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[When Parker had heard there was a new teleporter malfunction, she'd been thrilled. Turning into a shark had been awesome, so ever since Rookie's announcement that they were acting up again, she's been hopping back and forth through the teleporters, just waiting for something exciting to happen
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You know, now that I think about it, Mr. Squiggles is a highly inappropriate name for a dinosaur.
[But he recognizes that little huff - God, she really does remind him of Raven--
hhhh excuse him, random sister-missing pangs. He rubs a hand across his forehead in the time honoured tradition of headache banishment errywhere and then he pauses, slides that hand to his temple and taps his fingers there a moment. Yes, this is Charles Xavier with an Idea. He leans away from his screen as if someone else has caught his attention--]
Really? [HE SAYS TO THIS OTHER PERSON...] - An entire basket? [casually putting his hand over the mic because this is obviously the most super big secret except oh he didn't quite do it properly??? OH THE HUGE MANATEE...]
What? No, no, I can't possibly -- I don't even like cookies. [THAT IS A LIE, THE BOLDEST FACED OF LIES.] Well, we'll just have to send them back. Yes? Thank you.
[aaaaaaaand back to Parker.]
I'm terribly sorry about that. Where were we, again?
[BRIGHT, INNOCENT SMILE.]
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He's lying.
All the same, she's staring with an expression of deep concentration and just a little bit of uncertainty. Her eyes dart to the left of the screen, as if she can catch a glimpse of this other (imaginary) person, and then back to his face.
There's no response to his question.]
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TELEPATHIC SWEATERDAD CALLING NEAREST X-BABBY.
Alex? I need a moment of your time, please. If you could find your way to me, and walk behind me talking about people delivering cookies in view of my communicator, that would be excellent. Thank you.]
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But sure, fine, he'll help. (Besides, it's a tiny blonde girl who reminds him a little bit of his foster sister. And she called Charles "Mr. Charles Squiggles", so.) Alex wanders over to the room where Charles is sitting and casually walks past the camera's line of sight.]
I didn't even know they had cookie-delivering robots here.
[Once he's on the other side of the room and safely out of the camera's view, Alex shoots Charles an extremely unimpressed look. If that didn't work, HE'S NOT DOING IT AGAIN.
Sympathy for small children only goes so far, man.]
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She freezes slightly at the sudden appearance of yet another strange adult, but any potential danger Alex might pose is quickly forgotten in light of what he's saying.
Which is that the cookies are, apparently, real.
An entire basket? And he's sending them back?
She fidgets a bit, looking very, very torn between speaking up and not getting any more involved.]
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Thank you, Alex.
He will buy you a pony later, or whatever it is that boys these days like having.]
Well, if you'll excuse me, my dear, it seems as if I've got some business that requires my attention.
[And of course he seems THE MOST beleaguered about this.]
Say.
[this thought has only just occurred to him, can you tell? ONLY JUST.]
You wouldn't happen to know how to get to, hmm, Harper and Bigg's, would you?
[He reads out this name rather slowly, as if he's sounding it out off a nearby, off-screen gift card of some sort.]
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She starts to nod, quietly accepting it, but when he asks his question, she changes to shaking her head, slowly. She's never heard of that place before - if it's a bank, it's not one they've hit.]
...what is it?
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[But he says this in the most off-handed way. Because really, it's entirely of no consequence if she says no.]
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You sent your cookies away.
[EXPLAIN, SIR]
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You, ah, heard all that, did you? I'm terribly sorry, that was clumsy of me.
[this is the face of true repentance. :(]
I have to take them back myself, it seems. The robots aren't programmed to return gifts, the silly thing just beeped at poor Alex here and went on its merry way. Of course, they're addressed to me, so it's my responsibility to return them. The card says they're from this... Harper and Bigg's, but I confess, I have no familiarity with such a place.
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You should keep them.
[and it doesn't matter whether he likes cookies or not, that's so very far from the point, because -]
You shouldn't waste food.
[This is not the voice of a child repeating what she's been told, with echoes of clean your plate, eat your vegetables and don't complain, there are people starving in Africa. This is the voice of someone who knows from experience.
You don't waste food.]
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His expression gentles, and his tone has lost that edge of 'look I'm trying to be nice', settled back down somewhere around genuine sincerity.]
You're right. That would be... inconsiderate of me.
[And of course he thinks of Erik, in Auschwitz, and yes, how spoiled he must look to a child that's never known the meaning of enough.]
Would you perhaps do me the honour of sharing them?
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But she knows he doesn't understand that, because she's seen plenty of people like him, people who don't have to understand, people who never have to think about it.
This still smells like a trap...except the other person had talked about the cookies too. It has to be real.
And you don't waste food...or refuse it.
She shrugs, carefully noncommittal.]
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[And suddenly all that Oxford education and the twenty-odd years he's spent as a telepath amount to the sudden insecurity of a teenager in the face of one young girl's obvious trauma. This had started out as a simple feel-good deed, but it's... progressed somewhat past that, now. And Charles isn't sure quite how to handle it.]
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She glances around the unfamiliar landscape, clearly battling internally - the urge to trust him and accept his help versus the solid knowledge that it's safer not to.]
If you leave them somewhere, someone else will take them.
[so matter-of-fact. That's just the way it is.]
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Do you have any suggestions, then?
[T-TRYING TO TREAT HER LIKE AN ADULT...]
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