Kid

"Why do you call me kid?" a curious and hesitant voice asks from under a hood facing the window, over the roar of the engine and rattling of the truck. She looks over and, with a gloved hand, pushes both her long brown hair and hood away to reveal innocent face with inquisitive brown eyes.

"Because you are one," a gruff voice answers, grumbling through a clenched mouth holding a cigar tightly between his teeth. He avoids her gaze with a furrowed brow and his angry eyes concentrate on the road stretched out before him.

"Stop calling me kid," a loud southern twang demands, rolling her eyes as she grabs a beer from the teacher's secret stash in the kitchen and handing it to him. She sits at the kitchen counter opposite him, brown eyes twinkling but mouth in a pout.

"But you are one," he replies, gruff as ever but with a hint of warmth, downing the beer in one long and lucrative gulp. He gives a half-smile towards her, but then looks out the window of the mansion, brow raised and eyes distant.

"I am not a kid anymore," a familiar voice shouts from across the distance, arms glove-less and eyes burning. With a swish of long brown-and-white hair, she walks away.

"No, no you're not," he whispers to himself, dark eyes filled with pain and the Wolverine inside bracing against the instinct to howl at the moon.

"Why don't you call me kid anymore?" a gentle voice murmuring this question within the folds of his muscled arms, her back pressed against a chest that rumbles with his deep and incredulous chuckle.

"Because you're carrying mine," he states, as he places his hands on her rounded stomach gently.