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Chris lies in bed and listens to footsteps and whimpers.

He has to admit there are advantages to being an officer. Sure he's seen 18-year-olds glowering like they want to punch his lights out, sure he knows they do, but he can support his wife and child, and lives in a little house with his family rather than the barracks. He wouldn't trade anything for that.

Usually.

Except on nights like this.

He rolls over and pulls the pillow over his head.

Katherine pads up and down the hallway. She sings a song, the melody just reaching him, something he has heard before in church. He can't place it. He's too tired.

"For God's sake!"

The shushing noises increase in intensity. Her footsteps grow more distant. She's in the living room now, pacing, still singing. The baby still crying.

He does, often. It's the fourth night in a row.

Chris squeezes his eyes shut, which doesn't help. Grits his teeth, which doesn't help. Hates his son in those horrible moments, which fills him with shame but it's no use because shame can't put him to sleep.

Nights like this he lies alone in the cold bed with nothing but that truth: he does not love his son. And just as he begins to drift off, the baby starts to scream.

"Dammit, Katherine!"

Chris throws off the covers. Barely registers going from the bedroom to the living room, barely registers the words coming out of his mouth: "Can't you shut him up?"

She doesn't have to answer. No, she can't. She's exhausted. Her eyes are a rainbow of ache, gray-smudged and red-rimmed. It's not only the baby who's crying.

"I, uh… I'll just go back to bed," he says.

"Can I go to the library?"

"You want to go to the library?"

"I could want to go to the library."

Charles responded to this with a look: you know and I know that's not the case.

Ororo sighed and amended, "Can I go to the library and walk home with Scott, please."

Charles relented, understanding now. He asked anyway, "Have you done your reading?"

Her expression of utter distaste was answer enough. Scott had warned her that Little Women might not be of interest, but he also suggested Dracula, so she had picked up Little Women to spite him.

To his defense, Scott had been right about Little Women. Ororo did not care for it.

Nevertheless she had done her reading, albeit with several pauses to check the clock. That half-hour she spent reading was the longest of her day. She was sure that, if she just read enough, this one summer would last until the turned eighteen. Maybe until Scott turned eighteen.

"Then you may go."

"Thanks!"

The walk to the library was uneventful, a leisurely stroll down a sleepy country lane. It reminded her of the desert—not because it was anything like the desert, because it was different.

She had not liked the desert, but she felt she belonged in it. It had been harsh and dry, and perhaps her feeling of belonging was due to her childhood in Cairo or her growing powers. But if it was her powers, shouldn't she feel even better here, with more control?

Whatever it was, she preferred the desert to the lane but she preferred the lane to town. She preferred nature to people.

To most people.

She hopped up the library steps. There was no one at the desk, so she slipped soundlessly to the back, not making a single sound. In Cairo she had been a master thief, better at ten than most adults at adult-age. (Twenty had seen downright archaic back then.)

With nothing here she would steal, she stole herself, slipping secret and silent until she spotted her prey.

Scott had a rickety-looking wooden cart beside him. It had a few books on it. Ororo watched as he picked up a book, checked the sticker on the side, scanned the shelf, and returned the book. Then he did the same thing. And again.

She watched him until her calves started cramping from sheer boredom, then she crept up almost next to him and said, "Boo."

"Hi, Ororo."

"You didn't jump," she pouted at him. He was supposed to be scared.

"'Cause I knew you were there."

How dare he. How dare he suggest she was anything but the picture of stealth? It was an affront to her pride and not to be endured.

With fitting eloquence, Ororo objected, "Did not!"

Scott chuckled. "Okay, then 'cause I have nerves of steel."

"I can scare guys who have nerves of steel."

"Then I have nerves of adamantium."

"Adawhatnow?"

"You know. Adamantium. Hank was talking about it the other day, it's an alloy only so far theorized to be replicable by
human endeavors—"

"Okay, okay! Stop… being a teacher."

Scott slipped the last book onto its shelf and promised, "I'm done being a teacher. You ready to head home?"

"I only came here to—" Ororo began, then cut herself off. She only came out to head home. She had known that, but saying it out loud made it that much more real that the only time she went out was so she could go back home. "Yes," she amended.

Scott pushed the cart back to the circulation desk, where Mae was tidying up.

"Everything's shelved, Mae. We're running out of space on the 930s with all those new books."

"Good," she said. "There's no such thing as too many books. Hello, Ororo. How are you enjoying Kon-Tiki?"

"It's…" Ororo glanced at Scott. There was still a competitive element, that she didn't want to admit to really enjoying any book whatsoever because she liked math thank-you-very-much and not reading. All the same, he had been having such a hard time lately.

Besides, Mae had remembered the book. Ororo had to admit, "Probably my favorite book I've ever read. I like how he talks about all the preparations and everything; they just got to the pineapple bit."

Mae smiled at her. "I liked that line, too."

"What if I can't finish it before it's due back?"

"Scott will bring renew it. Won't you?" she added, turning to Scott.

He looked briefly surprised to be drawn into the conversation, then nodded. "Yes, of course I will. Is there anything else I can do today?"

"That's everything done. Thank you."

Scott shrugged and dipped his head, mumbling something like 'you're welcome'.

He paused outside to unlock his bike chain. As he did, three boys sauntered over. They looked to be around his age, maybe a year or two older. One of them was trying to grow a mustache and failing.

Scott ignored them, but Ororo glanced over. This was news to her.

"Hey, freakazoid." The leader was not the mustache-failure. He was the one with chicken pox scars on his face, the sort of boy you looked at and just knew was making up for how much people teased him.

Scott didn't reply. He unlocked his bicycle and stowed the chain steadily, and because he didn't respond, the boy kept pestering him.

"Hey, you eat any bugs today? How many bugs? Give me a number and I'll leave you alone for a week. Come on," he called as Scott started to walk away, "don't be such a sore sport!"

Ororo walked with Scott, observing the whole thing with interest.

"They upset you," she observed.

Scott shrugged. "They don't matter."

"You could take 'em. All you have to do is show them just one time that you're stronger."

He shook his head.

Ororo didn't understand that. She didn't understand why Scott let those boys bother him, which they had clearly been doing for a while, when he was smarter, stronger, and easily the second-best krav maga user in this county. Ruth was the best, but Ororo had seen Scott throw Hank. With his strength and reflexes, that wasn't nothing!

More than that… "You have to stand up for yourself some time, Scott. You shouldn't let everyone tease you."

"You tease me."

"I'm allowed to."

"Okay, Princess. Wait here."

Scott left his bicycle with Ororo and headed into the gas station. He returned a minute later with a cellophane package, which he tore open with his teeth. He handed her a yellowish spongy sort of thing.

"What's this?"

"A Twinkie."

She held it between two fingers. It was a bit sticky. The top looked more appetizing than the bottom, giving it a distinctly assembled look.

"There's cream on the inside," Scott said.

Ororo raised an eyebrow. "So it's basically sausage shaped with cream in it? Enjoy your penis cake."

She had intentionally waited until he was mid-bite to say this. Scott's expression registered the distaste at her comment, but he chewed and swallowed anyway.

"See what I mean about you teasing me?"

She took an intentionally feral bite of Twinkie. It plunked sugar onto her tongue and around her mouth, cloying enough that she wanted a drink of water. It wasn't bad, precisely, though.

"It's not my favorite," she said.

"Plenty more junk food to try."

"Maybe I just don't like junk food."

"Everyone likes junk food. We just need to find you the right one."

"Why? Why can't you just like good food?"

"Junk food is safer."

She didn't understand, but decided that was probably a Scott thing.

They finished their Twinkies in silence. Scott folded the wrapper and slipped it into his pocket. It was a noisy act, by necessity.

"Are you going to keep sulking today?" she asked.

"I'm not sulking."

"Yes, you are. You stay in your room all the time." He didn't get grounded for missing dinner, she noted, although this seemed a less than tactful time to point that out. "You haven't talk to your back-up dad," she added, more softly.

Scott nodded.

"You promised me."

"I know, but—"

"You owe me."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, I know."

If anything, she owed him. He had come with her into the wine cave, and he didn't tell for a lot of things that would get her in trouble.

When they reached the gate, Scott paused to pick up the mail. He looked through the letters quickly.

"Who would send you mail?" she wondered.

It was not meant as a mean question. Everyone Scott had any interest in knowing was right here in the mansion. She knew Hank sent away for things sometimes, mostly some science piece or another that he tried to explain but was past college-level and she didn't understand.

He shrugged.

"I'll take the mail," Ororo offered.

Scott handed it over, which only confirmed her suspicions that he was waiting for a letter.

"Do you have a secret girlfriend?"

"Secret girlfriend?" he repeated, amused.

"You're out every day. How would any of us know what you're up to?"

He shook his head. "I go to the library. No secret girlfriend."

"And that morning you went out and nobody knew where…"

"That's not true, Hank knew."

"You could have a secret girlfriend. You could just have a regular girlfriend. Maybe you'll find a redhead, then she would look normal to you!"

Scott laughed at that one. "Everyone's a redhead to me, remember?" He was used to the way the world looked with his glasses, but they were a fact he could never forget. His eyes were permanently destructive; that was something he couldn't afford to ignore for even a second.

"Exactly. That's why you need to date a redhead, so you can see her the way she is."

"But I'd still—never mind," he said, shaking his head. "You're right. I should date a redhead."

She knew that tone. He was humoring her. Well, she was still right! (Okay, she was being silly and stubborn and even she knew it, but that was beside the point.)

By now they were almost to the ship. Scott reacted to the shift in Ororo's stance, but he wasn't quick enough to stop her calling out, "Hey, Mr. Summers!"

After a moment, Chris poked his head of out his ship. Ororo didn't think he was always working in there, but she didn't go asking what he did in his free time. He waved to her.

"Scott wants to talk to you," she announced. "I can take this!" in reference to the bicycle. Scott was too surprised to hold onto the handles, even as she balanced it awkwardly with one arm. Most things Ororo had adjusted to, but she rarely pushed Scott's bike.

He did not look like he wanted to talk to Chris. He looked defeated, eyes on the ground, shoulders hunched.

Ororo took the bike and hurried back to the mansion.