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Chris arrives home every night to the same greeting: "Daddy!" Babies can't run. Even babies who are really toddlers now, babies who walk and talk almost comprehensibly… cannot run. It's more of a fast-waddle.

Scott fast-waddles over, pauses two feet away, and holds up his arms. And how could anyone resist those eyes?

Chris picks him up. "What did you and Mommy do today?"

"Weeding."

"Reading? Ah, a change in the routine. Something different."

Toddlers don't understand sarcasm. It comes across as pure silliness and Scott giggles. "No, Daddy, like awways!"

"Like always, huh? Katherine!" Chris calls. It's not a particularly large house. Where is she hiding? He rounds the corner and nearly bumps into her. They regard one another, then both say it at the same time: "I have news."

Chris pauses and takes a longer look at her. Katherine's face has always been easy to read. When she is stressed, unhappy, it betrays her. There's something now, something that he can't read, but he sees he joy there as well. She looks happy—and incredibly sexy.

"You go ahead," she says.

"I've been offered a post. The money isn't much better," though it needn't be, they live comfortably, "but, Katherine, it's in Hawaii."

Chris has flown several trips to the island colony. The way he talks about it, anyone would want to move there. They keep a tiny bottle of black sand in the kitchen and Katherine has a cowrie shell bracelet—he thought back to a month ago when she smiled at him, the way she does, the shells on her bracelet and nothing more.

"Chris, that's wonderful! Congratulations! You must be—oh, I can't imagine how happy you must be."

He nods. "We're moving to Hawaii." Saying the words makes it real: finally, he can share with Katherine, with Scott, this world he has said so much about. His son, who has seen a winter so bad their bathroom roof collapsed under the snow, will see palm trees and feel sand between his toes.

Katherine hugs him. "That's great." The enthusiasm is more for Chris than for the move itself, but he can live with that. He would hear if she were unhappy.

"Did you hear that, baby?" Katherine asks Scott. "We're going to live in Hawaii."

Scott looks blank for a moment. Then, sensing what his mommy wants, he claps and cries, "Yaaaaay!" It's almost unfair how adorable his attempts at clapping are: fingers spread out as far as they'll go, puffy soft hands meeting too fast.

"Katherine, what did you want to tell me?"

"Well, I…" she begins, resting her hands on her stomach, then shakes her head. "It can wait."

"You're worrying me!" he says, reaching for her hand. "Katherine, what is it?"

"I…" She looks around. "I don't want to overshadow your big news. It can wait."

Overshadow the news? What could overshadow a move to Hawaii?

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course! Everything's wonderful, I'm just—well—there'll be a little more space in Hawaii, won't there?"

Chris has no idea. These aren't the concerns men have. It seems the right thing to say, though, so he assures her, "Of course, Katherine, if that's what you want."

"Chris, I…"

He looks at her: the too-bright eyes, the joy in her, the hands over her stomach.

"You're pregnant?"

She nods, laughs, and begins to cry.

For Chris, it's a first. He learned about Scott when he saw the very swollen belly on Katherine's broomstick form. He didn't get to hear like this and it astounds him. Inside his wife is another human being, a tiny little soon-to-be person. There's going to be a fresh new being in the world and Chris is the second person to learn about it—just after Katherine.

Scott looks between the two of them, shouts, "Yaaaay!" and offers another round of starfish-hand clapping.

Well—maybe Chris was the third!

Originally, Charles and Ruth planned to have their no-kid-interruptions-allowed date on a Saturday. Then they realized that was pointless. They didn't need to go out on the weekend when most adults else had jobs. So they opted for a Wednesday instead.

It was a weird Wednesday.

It was an unsurprisingly hot day. By the time Scott reached the mansion, he felt like he might melt into a puddle on the road. His hair was plastered to his head and his undershirt was soaked—he had learned the unpleasant way not to wear a decent shirt while riding his bike in July.

"Hey!" Ororo called. She waved from her perch on top of the ship.

Scott stopped his bike. He waved back. "Still haven't learned your lesson about that thing, have you?"

She stuck out her tongue.

"You're gonna break your arm again."

She shook her head. "Come up."

"You can't be serious."

"C'mon, it's fun—we'll do the thing."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "After more than a month without practicing?"

"We were good at it before. Well, I was good at it, you could have stood to loosen up."

He knew she wasn't saying that to be mean. It was an observation of something he needed to work on; matter-of-fact and simple as that. His moves were not exactly smooth.

"It'll be fun," she promised.

"I had fun once," Scott grumbled, hopping off his bike.

She giggled and held out a hand to help him climb onto the wing.

Inside the ship, Chris recalled another, similar conversation he had heard before Ororo broke her arm.

"This something I need to worry about?" he asked Alex.

Alex was currently examining the wires under the dash with a mastery of someone who had definitely never hotwired a car. Or a motorcycle, really where would you even get that idea?

He looked up at his dad. "What? Scott and Ororo?"

"Yes, if they're—well—you know your mother and I—"

"Yes, Dad! I know! Scott was an accident! Don't make me hear about this again! One, Scott's not having sex, not with anyone. I'm not sure he even knows what sex is. Two, Ororo's his sister, so he's definitely not having sex with her. The adoption meant a lot to him. And C, does that sound like sex to you?"

Chris had to admit, it didn't. Actually, it sounded more like someone walking in circles.

Inside the mansion, Hank had taken out what looked like a Campbell's soup can mimicry of a Polaroid camera. At the click of a button, it emitted a series of taps and a bright light.

"What have you built this time, Hank? And, may I add, how lovely to see you in the daytime."

"Thanks."

It was almost six, with late afternoon sunlight and no hint of twilight in the sky.

"It's a camera. Sort of, well, I haven't tested it yet—are you really not seeing this?"

"What?"

Charles looked where Hank indicated. Outside, Scott and Ororo were… apparently dancing on a spaceship. It was actually quite sweet and for a moment he simply observed.

Ruth joined them a moment later, asking, "What are we looking at? Ah."

Of course a moment later Hank wasn't looking at Scott and Ororo so much as Ruth, who apparently decided to pull out all the stops if they were going on a real date. He had seen her wear dresses before, but not the slinky black one. He didn't know she had a slinky back dress. Or that she did more than braid her hair or tie it in a ponytail. Or that she used makeup.

Ruth smiled. Enigmatic. "Compliment accepted, Mr. McCoy."

They waited until the kids came inside again. Both had the same surprised look at Ruth's suddenly very feminine appearance. She hugged them both, despite Scott's protest that did she want to do that when he was all sweaty, and told them to be good.

"And no fighting with your brother about pizza."

"He doesn't even like mushrooms," Scott said. "He said mushrooms because I don't like mushrooms."

"No pizza fighting."

Ororo asked, "What about other fighting?"

Ruth considered for a moment. "Use good judgment."

"No fighting," Charles amended.

"Only if you must."

"No fighting."

"Of course," Ruth agreed, with a conspiratorial wink.

Charles shook his head. "Don't burn the house down," he said.

"You never let us have any fun," Ororo joked, hugging him.

"I know."

When they left, Scott bolted upstairs. Ororo followed him to a room full of furniture covered in white sheets—the ghosts of furniture past. "Why don't we play here anymore?" she wondered.

"Because you always beat me at cards," Scott replied absently. He was at the window, watching the car peel down the driveway. Ruth always drove like she was on a racecourse.

Ororo toyed with a fold in one of the sheets. "They're coming home," she said.

"I know. Of course they are." Scott said it too quickly.

"Scott."

"I know."

She looked around the room. They used to play cards here, but now there was nothing fun. Unless they created it themselves.

"Scott?"

"Hm."

The car was out of sight now, but he stayed by the window, peering out at an uneventful, too-long afternoon.

"We were good at that dance."

"Yes, we did."

"Scott."

"Yes."

"It's just overnight."

"I know."

Ororo frowned. Scott still hadn't left the window.

"She shaved her legs."

"Huh?"

"She only shaves her legs when someone's gonna see them."

"Oh."

"Scott. Someone's gonna… see your mom's legs."

At first he simply nodded. She saw the moment the implication settled in. He turned to her, suddenly, open-mouthed in shock that she would even say something like that. "But… you… how could… she's your mom, too!"

Ororo stuck out her tongue, then turned and bolted from the room.

Scott took off after her.

That evening they ate pizza in the kitchen. Initially they were going to watch TV, but the only thing on was Andy Griffith and Scott found the show unsettling, so they relocated. There wasn't enough space for everyone to sit at the table, but Ororo claimed a spot on the counter and convinced Scott to join her (despite many expressions that suggested eye-rolling).

The conversation happened in fits and starts. They mentioned the construction on the mansion (nearly finished) and a rather brief conversation about Hard Day's Night (mostly Hank and Scott). Only once they had turned to the weather did all of them realize how desperate they were.

So for a while everyone ate in silence.

"It's weird that I have work tomorrow," Alex commented. "This feels like a party—the world's most boring party, but still."

"It just doesn't feel… Wednesday-y," Scott agreed.

"For you it's a wild party," Alex retorted.

Scott flipped him the bird.

"Okay, but who here can honestly say they've been to a party?"

"I've been to ritual ceremonies," Ororo offered. When the others looked at her, she shrugged. "The Maasai have a lot of rituals. That's who I lived with after I left Cairo," she explained to Chris.

"Did Maasai have weekends?" Alex asked.

"Not really," Ororo said. She wiped her greasy fingers on a paper napkin as she explained, "We had to get water every day and the boys watched the cows, so it wasn't anything you could just not do."

"Huh. Okay, well, I guess I'm glad to have weekends at all. Even if I can't have mushroom pizza," Alex said.

"You don't like mushroom pizza," Scott told him.

"I could learn to like it."

"I'm sorry to deny you the chance to grow as a person."

Alex nodded. "I accept your apology. I really do."

That night, Scott stayed awake, reading. He was fairly inconspicuous, really, a side effect of being himself in the same family as Alex and Ororo. All right, and he had chosen somewhere he was likeliest to be overlooked, on the sofa in front of the television. With the TV off, who expected to find anyone here?

Not that such things mattered.

After all, how could they?

The Two Towers had just begun—even knowing what came next, Scott was in another world reading these books—like it might be different now—like the Horn of Gondor was sounding just as it did when they left Rivendell—and—

"Scott?"

He looked up from the book suddenly, startling. "H-hi."

"What are you doing awake? It's almost midnight."

"Umm…" Scott looked from the book to the man he realized he had accepted as, if not his father, at least an authority figure.

He sighed, closed the book, and headed for bed.

Chris called after him, "Good night," but it was weird to hear and Scott wasn't sure how to answer.

So he brushed his teeth, changed into his pajamas, and laid down under the covers. It was really too hot for covers, but he felt too exposed without them. Not that this mattered. He wouldn't be sleeping, anyway.

He appreciated that Ororo had tried to keep his attention off the subject, but it didn't change the fact that Scott was anxious. He had flickers of it when he was at the library—awareness that everybody he loved was somewhere else, and anything could happen. But actually watching them drive away…

He rolled onto his side and curled around himself, starting to feel like he might be sick.

The door creaked open and shut again. The lack of footsteps told Scott who was in his room even before she crawled into bed next to him. No one else moved that silently.

"Finally. I didn't think you were gonna sleep."

"'M not asleep."

"I didn't mean sleep sleep. Can we talk?"

"Do I get a choice?"

"I can go."

"No, it's okay. Let's talk. What's going on?"

Ororo sighed.

After a while, Scott shifted to face her. They couldn't see each other in the dark, but the message wasn't lost.

"Is this about you telling Chris who I am?"

A sharp gasp, then, "How did you know that? It was ages ago."

"Because you knew what you were doing and you did it to hurt me, and if you weren't thinking about it all the time, you'd be a different kind of person."

"I wish I were a different kind of person. It's miserable to think about."

"Good."

"Shut up."

"You did something intentionally mean, you're supposed to feel bad for it."

Ororo sighed again. "How do I stop feeling bad, then?"

"You have to be a better person."

"How?"

The answer was soft, tiny words swallowed up by the darkness.

"By being braver than you are now. You trust me, right?"

She either nodded or shook her head. The only answer he had was noise in the dark. "Yes," she explained. "You did save my life that time."

It was strange to think about. What they were now was so normal, just a couple of kids really, huddled together and trying to act like adults. She trusted him because he was consistent and reliable, but nothing was a better example than the time they were attacked by a giant flying robot.

So much for normal.

"But you always act tough around me, and you don't have to. I know you're a nice person. I'm not going to take advantage."

"Everyone takes advantage."

"Not here. Not me."

She considered it for a while. So did Scott, barely breathing he was so hopeful. This was what people didn't see in Ororo, but he did. Everyone saw that she was tough. He had peeked under the toughness. He knew who she was when they were alone, just them… and he wanted other people to see it, too, because it truly was the best of her.

So he had protected her. The Professor meant well, but there was enforcing rules and there was letting someone accept responsibility for what they had done. Scott knew it as well as anyone: consequences did not mean responsibility.

Consequences made things balance.

Responsibility made you better.

"No," she murmured, and he breathed a sigh of relief, "not you."