"And Scott cried nonstop for three months. I don't think I could have managed it without her."

"That's how babies work, Dad, you need a woman to—"

"All right, Alex, you've made your point."

"Are you sure? I can keep going."

"Please don't."

"So, Scott was a crybaby, huh?"

Chris sighed. "That's… not how I meant it, but yes, I supposed. He was an angel after that. Affectionate, bright… preferred your mother, though. Yes," he preempted Alex's smart-aleck comment, "he was a mama's boy. I think she proved herself those first three months. He didn't dislike me, though, not like this.

"Anyway, your mom had Scott and I had you. You were a fun kid. Right from the start, you were fun. Threw yourself into everything. You were always an easy kid because you just wanted to have fun. I made mistakes with you, but I made more with Scott. Whatever happens, I'm always your dad."

Alex nodded, not totally understanding. Why was Chris even mentioning this? He had asked if Chris was okay… and Alex realized that this was Chris's way of answering. He wasn't sure.

"Maybe I could've been a better one."

"Dad, it's not your fault." Alex's response was automatic.

Chris shook his head. "It's okay, Alex. Part of being a man is learning to live with regret."