September 20, 1977

Kurt laid on his stomach on the floor of his Charles's office, his hands covered in green paint. Charles had arranged a long sheet of thick white paper out onto the floor, surrounded by several newspapers. Moira had helped him set it up before she'd dashed off to her next appointment with the students. There were several students who needed help with their classes. It was always a little difficult at the beginning of the year.

David sat in the other corner of the room, a book in his hands. Years ago Charles had asked Alex to bring a sofa in, which David had quickly made his home. At the moment he was making his way through The Hobbit. He was halfway through, and Charles had told him that there were more books in the series. David's eyes had lit up. Charles wondered if they should wait a few years before giving him the rest of them though.

He looked at the clock. Moira would be finishing with her students soon. They had arranged a tag team system which meant that the boys would end up spending more of their days with their parents. It had come about as a result of when Charles was trying to make more room for his family. Once David was out of his classes Moira watched the children while he taught, and he watched them when she had appointments. They usually did paperwork together after the children had been put to bed.

Instead of having Moira and Annie watch David, as it had been a few years ago, he had cut back on his classes so that Annie didn't babysit too much. When she left for a job in Tennessee Ororo had assumed some babysitting duties, as well as Scott, Alex, and Lorna, Still, he wanted to keep their involvement to a minimum. He didn't object to them, but he needed to make time for his sons.

When Kurt came along the plan remained the same, even though Kurt had mewled for Moira when Charles watched him. Charles had managed to deal with it by keeping Kurt in his arms and never letting him go for the entirety of his stay. David would also wriggle his way onto Charles's lap to sit with his new brother. He had never gotten any work done when that had happened, but he hadn't cared.

Now that they were older it had calmed down a bit. David shifted on the sofa. Charles smiled to himself over his paperwork. It seemed like he was always reading. They'd had to try and nip his habit of reading while he walked in the bud early. He reminded Charles of himself at that age. Charles had always preferred to sit somewhere quiet and read when he was younger.

Whenever he was reading or sitting he always seemed so still. Kurt, no matter what he did, was always moving. Even as he painted his tail swished back and forth, his feet tapping on the ground. Charles wondered if it was a nervous condition, but he knew that they had a little time before they would have to look into it.

David was the one who made him nervous though. He seemed inquisitive and was often brusque. There was a temper there, and while it didn't flare up often, when it did it often had bad results. David was constantly trying to see what the X-men were doing, his young mind no doubt recreating their daring adventures.

Charles didn't know what he would do if he found out that David shared his mutation. He could just imagine his son's bluntly inquisitive mind using the minds of others as playgrounds, ignorant of the pain he was causing. If they didn't catch his blossoming telepathy quickly, then it could spell disaster. Charles still wasn't sure how he'd been able to avoid any major incidents as a child.

Kurt was a different matter. He supposed that, given the nature of Kurt's physical mutation, he might take after Azazel, the man they suspected to be his birth father. Charles liked to think that Kurt would teleport. It would be painful, and perhaps too strong a reminder, if he could shape shift.

His second son was always very quiet, even if he did move a lot. He tended to watch David's games with Terry and the others, his eyes wide and excited. He seemed to enjoy messier pursuits though, even though he was quieter than his brother. He seemed a little less social, a little more withdrawn. Unlike David Kurt didn't remind Charles of himself: he reminded him of Raven.

Charles winced slightly at the thought. Even though Kurt had been with them for three years, it was hard not to see his sister in the child, too easy to draw comparisons. Moira had demanded, on more than one occasion, that he forget that Raven was Kurt's mother. He couldn't see him as his nephew if Kurt was to grow up as his son.

Although it hurt, he understood Moira's reluctance to acknowledge Raven as Kurt's birth mother. She had always loved children and when David had been born it had been a miracle. She was a realist though, and she had seen enough children whose parents had to hide them away at the Institute to understand that life wasn't always easy. Even so, there were certain expectations she had for parents.

Raven had left Kurt on the doorstep for them to raise without as much as a word to them. All she'd done was name Kurt and list herself as his mother. She hadn't tried to contact them afterwards to ask how he was doing. It was plain that she had left him in an attempt to forget about him.

He couldn't pretend that didn't hurt. Charles knew that it was selfish to think about how Kurt's abandonment affected him, but still. He still had dear memories of his little sister, and now there was a memory that, try as he might, he couldn't remove the tarnish from. The Brotherhood was, admittedly, no place to raise a child. That hadn't stopped Erik though, for good or ill.

For good or for ill. Charles thought of Lorna, whom was currently on a mission with some of the X-men. It was a minor operation, nothing for him to be too concerned about. Alex was heading up the group, which still remained largely the same, except that Warren had gone off to Harvard for business. They still heard from him on occasion, Ororo especially, and he seemed to be doing well enough.

Lorna had made the team nearly two years ago, and had done well as Polaris since then. She had earned her GED and was currently studying to get her qualifications as a teacher. He had to admire her dedication.

He often wondered if he should bring up Kurt's parentage to her. She'd certainly seemed shocked when she'd seen him the first time. He didn't blame her. It was obvious that Kurt was Raven and Azazel's child. Lorna had, at one point, been close to Azazel. Maybe she would know something about why Raven had just abandoned her son.

The way she had left him was horrible, and there must be an explanation somewhere. Kurt had just been wrapped in a gray blanket and placed on the doorstep. What if no one had been downstairs? What if everyone had been asleep? Raven wouldn't have known if they were awake or not: it was fairly late. Kurt would have been left all night in the chill evening. He was only a few hours old. Would he have even survived to see the sunrise? Charles doubted it.

However, he had decided not to ask her. There was nothing it could do except bring up bad memories for all of them. Lorna hadn't spoken to any member of the Brotherhood since the day she had left. The only contact she had with them now was through her battles.

Charles hadn't even considered raising the subject to Moira. As far as Moira was concerned, Kurt had no mother but her and no father but Charles. To her Raven had forfeited her rights when she left him at their door. She had told him shortly after they had adopted Kurt that prodding and poking the subject would only confuse Kurt. He was only three.

Moira had said that, yes, one day they would tell him that he was adopted and who his biological parents were. She had emphasized that that day was a long way away. Kurt had only just begun to talk and walk, let alone comprehend the idea that Charles and Moira weren't his biological parents. On that count Charles had to agree with her.

Kurt cocked his head at his painting. Then he sat back on his haunches into a crouch. Charles had wondered why he did that. They had long seen that he preferred that strange crouch to sitting. He wondered if it was because of his tail, or something else in his body structure.

David put his book down and walked over to his brother. He looked over at the painting and smiled.

"Awesome Kurt," he said.

Kurt grinned and looked over at Charles.

"Daddy?" he asked.

Charles put down the paperwork he had been looking at and wheeled over. Kurt proudly pointed to the finger painting that he had done, his golden eyes lighting up as Charles looked. He expected to see Kurt's usual mess of colors, decorated with the cast of his own handprints. He seemed entranced by the shape of his own hands.

However, there was something different in this picture. There were still the big, paint blotches that Kurt enjoyed splattering everywhere. Charles often thought that he enjoyed the texture and coolness of the paint against his skin.

This time though Charles could see that he'd mixed the colors together to create different colors. Yet, it wasn't just the mix-ins that happened when children dumped layers of different paint onto paper and splashed around in it. He could see where Kurt had deliberately mixed the colors together.

He knew his son hadn't learned which colors made other colors, with the exception of white and red making pink. Kurt had learned that rather quickly when he'd spilled two jars of paint over one of his paintings. The result had been a giant, thick glop of pink. Charles had still let it dry and tacked it to the fridge. He supposed it was expected of them, as parents, to do so.

Now his son was mixing colors. Charles knew that was important for a three year old. Then again, given all of the paintings he'd done, it made perfect sense that he would start learning that different colors, mixed together, could make other colors. What was impressive was that he'd remembered which ones made which. Or maybe he hadn't. However, from the way the colors went together, Charles supposed that he had.

Kurt looked up shyly. Charles smiled.

"It's very good Kurt," he said.

Kurt giggled. While his son had the quietest cry he had ever heard, he also had the loudest laugh. When Charles had first heard it he wondered if it was laughter or shrieking. It had only been the note of mirth that had tipped the scale in favor of laughter.

David laughed too. Kurt got up and hugged his brother. Charles couldn't help but wince when he saw Kurt's paint drenched hands cover his brother's white shirt. The colors smeared on the fabric. They would have to wash that with extra strength bleach twice to get the paint out.

However, David was still smiling. He was still looking at his brother as though he were amazing, as though he'd done something more impressive than mixing different paint colors together. Charles could see unmistakable pride on David's face.

For whatever reason, David had accepted Kurt unquestionably as his brother. He loved his brother desperately and protectively. Seeing that look on his son's face, taking pride and joy in the accomplishments of his baby brother, was beautiful.

A paint covered shirt was worth it.