Bobby did indeed close the front door, a mechanical action that fortunately didn't really require a coherent thought. He followed John silently, glancing into each room as John pointed them out, but for the most part he couldn't take his eyes off of John. How was he here, in London, in this little house, instead of...in a cell, or--or--he didn't even know what. Maybe he should have kept better tabs over the years, but it had been a painful subject, and those that would know to mention it knew better than to mention his name.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I--I just know what everyone knows," he murmured, then frowned. "Did he--the Professor contacted you, too, right?" Xavier would have wanted everyone to know, including former students that had ran off to be come mutant supremacist terrorists.