Title: The Revenge of the Baby-Sat
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: Gen
Length: 3000 words or so
Content notes: So AU that it’s not even funny. Kid!fic.
Author notes: Written for this prompt, which I think was referring both to Dog and Tiger and these two stories as well:The Telepathic Babysitter’s Club and All the little fishes.
Thanks to slightweasel, ninemoons42 and firstlightofeos for the beta help.
We’ll count this towards the following badges: early bird, beta boss, governor of gendom, cross-pollination and overseer of the au.
Summary: No one said that the job of babysitting Charles Xavier would be easy--at least, not if they’ve ever done the job. There’s no club for that yet. Maybe he should organize one later so they can discuss his life as if he were already dead at twenty-four.


Emma has been nervous for Professor Xavier’s baby ever since her professor had announced that his wife had had their first child--and especially since he announced to his section that his wife was going away over the weekend.

Prof. Xavier is just sort of absent-minded. He seems like he is capable of doing many things - but that does not seem to include looking after a small crying baby. She remembers him nearly dropping one sample for his demonstration and worries that he’ll do the same with his son.

She pries Xavier’s address from the assistant in the Biology department, her careful concern for the newest faculty baby’s safety and her empathy for his father evident in her pleading tone. She recalls her own father’s misstep with her as a small child, the way that her head had hurt for days after his hand had slipped away from her while she rode the carousel and she had slid off her horse and fallen to the floor.

She knocks on his door, Friday after class--after she knows that his wife has left for the spa. She hopes that Prof. Xavier would not mind her arrival. While she knows she can look after Baby Xavier just fine, there might be a little bit of hubris in thinking there is something she can do better than her esteemed professor.

“Hello Emma,” Prof. Xavier says when the door opens, a cry coming from the room to the left of the door. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else today.”

“I’m sorry for visiting, but I was just worried about your son. You’ve said that you’re unsure of yourself around him. I thought I might help.”

He smiles at her, opening the door wider and letting her in. “He’s in the living room.”

She walks towards the sound of the baby’s broken cries. “Is he all right?”

“I don’t know. He’s been like that for the last ten minutes. I haven’t been able to quiet him at all--he’s not wet, and he’s not hungry.”

“Have you tried to rock him to sleep?” she asks, looking at the small form wearing a blue onesie.

“Not yet. I’m not holding him much; that’s Sharon more than me. You know, the lab and class.”

“What’s his name?” she asks, picking up the baby and bouncing him up and down a bit.

“Charles,” is Prof. Xavier’s reply before he practically flops against the couch. “I didn’t expect to see you, but I’m very glad you came. I’m just not sure what to do with him.”

Emma continues to rock Charles, taking in the careful opulence of the living room: a newly upholstered sofa and matching chairs, fine crystal standing atop the mantel, a few small pieces of art on the walls. “You have a wonderful home.”

“Thank you.” He stops for a minute; Emma watches his eyes trail around the room. “I’m not used to anyone from school seeing it. We don’t socialize much here.”

“I can see why,” she mutters under her breath.

“Please excuse it all, Emma. I’m grateful you’re here. Charles has settled down. See?”

Emma feels that Charles is calmly resting against her. She carefully puts him back into his bassinet. “Do you have any work to do? I could watch him while you do that?”

“I hadn’t planned on getting anything done this weekend, but if you don’t mind, I’d love the time.”

“I don’t mind.” She looks down at Charles’ sleeping face.

“Next time,” Prof. Xavier says, “bring something to work on. I don’t think money is just enough for your time.”

She smiles, knowing that she has a job for another two and a half years.

-

Tales of working for Prof. Xavier are a legend within the Biology department. Seniors recall sitting in Xavier’s class as sophomores the day he announced that he was looking for a new babysitter for his son Charles. Emma Frost is a demigod to many; her saving the professor from his son’s cries showed that whoever takes on the role of watching Charles is guaranteed a letter of recommendation that will land any student in their first-choice Ph.D. program.

Sebastian has a plan, developed through years of careful plotting. He wants nothing more than to babysit for Xavier to help him get into UChicago. He sits as close to the front of the class as he can without looking like a brown-noser and hopes that his exams will spur Xavier to ask.

He knows that this part of the plan is the part with the most room for him to look like an asshole to others. He hopes that he can convince Xavier to let him look after Charles based on his First Aid training and his time spent volunteering in high school at the children’s ward of his local hospital. He likes kids, though. He certainly likes them enough to want to find cures for Type I Diabetes.

But all of that will not matter if Xavier never asks. Sebastian tries not to lurk around the department, though it takes all of his energy not to sit outside and wait.

Time, however, is his friend. Xavier asks Sebastian after section. “It’s not nearly as much as the rumor mill makes it out to be. This semester, it’s just one day a week: Thursdays. Sharon has a society tea every week and I’m busy here monitoring Senior theses.”

“That’s fine, Professor. I just can’t wait to spend time with Charles. He sounds like a sweet boy.”

“You’ll see when you meet him this week.” Xavier walks into his office, leaving Sebastian to think on what his professor means.

When Thursday comes, he is nervous, but knows that it will not help for the four hours he will be spending with Charles. He arrives just a few minutes before he is meant to, sure that being slightly early will be a good sign. Greeting him at the door is a small boy in khaki shorts and a polo shirt that looks too stiff for anyone to play in. “You must be Sebastian,” the boy says.

“I am. You’re Charles?”

The boy nods. “Come in. Mummy is getting ready, but we can go play outside.”

Sebastian follows Charles through the house, through a series of rooms that show few signs of use. “This way,” Charles calls as he nears the back of the house.

Stepping out into the fresh air at the back of the house, Sebastian takes in the yard: a few trees around the edges of the property and a flowerbed by the door. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t have many toys. I sit out here and look around.”

“You sound like a botanist in the making.”

“Dad says I can do that if I want. But I don’t know if I want to be like him. He’s not home much.”

“He’s doing that for you, though. So you can have this nice house and this nice yard.”

Charles nods and goes to sit under one of the trees.

“You want to see the different blades of grass?”

Sebastian joins Charles under the tree, content to let the boy tell him everything about the grass in the backyard.

-

Erik both loves and hates his time with Prof. Xavier’s son. Charles is smart, sure, but he is also not applying himself in school. Half of his time watching the kid is now spent going over Charles’ work for third grade--making sure he’s done his homework as it should be done.

Charles is never happy when Erik looks through his homework, though. “I just want to watch TV, Erik.”

“You don’t get to watch anything until I know you’re not tanking your math homework. Your work is off here,” Erik says, pointing to one problem on Charles’ page.

“Mum and Dad never notice, though.”

“That’s because they’re busy with their work. I don’t mind looking over it. In fact, it makes these hours more fun for me.”

“Fun? You’re no fun! Sebastian let me sit in the backyard and play with the grass.”

“He also didn’t have to deal with you at nine years old. I do.”

Charles’ pout, the department has learned, is also something to fear. Erik has no such problem, not caring for the look on the boy’s face, even if Charles’ blue eyes are impossibly large and welling with tears.

“Fine, Erik,” Charles says, sighing loudly into Erik’s face.

“Yes, it will be fine. I know your father will appreciate you getting good grades as the result of hard work instead of mediocre grades because you were being lazy.”

“I’m not lazy, though. I just don’t like being the smartest kid.”

“You won’t say that in ten years when you’re at Harvard and your friends are at UMass or a SUNY.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Tell me that when you’re in college.”

Erik does not budge on the matter. Charles spends the night sulking in his room, reading Treasure Island. Not that Erik minds. He credits Charles’ pouting fit with why he finishes outlining his proposal for his thesis work.

-

Hank, ever the perfectionist, is not sure if Charles is trying to manipulate him or not. It is true that Prof. and Mrs. Xavier are off at the opera, but he is not sure that a night with Charles in the dorms is any better than a night at Charles’ home. Charles’ pout, though, convinces Hank that he is going to have no other choice for the night.

Charles is interested in going to the dining hall, though Hank can not figure out why. The food is horrible, but Charles looks at the rooms as if they contain the hidden secrets of the world.

“This way,” Hank says after they have their food, trays holding a few plates and glasses.

The table Hank sits at is almost full, with just enough room for him and Charles. “Charles, these are a few of my friends,” Hank adds when Charles sits.

“You brought Xavier’s kid? Really?”

Hank hangs his head. “Armando, that’s enough. Charles wanted to come to campus and Xavier’s never said Charles wasn’t allowed.”

“If you say so, Hank. I just don’t want the kid to ruin my night,” Armando says.

“Your night is going to be sitting at your desk working on your Philosophy reading,” Angel retorts, giving Armando a dirty look.

Hank wants to crawl into the corner and die as Charles watches this all play out, but tries to keep his face neutral. He waits for the next ball to drop, as if Angel and Armando fighting is not enough for his nerves.

“Angel, please stop. Your night won’t be any different.” Sean adds, laughing into his plate of dry pasta covered in cream sauce.

“Neither will yours, Sean,” Angel replies.

Hank watches all this play out and winces. “Sorry, Charles. They aren’t normally this bad.”

“Yes, we are,” Sean says. “We’re horrible.”

“I’d like to see what your horrible is,” Charles says.

“You really want to sit around with us tonight? There’s nothing going on,” Angel replies.

“Why not?” Charles asks.

“It’s dead tonight on campus and there isn’t anything playing in the theatre worth seeing,” Sean replies.

“So we’ll stay in and do something else. Card games?” Armando says.

“Cards sounds like fun,” Charles says. “I don’t play many multi-player games.”

“I know Hearts,” Hank supplies.

“You mean the game I lose on my computer?” Sean asks.

“That’s it,” Hank says. “It’s actually more fun in person.”

“Aren’t there only four players?”

“Yes, Sean, but since I know how to play, I’d probably win no matter what. I’d rather you all play,” Hank replies, feeling proud at figuring out their plans for the night. This can not end in anything bad happening to Charles.

At the end of the night, Charles is passed out on Hank’s bed, tired from asking everyone in the room about their junior high and high school experiences. Hank worries that Charles is not doing enough to know about junior high for himself, but he was like that at Charles’ age and can’t say that it did him any harm.

-

Alex knows, ostensibly, that he is not really a babysitter to Prof. Xavier’s son. At sixteen, Charles is old enough to stay home alone, but he does not drive, so Alex serves as a chauffeur more than anything else.

While the older Xaviers are out of town for the weekend, Alex makes sure that Charles gets to school and back home. There is not much else to it, so far as he can tell from the seventeen hours they have been together.

“So what are your plans tonight?” Alex asks as they stand in the kitchen making chicken, rice and some spinach.

“There’s this movie I wanted to see, but,” Charles says, trailing off.

“But what?”

“It’s R-rated; so I can’t go.”

“You don’t have any friends old enough to take you?”

“Not really. I don’t have many friends.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Alex asks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re much better at hanging out with me or other people my age than people your age.”

“I’ve had babysitters since I can remember who were all your age.”

“My point exactly,” Alex adds before opening the pot with the rice and checking on how much water is left. “There’s no one you know that might want to see a movie?”

“I could ask Moira,” Charles replies. “She might not have anything going on tonight.”

“Is she going to want to see this movie with you?”

“Well, I don’t think she’d say no. She was talking about it in class today.”

“Then go call her while I finish this up and we’ll see a late show.”

“You know what, Alex? You’re the best of all my babysitters.”

“You just say that because I’m going to take you to see an R-rated movie. I don’t think anyone else would have thought to do that.”

“No one else would have said yes. I doubt Erik would have taken me to see this movie.”

“Erik’s a smart guy, then. I don’t know why I’m even doing it.”

Charles’ blue eyes greet Alex as he turns around. There’s the answer Alex was looking for.

-

This retirement party seems excessive to Charles. Not that he minds congratulating his father on a fine tenure, or begrudges the school throwing a party with alums and former colleagues. But he has never really been to many of the faculty parties, and this feels all wrong.

It is not like anything he has seen at Harvard so far, though that is not much. Those parties are mostly just kegs of poor beer and vodka and then mid-priced wine and cheese. This is--well, this is very different.

He mills around the party, trying to make out anyone he might remember. He spots Alex standing just next to the bar with a beer in his hand.

“Alex!” he calls.

“Charles, it’s good to see you.”

“Thanks,” Charles says. “I’m not sure who else I’ll know at this party, so I’m glad to see at least one familiar face.”

“You didn’t see the guest list before agreeing to come?”

“Why would I?”

Alex shakes his head. “Never mind that. But I think I saw Hank’s name. Erik, too.”

“That’s what I need: Erik asking me about my grades.”

“Well, I think there are a few others too. So keep your eyes open.” Alex walks off before Charles can even get into a real conversation, but Charles knows that Alex was not one to say much.

Charles stays by the bar, nursing a few fingers of scotch, waiting at the bar to see who might strike a conversation with him while they get another drink. There are a few people who stop to congratulate Charles on his father’s work over the years as they get refills. He focuses on saying thanks and making small talk before he sees Erik out of the corner of his eye.

“Going to ask me about my grades today?” Charles asks.

“Unless you’re Charles, I have no interest in them,” Erik says.

“Then you should be interested,” Charles replies, turning himself towards Erik.

“I didn’t think you’d be by the bar.”

“It helps that I’m twenty-four and getting my Ph.D. right now.”

“Botany?”

“Not quite. Genetics.”

“Still into the natural sciences, then.”

“Nature, nurture. You know the debate, Erik.”

“I do.”

“What are you doing these days then?”

Erik laughs before replying. “I’m working at Duke as a professor, actually.”

“You’re teaching? I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful that I didn’t go there.”

“Where did you end up?”

“Harvard.”

“Told you.”

“You did, but don’t rub it in.”

“Well, what else can I do to torment you? I have no reason to help you with your few classes for your Ph.D.”

“There’s nothing else then, I think.” Charles gulps down the last of his scotch. “I should go. I think I see Dad talking to someone who’s so not his type. Do you know if he had any blonde women in his classes?”

“Not a clue,” Erik says, tipping his glass towards Charles.

Charles walks over to his father, who has an arm wrapped around a very pretty blonde woman who looks far too close to his father’s age to be a student. He waits until the conversation lulls before he joins. “Dad, this woman doesn’t look young enough to be your student.”

The woman laughs a bit. “Honey, if you only knew. I’m Emma,” she says before offering her hand. “I was your first babysitter.”

“Dad never mentioned you.”

“I think he was embarrassed. He was nervous he’d drop you as a six-month old.”

“Then I can see why I don’t know that story.”

“It was only for your benefit,” his father adds. “You didn’t want to know that I was scared to drop you.”

“Good to know now, when I’m twenty-four and can’t claim any more trauma.”

Emma laughs again. “I’m sad I didn’t get to see you growing up. I would have liked to see you cut down some of your babysitters.”

“It was really only Erik. He didn’t give in to my pouting. Everyone else loved me.”

“He’s right, Emma. I managed to find at least four people who loved you and only one who didn’t.” Charles’ dad looks around the party. “I see at least three of them, so if you don’t mind, I want to say hello.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to meet Erik,” Emma says to Charles.

“I just left him near the bar.”

“Thank you,” Emma says, turning to leave.

Charles can not say that he minds seeing Erik talk to Emma. She might break him of his habit of being blunt to perfect strangers.

Charles makes a note to find Erik’s email on Tuesday to find out if he liked Emma and walks back through the party.

If he manages to annoy Erik one more time, Charles can declare tonight as a success.