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Perhaps worse than asking for help was asking for a ride, and for Charles those two went hand-in-hand. "I'm afraid I'm going to need your help with getting into the car…" It was the sort of thing he might have learned in physical therapy, had he bothered with it, or through practice had be bothered to do that. Instead Charles had all but refused to leave the mansion.

One might have said he shot himself in the foot, but the expression was rather moot for a paraplegic.

Nevertheless, after a moment, Chris nodded. "It's been a while since I was behind the wheel of something without a life support system."

"Well, it has a radio."

"You know I don't have a license."

Charles waved it off, so they headed into town. The first thing Chris managed was to lurch the car onto the lawn. Luckily it was level to the drive and he corrected course, and as long as he kept it below twenty-five he could control the clunker.

It didn't matter how nice a car was. It wasn't exactly a spaceship, now, was it?

After a few minutes' awkward silence, Chris ventured, "You and Ruth all right?"

It was an invasive question, but they had clearly been fighting. That much was obvious to Chris, which meant it had definitely been obvious to the kids.

Charles nodded. "What did you and Katherine fight about?"

"We didn't. Things were different in the '30s. We probably should have, but…" He trailed off, but his expression said enough. Though they never fought, there were dark times for Chris and Katherine. Charles had seen hints of them when he read Chris's mind, and in Scott's memories.

Personally, he thought, Katherine should have fought with Chris a good deal more. Charles remembered how Katherine reacted when she saw what Chris had done to Scott. Yes, her first priority was keeping the boys safe, and she did threaten to leave him, but she hadn't.

Then again, he couldn't imagine a single mother in those days. His own mother remarried with that as part of the reason and they had significant financial resources. For a poor woman…

"How was the theater?" Charles asked, changing the subject. He hadn't heard much about the James Bond movies. Given the expressions on the kids' faces, there had been something inappropriate about them, but he didn't ask. They were old enough for 'inappropriate'.

"Fine. Interesting movies—I can see why they're coming out with a third."

"You and Scott… things are okay?"

Things had improved ever since Ororo pushed Scott to talk to Chris. Scott and Chris were not exactly close, but Charles had watched them quite carefully. Scott could sit through a meal at the same table as Chris without losing his temper or becoming upset.

It was the only reason he was comfortable with Chris supervising the James Bond mini-marathon.

Chris nodded. "He's tolerating me."

Had he not been telepathic, Charles might have thought Chris accepted that. He certainly stated it easily enough—but that was simply what he said, and Charles felt how much that hurt. He even felt some of his own sympathy for it.

"How did you get him to trust you?"

Charles sighed. There were good and bad ways to say this.

"I showed him that he mattered. At the time, I had a relationship with another woman, an agent with the CIA—the Central Intelligence Agency," he explained. He wasn't sure when Chris and Katherine disappeared, but it must have been before the CIA was formed in 1947. "It's an intelligence agency, spies."

"You were involved with a spy?" Chris asked.

"Two spies," Charles corrected. "Although not at the same time."

Ruth rarely offered the details of her military history and Charles's understanding was that much of it was classified, but she was definitely part spy.

"When Moira—the woman I knew, Moira—she and several others in the police force felt that Scott was a danger. She was an ethical woman and I was afraid her ethics would lead her to conclude that leaving the powerhouse with the cripple was problematic. So I erased her memory of him. And because she might both be in danger and be compelled to provide information about us, I erased her memory of me."

"That's a lot to give up."

"It didn't seem so, at the time."

Charles supposed if it had been longer… but the time he had with Moira and Erik was a matter of weeks. He missed his legs and he missed Raven, but all he had with Moira was the beginning of a potential something. At the time it had seemed significant, but in retrospect, minimal at best.

"Powerhouse, huh?"

"Oh, yes," Charles said. "It can be difficult to see sometimes, they're so young, but Scott and Ororo are very powerful. What's both fascinating and frightening about Scott is that his ability is a continuous, unexplained power. Ororo works in harmony with nature. She can influence it, harness any power of wind or rain, but there are limits. Scott… it's his own power."

"I didn't realize."

"Well, he's…"

"I haven't proved myself."

"Not yet," Charles acknowledged. Scott's loyalties were not lightly won. "Part of the reason I ask is that Ruth and I… could benefit from time to ourselves. Hank and Alex I can at least trust on their own for an evening, but Scott and Ororo are young enough to need some supervision. Not a lot, they're largely independent."

"You're asking me to babysit," Chris summarized.

"In essence."

It really was quite simple. They mostly looked after themselves and one another, and had shown themselves to be more than capable in an emergency. If Scott had another nightmare, Alex and Ororo would be there. Really Chris's role would be breaking up any fights that should occur.

When they reached town, Chris helped Charles out of the car—neither of them was thrilled with that—and they parted ways. Chris, not knowing much else, planned to find his son and have a chat with Alex.

Charles did the same.

The library was one of the few places in town he could access. Too many had a stoop, or a few steps, or simply lacked the ramp he needed to access them. Charles realized that if he meant to truly live in this town, he would need to do something about that.

Luckily he had the resources to follow up on it. Charles knew it was possible. A few generations back, one of his ancestors paid for about half of a museum; Charles was still a member of the board of directors, officially. A ramp wouldn't be tough to pay for.

He made his way into the library. It was sleepy. He noticed a couple of older individuals browsing the periodicals and the librarian behind the desk. Because he wasn't sure where to look for Scott, Charles approached the librarian.

"Good afternoon," he began, "I'm not sure you remember me, I'm—"

"Charles Xavier," the librarian interrupted. "Of course I remember you, Charles. I had never seen late fees so high before. Nor have I seen any since."

He laughed. "I was young and reckless."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes you were. And I'm glad you're here. Please wait a moment."

Charles waited while Mae disappeared into the back office. When she returned, she handed him a manila envelope. It was surprisingly heavy.

"Scott has been here forty hours a week and then some. That is far past the point of a volunteer."

Not that he disagreed, but Charles had to ask, "And this is…?"

"Wages. He won't accept it, but I trust you will."

Charles considered for a moment, then nodded. Scott was at the library every day and going from what he recounted in the evenings, he was quite involved. He had spent a week checking over the card catalog, something even Scott considered tedious.

He didn't ask how much was in the envelope, just slipped it into his bag. He had dug out his battered leather messenger bag that saw him through college and post-graduate studies, deciding it was necessary.

"He loves coming here."

"It's been wonderful having him," Mae replied. "You're very lucky."

To his surprise, she clearly meant that. It wasn't what people usually thought of a man in a wheelchair, lucky.

"Thank you."

Scott stepped out a few moments later. He started to smile when he saw Charles, but his expression quickly shifted to one of worry.

"Is something wrong?" Scott asked. "What happened?"

"No, it's nothing like that—I just came to see you."

Scott was puzzled. "Oh."

"I was—"

"I mean, that's—it's just a surprise. It's a nice surprise."

"Shall we take a walk?" Charles suggested, aware that this was awkward for Scott and hoping a bit of space might help.

Scott looked between Charles and Mae. "Is that…?"

"Of course," Mae said. "Go ahead."

As they headed away from the library, Charles said, "Mae seems quite fond of you."

"Mae's great. She's a great librarian, a great person. Did you know she's a grandmother?"

"I… suppose I knew she had children," he said, though he hadn't been. Charles had not been as involved with the library as Scott was; he was always more at home in a laboratory. Because it was nearly August, with precisely the sort of weather one would expect, Charles asked, "Do you want to get ice cream? That's a few blocks."

Scott shook his head. "Stairs."

Charles swallowed the urge to swear. That was rather inconvenient.

"There's the diner."

"The diner?"

"On Third. Milkshakes."

"Of course. I was just considering that myself."

Scott didn't say anything, but he shook his head.

"All right, I hadn't thought of it—I would have."

"Of course."

It was Charles's turn to shake his head, but they both laughed.

"I'm sorry I was so uncomfortable when you arrived. I just—thought something must have happened. Alex had done something, or Ororo."

Difficult assumptions to argue with. Generally Charles would say that Alex and Ororo were capable of looking after themselves, but that had often been untrue of Alex and Ororo had only just had the cast taken off.

"Everything's fine."

Scott nodded. "I know that now."

"And I wanted to talk to you," Charles acknowledged. Ulterior motive, but not too nefarious. They could talk at home, but there was always the risk of interruption.

They reached the diner and Scott held the door.

"Thank you."

He shifted a chair to another table. It was a mix of thoughtful and embarrassing, making Charles feel like a terrible inconvenience. He could not help but feel he had been right to keep to his own home. Scott didn't look at him differently, though.

Charles was an expert of recognizing those looks.

"What did you want to talk about?" Scott asked when they were settled. "Chris?"

"Well—yes. You two seem to be getting along better."

Scott nodded. "It's not easy. I—"

He stopped when a waitress stopped by their table. Charles watched Scott interact with her, even the briefness of ordering a milkshake was awkward. His first thought was that Scott still struggled to speak to new people.

Then he realized Scott wasn't shy because the waitress was a stranger. Nor was it because she was a townie. He thought she was cute!

When she had walked away, Scott cleared his throat and began again, "It's easier to see him as a person, but there's a… there are questions. I know he thought Alex and I died, but still, he could have come back." He shrugged and rattled off the last like it had not really mattered, "I needed him and he wasn't there."

"That's going to be very difficult to accept until you can speak to your father about it."

Scott nodded. "I don't know how I could," he said, "and he's not here much longer."

That was something Charles knew. Chris planned to meet his brothers in arms. Once his ship was fixed, he would be leaving Earth, possibly forever. None of them had discussed the possibility of Alex leaving with him.

"I know how this has weighed on you," Charles said, "and I'm proud of you for the way you've handled it." Seeing the incredulity in response, he added, "You lost your temper a few times, maybe more than a few, but you've also kept up with your studies, looked out for your siblings, not to mention your first job!"

"I'm just a volunteer," Scott objected.

"A 40-hour-a-week volunteer," Charles replied, "that's more than just volunteering. That's quite a commitment to keep."

"Well… thank you."

"Though I don't suppose I could convince you to tell me what you and Ororo have been up to," he said, only half joking.

Scott smiled and shook his head. "Don't think so."

Charles had suspected that. He took something out of his bag and offered two books to Scott. Hesitant, Scott took them.

"These are new," he observed.

"Yes, silly of me to overlook that," Charles replied dryly. The bookstore had been a rather frustrating endeavor. The wooden stairs were quaint, but resulted in his asking the woman working there to show him some of the newer books, then handing her cash for a short-distance transaction.

Still, here was the end and he had the books. Both were meant for younger audiences, one a picture book, but they were the sorts of things Scott often read. Charles had seen Island of the Blue Dolphins come home several times.

Scott opened the picture book first.

The story began, The night Max wore his wolf suit…

Scott was often closed off. He seemed suddenly very young, undefended just enjoying the story.

He laughed. "I think this is about my brother!"

Not literally, of course, but Charles saw the similarities between the rampaging little boy in his wolf pajamas and the havoc that was… Havok.

As Scott read, Charles realized he was missing possibly the highlight of the book.

"May I see that, Scott?"

He returned the book.

Charles returned to the first page. "Close your eyes, please."

Scott looked puzzled, but he obeyed. And Charles began, silently, to read. To anyone else they would have looked strange sitting there in silence, but Charles wasn't concerned. He read, projecting the illustrations into Scott's mind—giving him the chance to see Max's monster party in every color on the page.