Kurt scratched at his bandages irritably. Raven sighed and rolled her eyes.
"You need to stop doing that," she said, "You're going to pull a stitch."
"Nein," Kurt said, "My stitches are out. You cannot fool me."
She rolled her eyes again and sat down on the edge of his bed.
"I can't believe I'm asking this," she said, "But have you been keeping up with your physical therapy?"
"Ja."
"Even the ones with the ankle bands?" asked Raven, "I know you hate those, and you can't lie to me."
Kurt gave her an innocent look, but his tail twitched.
"I knew it!" she said.
"Zey are uncomfortable," Kurt complained.
"Yeah, they are," said Raven, "Know what else is uncomfortable? Cramps and pulled muscles. And that is what you're going to have for your first training session if you don't keep up your exercises."
He crossed his arms and pouted, but she could see his lips curling up in a suppressed smile. It lined up perfectly with his elfish ears, pointed at the tips. His fangs gleamed white as they pulled awkwardly over his lips.
Not that it would get him out of trouble.
"So don't get ahead of yourself," she said, "When Hank clears you, and I know it's going to be soon, I think you need to start slow, probably with smaller teleportations."
"Small teleportations?" asked Kurt, "Like...only five or six at a time?"
"We'll start with one," said Raven, "You're no good if you rip out all of Hank's hard work. He wouldn't like that, I can assure you of that."
"Ja ja mutti," he said.
His smile widened as he spoke, and Raven blinked. She knew enough German to understand that "Mutti" was the word for "Mama."
"Rather childish to for someone your age to say that."
The words came out before she could think them through. She saw Kurt duck his head, a purplish blush staining his face. Whatever joy had glowed in his eyes was now dampened by embarrassment. She bit her lip and let out a long sigh.
Sometimes, even after five months, it was difficult to know what to say to him. It had been a long time since she'd been careful with anyone. She'd spent so much time being frightened of him, of what she would do to his life, that she hadn't dared to spend so much time with him. Now, it seemed like every day was spent discovering something new about him.
Yes, he did irritate her at times. He was eager to know everything about her life, even the parts she was loathe to share with him. Kurt was still too innocent to know everything, and his complete inability to stay still drove her to distraction at times.
All the same, there were moments when Raven wanted to reach out and pinch his nose, something, make sure that he was actually real. The fact alone that he'd accepted her and wanted to call her any appellation of mother should have filled her with joy.
Instead, it was just difficult at times. Difficult to say the right thing, to want to say the right thing, to know how to act. She breathed in deeply, and then touched his wrist lightly. He looked up at her, his eyes still embarrassed.
"I think mom might work though," she ventured.
He grinned tentatively, his teeth showing brightly over his dark lips. The air stirred, and Raven sighed.
"Peter, knock or something," she said, turning around.
A set of angry eyes met hers, as did the sight of two plates of cake. Peter's entire face was drawn up, like he was struggling to keep from picking something up and throwing it across the room. Raven had seen that look on Erik's face enough to recognize it on his son.
"Cake," he said, "Have fun."
"Peter!" Kurt said, "Vait a minute!"
Peter sighed, sounding frustrated, and turned. Kurt shrank back for a moment, and a more cautious smile took its place.
"Hank says I can have a practice session soon," he said, "Blitz Mannschaft vill be back!"
For a moment, Peter just looked at him, then started laughing. Raven lipped the words in her head. Team lightning?
"Dude, say it in English!" Peter said.
A grin consumed Peter's features, although Raven could still see traces of anger there. They were fading though, or at least being pushed back. Perhaps that was the difference between him and his father: when everything was said and done, Peter could calm down. She wasn't sure Erik had learned how to yet.
Not for them at least.
"I haf trouble with second syllable," Kurt said.
"We'll work on it," said Peter, "Also, that cake is damn good."
He gave a mocking salute before he zipped off. Raven looked after him thoughtfully, wondering just what had happened to put that expression on his face in the first place. It had to be something bad to put him in such a foul mood, especially on a day with a party, and Kevin's party at that.
"Mutter?" asked Kurt, "Can you pass me cake?"
She nodded and got up, handing him one of the slices of cake. One thing at a time. One thing at a time.
Kevin ripped open the wrapping paper. Inside was a collection of all of Jane Austen's works.
"Thanks Laura!" he said, smiling, "This is awesome!"
She bit her lip and looked down, grabbing her ankles. It wasn't an easy task, given that she was in a chair, but she still managed it. She didn't look upset though, so he thought she was fine. Maybe she was just shy about being thanked?
Like many things Laura did that were slightly unusual, he shrugged it off. Friends did that. He looked back at the book, flipping through the gold edged pages. While the library had the whole collection, having his own set was special. No one would need to check it out for a term paper.
He put it next to his other gifts, a video game from Sam, an arts and crafts kit from Xi'an, and comic books from Megan. He'd gotten some pretty cool baseball cards in the mail from Uncle Levine that morning, and Peter promised him he'd find a way to make sure he had enough Little Debbie cakes for weeks. He wasn't sure about how that last one would work, but he trusted Peter.
All in all, it had been a great birthday for presents. It had also been a great birthday for running around. He'd found everyone, and he hadn't even had to use his powers. No one had seen him squeeze behind the bookcase and the wall when it was his turn to hide, although his mother hadn't been pleased about that last one.
He took another bite of cake, the string of his party hat constricting his throat slightly. Everyone else was still wearing theirs though, and he didn't want to be the first one to take it off.
"Kevin," his mother said.
She put a hand on the back of his chair.
"You haven't opened your gift from your father and I," she said.
Kevin swallowed his cake and turned around. He could've sworn that he'd opened up all the presents. However, he saw that there was another box that had appeared on the floor. He shifted slightly in his chair and concentrated.
The present levitated to the table. It was heavy, which he thought was great. When he brought it to the table, it made a solid thunk on the surface. Kevin looked up at his parents, who were both giving him kind, almost excited looks.
"Go ahead and open it," his father said, "I'm not going to tell you what it is."
He twisted his fingers into the paper and ripped it off. The top of the box was high, so he stood on top of his chair to boost himself up. Kevin took off the lid and pulled away a level of tissue paper, flinging it onto the floor.
A crisp baseball shirt looked back at him, complete with a cap, bat, glove and ball. It was all new, the bat gleaming. He picked it up, feeling the heft in his hands. Kevin remembered the first time he'd took to the field, his mother cheering for him in the bleachers. Joe had been somewhere, getting something. Hot dogs maybe. He'd never come back, but it didn't matter. His mother had been on her feet when he took his first two bases, and later made it home.
He took off his party hat, throwing it in the same place as the tissue paper. Kevin pulled out the baseball shirt and yanked it over his head. It was a bit tight over the shirt he was already wearing, but by the time he registered that he was already putting on his baseball cap.
As he reached for the glove, he felt something underneath the tissue paper. He pulled it away and found four more gloves. He blinked at them for a minute, wondering why his parents had given him extras.
Then, he realized how many other children there were at the party.
"We're gonna play baseball!" Kevin said.
There were a few cheers, as well as a few confused looks. Regardless, he gathered up the box and jumped off the table. With his spare hand, he made a gesture for everyone to follow him.
Mom! Dad! You guys are the best!
They both smiled at him as he ran past, the gloves clattering around in the box. Everyone else followed him, and Kevin started laughing. Best birthday ever.
"The extra gloves were a really good idea," Moira said.
Charles smiled, transferring himself from his chair to the couch. It wasn't a difficult task, although it always required a little extra maneuvering. Moira had been helping him until lately when her swollen belly had stopped her. He knew she regretted it, but no less than he'd regretted not being fast enough to help her when she was still caught in the throes of morning sickness.
She sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead, absently wrapping a hand around her stomach.
"How are you feeling love?" he asked, "Tired?"
"You are too," she yawned, "You were the one in charge of five hyperactive kids all afternoon."
"I told you, it's nothing compared to what I'd been doing for years," Charles reminded her, "And...well...one of them's my son."
Although he'd been using the term for months now, he could feel a thrum of silent warmth as he did so. He'd been surprised at how quickly the bond had formed between himself and Moira's son, but that didn't make him grateful for it.
That the child had been so happy and accepting to have a father figure come into his life that it had broken Charles's heart. There were times when, for so many reasons, Charles was tempted to get into Cerebro, find Joe in his prison cell and, in the very least, give him enough migraines for a month.
He hadn't yet, but, sometimes, when he ran his hand over the scar near Moira's collarbone, the part of him that hadn't quite learned to let go wanted to. That, and every time Kevin had ever looked at something he'd done as a father with wonder. They were always little things, things a father should've always wanted to do with his son.
However, even though the reason was painful, Charles was flattered beyond words that Kevin had wanted him. Moira had been the first one to accept all of him, the first one to say that he was enough, to only want his love. Her son, their son, had that same wholehearted approach.
A small tremor shook his hand. He smiled, the last part to his joy giving him a sharp reminder of its presence, followed by several more.
"Oh boy," Moira said, "He's kicking up a storm."
She closed her eyes and put a hand on her mouth.
"I think the cake's coming back up," Moira said.
"Don't worry," he said, "I'll see what I can do."
He closed his eyes, concentrating, but not applying too much pressure. A feeling, like a faint flutter of excitement, greeted him.
Hello little one, he said, You should stop kicking for now. Your mother's not feeling well.
There was another flutter, a little worried, followed by a wave of intense, pure love, and a little apology. He felt the kicks stop beneath his hand.
Thank you, and don't worry, Charles said, She loves you you know.
Slight confusion touched his mind, wondering why he was saying something he already knew. Charles chuckled.
We all do, he said.
Again, that same quiet, assured feeling, less worried and more confident. Charles kissed Moira's head again, letting his son's contentment wash over him.