This is just a sweet little indulgence on my part. Is Fluff Without Plot a thing? Well, it is now...
I still do not own Marvel's stuff and mean no offense or copyright infringement.
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Christine was mostly just watching Stephen. They were in his home, the "Sanctum", and Stephen was leaning against a doorpost, watching his disciple and his cloak inside the room. The young woman was wearing jeans underneath her robe, Christine noted with some amusement, and she was lying on the heartrug-covered floor, a book before her and Stephen's ever-curious cloak both covering her and attempting to be an entire set of pillows simultaneously.
The pair was entirely adorable together, both so inquisitive in their own way, but Christine was mostly watching Stephen anyway. She stood across from him in the doorway, watching the raw affection on his face as he took in the cosy scene in front of him.
He looked well. He always did, these days. Well, possibly with one or two exceptions if she was videocalling the Cloak - Crimson, as Elice had nicknamed it - right after something disturbing and magical had occured.
He had always been slightly frantic before, slightly over-trained in a way she supposed. Sometimes she even got the impression that he had been too young, somehow, though he was her age: as if he'd never quite grown into his own skill and authority. She knew the mere concept was absurd - nobody had been sure like him, in the history of ever, but she still couldn't shake the impression.
Now, standing by the door, looking increasingly like a father looking in on his children, as well as a teacher watching over favoured students, it struck her yet again how he had matured since he joined that "cult". Or whatever it was. She kept repeating her discoveries in her own head, but it was too much to quickly take in.
He caught her at it regularly, also a difference - his attention to her and to others (even if they had no rampant brain damage) - but he had stopped asking her why she looked at him like that. He had ceased to worry about her preoccupation, accepting how she was watching him without question. Such a reaction was also new, but like all the other changes, she liked it.
She didn't know what conclusions about her behaviour he had come to in that genius brain of his, if he had a theory, insight, or if he really was changed enough to just leave it be. She suspected that Elice had figured her out quite early however, and it was - apparently - their habit to guide each other, so maybe she'd lent him some insight. Christine didn't really care. She was just enjoying studying Stephen, as he watched the pair who obviously meant the world to him. And when she reached out a hand to him, he willingly let her lead him away into the rest of the house, leaving the still unaware girl to her book in peace. The cloak would look after her.