After Professor X had instructed Peter to bring his wheelchair down to the control room, Raven changed out of her sopping wet uniform and into a warm robe. The control room was freezing from the hail slowly evaporating in the danger room. She and Charles sat together, alone, daring each other silently to speak first.

Finally, Charles sighed and rested his head in both hands. "How did you let this happen?"

She tilted her head indignantly. "I... let... this happen?" she asked. "How is this my fault?"

"You are responsible for the safety of the X-Men during training and on the field," he answered curtly. "You design the obstacle courses according to my suggestion, Hank programs them. There is a misunderstanding somewhere in this chain of events, obviously."

Raven got up and paced the floor. "So it's my fault that Storm can't control herself?" She pointed through the window to the danger room below, "I didn't design any part of that course that they can't conceivably get through."

"And yet that is precisely what happened!" Charles yelled. "I've told you time and time again, Kurt cannot go through something solid if he can't clearly see the other side, or if he doesn't know what's there."

"A door!" She threw up her hands. "A door should not be a problem for him! And he teleported through most of them fine!"

"I've done full physiological and psychological evaluations on all of the X-Men," he spoke over her, "and asking Kurt to teleport that way is like asking a man with one eye to do something that requires precise depth perception." He pointed to his own legs, "It's like asking me to jump!"

"Okay, fine," she said, "why haven't you been helping Storm through her claustrophobia, then? That's something you can fix."

Charles looked away, flustered. "It's more complicated, more intense, than a normal phobia. I can't do exposure therapy by putting her safely in a confined space without risking something like what happened today."

"You could just brainwash her, right? Like you did to Moira?"

He clenched his jaw and glared at her. She couldn't help feeling a slight sense of satisfaction. The only way she knew to win an argument with her adoptive brother was by picking at scars that ran deep.

Charles put his finger on his temple. She knew he was scanning her mind, looking for scars to pick himself, she imagined.

I am not attempting to get back at you, said Charles's voice telepathically from inside her mind. I want to see what's wrong.

"There's nothing wrong with me, Charles," she lied out loud.

He removed his finger from his head and clasped his hands in front of him, elbows on the armrest of his wheelchair. His therapist pose, thought Raven.

"You're having that dream again, aren't you?" he asked.

She sighed and sat down in the spinning chair next to the control panel. After gathering her courage, she finally spoke.

"It was different this time," she said, her eyes focused on something far away. "Kurt was there, grown up, and Azazel said he was going to take him away..." she trailed off.

"Where?"

She just shook her head.

"Well," said Charles, shifting in his wheelchair, "I know what you think your dream means. You believe it's prophetic, that Kurt is going to the afterworld with Azazel, so to speak. In other words, you're afraid he may die."

His blunt words chilled her heart, because she knew they were true. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and run out of the room like a child.

"If you were a telepath given to precognition, I might have believed that explanation, given what happened today," he continued, "but since you aren't, I think it's something else."

"What?" she asked expectantly.

"Good lord, Raven," he said, shaking his head and looking at her with genuine pity, "it's as obvious as the nose on your face."

She refused to meet his gaze, instead choosing to pick at her nail.

His pity dissipated slightly. "You know, you're as stubborn as a bloody mule," he said. "Tell Kurt you're his mother. Tell him. It's as if you're actually trying to burn bridges so you won't have to cross them. The longer you wait, the more it will hurt both of you, and the more cruel it will be for keeping this a secret for so long."

Suddenly, everything in her heart came flooding out at once. "It doesn't matter, Charles!" she screamed. She attempted to get a hold of herself and control the tone of her voice. "He already has a mother. He has a family. He already grew up without me, so what does it matter if he knows I gave birth to him? It doesn't change anything. I gave up the right to be a part of his life. I have no right..."

She doubled over as though she had a stomach ache and moaned in agony.

Her voice came out in a cracked whisper, "It doesn't matter when I tell him, because he would hate me anyway for giving him up. Why wouldn't he?"

Charles wheeled himself over to her and placed a hand on her head. "He deserves to know. And he's a very kind, forgiving young man. I'm sure-"

She slapped his hand away and sat up straight. "I can't do this. I can't."

"Raven, you willdo this, or..." he stared at her, seemingly unable to complete his sentence.

"Or what?" she asked, getting up and leaning against the wall. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She had no more tears to cry, no more anger to fight with, but she still couldn't imagine the confession falling from her lips. At that moment, she knew she was a failure. She couldn't be a mother. She was too afraid to even be a decent person to her son. She laid her head against the wall, and her soul collapsed.

"Just go away," she whispered.

He obeyed, slowly rolling himself towards the control room entrance. He took one last, sad look on his sister before the doors closed.

"You're holding on to a ball and chain for dear life," he said, "and you won't let anyone tell you that it's making you drown."

He forced himself to leave his dear Raven wallowing in self pity.

He knew what had to be done, though she'd never forgive him for it.

By the time Charles reached his office, the normal lights had come back on. He looked out the window. There were several tree branches scattered about on the grounds, along with a few roof tiles and some of the flimsier patio furniture, but nothing too serious, it seemed. Some of the X-Men were gathered outside, Nightcrawler among them, picking debris off of the soggy lawn. The Professor couldn't help but telepathically eavesdrop on them.

Scott aimed his visor at a broken tree branch hanging perilously by nothing but its bark. "Look out!" he yelled as he hit the branch with a burst of laser energy, sending it crashing to the ground. Jean lifted it with her mind and placed it in a large pile of debris. Kurt picked up smaller branches and tiles and teleported them to the pile.

Peter appeared suddenly behind Scott. "You know," he said, making Scott jump, "the Prof can hire landscaping people to do this kind of thing."

"If we can help out around here, we should," said Scott. "And don't scare the shit out of me like that."

"Guys?" Kurt interrupted. He held something small cupped in his hands, his pile of sticks discarded at his side.

Peter, Jean, and Scott gathered around him. In his hands, Kurt held a tiny, pink, quivering baby bird, its gaping beak peeping pitifully.

"Aww!" cooed Jean. "Poor little thing!"

"You're not supposed to touch a baby bird, dude," said Peter. "The mother bird won't take it back."

"That's only a myth," said Kurt. He looked up at the nearest tree and spotted a nest tucked into a low branch. A sparrow hopped along it, nervously chirping, keeping its eye on the crowd below.

"She is waiting for him, see?" he said, nodding towards it.

He 'ported to the branch next to the nest, which scared the sparrow away. Balancing expertly, he used his tail as leverage as he crouched over and deposited the helpless baby into its home.

He appeared on the ground again and watched expectantly. After a minute, the mother sparrow returned, settling on the nest and immediately feeding its little one.

"I told you," he said, smiling at his friends.

Kurt, the Professor's voice echoed telepathically in his head. He turned around to face the mansion, spotting the Professor looking out the window, his finger on his temple.

Could you come to my office, please?

Kurt felt his heart sink a little. He was hoping he wouldn't have to deal with the danger room incident any more today, but he should have known better. It was just his luck; something crazy like this would have to happen on his birthday.

"I'll see you guys later," he said to the team, then appeared in the Professor's office.

The Professor sat, still looking out the window. He seemed like his mind was far away. His brow was sharply furrowed, and he tapped on the armrest of his wheelchair steadily, like a ticking clock.

"All the children are safe, I presume?" he asked of Kurt.

"Oh... yes, they are all fine," he answered sheepishly. The Professor only nodded in reply, still gazing out the window. In the agonizing silence, Kurt coughed and started picking nervously at his tail.

"I'm really sorry about what happened today," he said, eyes on his feet. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I promise it won't happen again." He looked at the Professor, waiting for a nod, a dismissal, anything at all. He stayed silent, continuing to stare out the window.

Finally, he took a deep breath and drew the curtains closed. It took a moment for Kurt's eyes to adjust to the dim room.

He felt a lump form in his throat. "You're... you're not kicking me off the team, are you, Professor?" he stammered.

Charles gave the slightest chuckle, "No, no, it's nothing like that." His distant look returned, and he rubbed his lip thoughtfully.

Kurt didn't know whether to be relieved or even more frightened.

The Professor finally wheeled around and looked him in the eye for the first time since he'd been in the room. "Take a seat, my boy," he said gently, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."