2012-07-23 The Professor Pops In

Sam is reading a flurry of text messages from Paige--Jay's being Jay again by the sound of it--when there's a knock on his door. He sits up, feeling inexplicably guilty, and puts the phone over on the bedside table. A quick check confirms that the room is still in order, the way it was five minutes ago.

"Come on in," he calls. Every time he has to face someone else he knew before he quit and went home, he feels terrible.

The door opens and, shortly thereafter, a very familiar voice preceeds its owner inside. "Samuel Guthrie," Charles Xavier says with a smile, his voice warm as he guides his chair just through the doorway. "I was told you made it back to us safely, but your mother would never forgive me if I didn't see for myself."

Suddenly, Sam feels a lot better. And worse. He hopes there's nothing crazy going on in his head, seeing things and all, and then tries to think about something else.

"Gotta work on the truck a little now, but she got me here okay and I called Ma. She's pleased I came back." He offers his hand to the Professor. "Like I told Scott, I just want to be useful around here again."

"She's not the only one," Charles assures him, reaching up to give his hand a firm shake. "Welcome back, son."

As tumultuous as Sam's mind may be, Charles isn't the sort to go prying. He can tell that he's troubled, but the young man's life *is* currently going through a bit of an upheaval. Why wouldn't he be a little rattled? "As for being useful, I'm sure we can work something out," he muses thoughtfully, folding his hands over the blanket covering his lap. "We are a school, after all. Have you ever given thought to teaching?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Seems that's half of what I do back home," Sam says thoughtfully, sinking down into his desk chair. "I could, if you think I'd have something to teach. I don't know what you'd want me to do." He rubs a thumb over his knee where the denim of his jeans is thin enough to show a hint of skin. "Whatever you ask, though, I'll do it. You know I will."

Charles guides his chair to come to a stop a companionable distance from Sam and his desk chair -- next to him, like a peer, not in front of him like a lecturer. "Well, I try not to take such things for granted," he says lightly, reaching over to give him a light pat on the shoulder. With a wry smile, he adds, "I don't want you to feel as if you *have* to prove your worth or earn your keep here, or anything of the sort. Truly, I'm just happy to see you've grown up so well. A fire fighter, if memory serves?" he asks, a distinct tone of approval coming to his voice. "But if teaching does appeal to you... well, there's always phys ed." He has a feeling that a good looking young man like Sam might get a few of the students a little more invested in the coursework.

"Volunteer fire fighting, yeah, but that's all we get with the county being broke." Sam grins at Charles and shrugs. "You want me to teach sports and things like that? Guess I could. Could help some of the kids with their power, too, if you wanted. My flying's better than it was and I'm hard to hurt. Still not nearly perfect, mind, but I can take a hit."

"If *you* wanted," Charles corrects, with fond exasperation. It was good to have him back. "By all means, if you'd like to, you would be welcome to. You'll likely want to introduce yourself to Mr. Cassidy," he says thoughtfully, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Sean has been lending a hand with our fliers -- and he's a rather good baseball coach, as well. You might have fun if you put your heads together."

Sam laughs at Charles' expression, then he sobers up. "I'm sorry, sir. I do want to help out. I feel bad I left before. I just... I wasn't doin' much good here and Ma could use what I knew how to do without being a mutant." He stares at his hands, then looks Charles in the eye. "Things I had to do at work and all, I think they did me some good. So did the kids. I miss 'em more than you'd expect."

"You needed the time," Charles replies simply, his expression softening as he meets his eyes, steady and understanding. "It's all right, Sam. That you took care of yourself matters far more to me than where you did it."

"I appreciate that. I hate running away from stuff. You know I'm better at running -into- it instead. But I hate being useless more, an' I was feeling that coming on. The kids are growing up real good now so I'm glad to be back." Sam glances out the window to where the students are out on the lawn for lunch. "Don't know what I'd do with myself anywhere else. If you'll let me work my way back onto the team, too, I'm up for it. Just so you know."

"If you're feeling ready and don't think you'd be taking on too much," Charles says with a warm smile. "We can let Scott know that you'd like to pursue it, and I imagine he'd be quite happy to put you through your paces. I would certainly be honored to be able to call you one of my X-Men."

"You always manage to make stuff sound all important. I never did get used to that." Sam shakes his head and laughs a littlse, blushing. "It'd be good to get back. I'd hate for something to happen and be sittin' on my hands for it. There's a feeling I don't want to feel too many more times in this life. So I'd be obliged if you let Scott know it's okay with you."

"It's difficult to turn oration off," Charles admits with a chuckle, slowly shaking his head. "I understand completely, believe me. I'll let him know he can expect you to come and see him soon," he says with a twinkle in his eye, reaching for the controls on his chair. "I think he'll be happy for the work."

"I'm a lot of work, still, so he'll be extra happy. It's good to see you again, sir." Before, Sam wasn't ready to appreciate this place, and Charles, like he should. He was too busy reeling from losing Pa and home. "You won't be sorry you let me come back."

"I know I won't," Charles replies confidently, guiding his chair back to the door. Only once it's open and he's moved back out into the hallway does he turn around, aiming a downright playful grin back in his direction. "I *am* psychic, you know." Still grinning, he reaches back to draw the door closed behind himself, with a parting "Welcome back, Sam," offered through the gap.