Every day, there was a moment when Kevin was able to forget what was going on. He'd identified it as a split second before he woke up, the second before he twitched his eyelids. That was the moment when he was still in a world where his mother was coming back in a few days.

Then, something happened to remind him that, no, she was gone. Kevin wasn't sure what exactly it was that reminded him, only that it's there, and it's strong. So very strong. Strong enough to make him want to stay in bed all day, a weight on his chest.

For the past seven days, Kevin had woken up exactly the same. He'd often reach out to Charles then, hoping something had changed in the night. It never had, but it felt good to have someone there with him, even if it was only in his head.

But, as he looked at the clock, he knew he couldn't. It was reading 4 a.m., and he knew Charles would be resting. At least, he hoped he would. Every day he saw Charles he was looking harried, more stressed. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, and Kevin heard he'd cancelled a few of his classes.

Even at the worst times in her career, Kevin had never seen his mother so stressed. If she had when his father had tried to kill her, then he couldn't remember. All he could remember was the paleness of her skin contrasted to the green hospital gown, the swathe of bandages around her neck.

He drew his knees up below his chin, cuddling beneath his blankets. He wanted to cry, but whatever tears he'd cried had been absorbed by Charles's shirt that first night. Since then he'd only been able to feel the pain in dull, heavy waves.

He'd kept up with what was happening, more than they knew. He'd searched out Charles with his mind the day after he'd been told the news about his mother, found him talking to Hank and Uncle Levine. He'd seen how bad his uncle was, withdrawing as though he'd been burned after seeing the bloody bandages, hearing his uncle's angry tone.

When he'd been able to talk to his uncle later that day, he'd been cleaned up. Kevin wondered why they wanted to sanitize things for him, and it made him angry. He was a child, true enough, but he knew his mother was in terrible danger. Whoever had taken her had seriously wounded Uncle Levine. These weren't people who would play nice now that they had her.

He clenched his hands in his blankets, squeezing his eyes shut. There had been no news of his mother, no whisper. Uncle Levine had gone back to Virginia, swearing he'd use all of his old contacts, call in any leftover favors, cash in every debt anyone had ever incurred.

But it wasn't yielding any information. Charles hadn't even been able to find her in the same way that he'd found Kevin. He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. Who were these people who'd taken his mother away? Did it have to do with her job? Did they know what they'd done, that she was needed? Did they even care?

He didn't think so. That meant he wouldn't care about them, no matter who they were. He hoped no one else did either when they found them. He hoped they understood what he was feeling every morning when he woke up and the crushing pain was back-

Kevin?

Kevin opened his eyes a crack.

Charles?

Kevin, I'm hearing some thoughts that some of the paintings are rattling in the halls. Are you alright?

He pulled his blanket over his head and took deep breaths. Now that he wasn't so lost in his thoughts, he could hear the noise. With a bit more concentration, there was silence.

I'm sorry, Kevin said, I didn't know I was doing that. And I'm okay, just thinking.

No, don't be sorry. But you shouldn't be up this early Kevin.

Neither should you, said Kevin.

A warm, sad chuckle echoed through his mind.

Well, I'm older than you. I can handle it better.

Don't get yourself hurt, Kevin said, Mom wouldn't like it.

He bit his lip. Part of him wanted to ask what Charles was thinking and feeling, but he knew that too well. He saw his pain every day, and not just in the dark circles, but in the lines on what had once been a smiling, gentle face.

It was still gentle, but it no longer smiled. And yet, when Kevin reached out, he would be there to tell him to stay strong. When he talked to him, he never seemed to have any doubts.

Kevin still doubted, but having someone believe it would all work out often gave him strength.

I wouldn't like it either, Kevin said, I just...

The next thought wasn't supposed to make it through, but Kevin was still so bad at hiding these things.

You can't disappear too.

Silence. Kevin pulled his blanket tighter underneath his chin and looked out the window. He closed his eyes, trying to establish a perimeter around his inner thoughts and what he wanted to say. It was difficult, a strange balancing act.

Only a week ago he'd found out how much he wished Charles had been his father, not the man who'd tried to kill his mother and broken his ribs. He'd thought that, maybe, if things kept going the way they were, he might be.

He switched to his other side. A sliver of moonlight fell on the floor from between the curtains. The bed where his mother used to sleep was empty, each blanket and sheet perfectly creased and unaired.

His throat began to tighten.

Kevin, we will find her. Never doubt that.

Okay, Kevin whispered.

Another moment of silence.

She wouldn't want anything to happen to you either you know.

I know, said Kevin.

You should get some sleep, Charles said.

I don't think I can.

I can help you if you just relax, said Charles, Just close your eyes and I can get you to sleep. It will-

Be better in the morning? Kevin said bitterly.

Silence, a sigh from somewhere.

No. I can't tell you that.

Kevin felt guilty for his words and rolled onto his back. The ceiling stared back at him, a few shadows moving in sync.

I can only tell you that you can face the day with a little bit of rest, a little bit of extra strength this way.

Tears pricked Kevin's eyes, and he sighed.

Thank you, he said.

He closed his eyes, and a soft blackness stole into his mind and eyes. Before he had time to sigh again, he was asleep.

"Charles?"

Charles looked up, offering a wan smile. His sister was standing in front of a projection of a map, looking concerned. The rest of the X-men were there, all in their pajamas, nursing cups of coffee or soda.

Peter's eyes kept darting around, five empty soda bottles and two cups of coffee next to him. Hank had his arms crossed thoughtfully but, like Raven, was giving him a concerned look.

"Sorry," he said, "Something had to be taken care of. Where is the embarkation point?"

Raven gave a short nod, tapping the border of Latveria, one of the Soviet Union's protectorates.

"We think they're starting out here," she said, "They pick up more mutants at stops in Poland, East Germany, and then Belgium. All in all, a three-week trip that culminates in the United States."

His sister pulled out a marker and drew the route. Charles knew how hard she'd worked to get this information, struggling with old sources. She, like him, like Hank, like all of them, had thrown themselves into finding Moira.

Their reasons varied. Charles still had a nasty feeling Peter blamed himself for what happened, him and Kurt. Neither were to blame, of course, but Peter thought he could've been faster. Kurt felt she wouldn't have been taken if she hadn't mistaken this other teleporter for him.

Raven had kept silent on her reasons. Though she had never liked Moira, her search had been methodical and determined. Her underground contacts filtered news to him, acting as a small, threadlike trail to follow.

It was invaluable, especially because Levine had failed to yield anything at the CIA. Moira's boss was furious and, by all accounts, concerned, but there had been no evidence linking it to anyone. The bodies at Moira's house had been cleaned up, and Stryker had, according to Levine, showed surprise and suspicion when he heard Moira wouldn't be in that day.

Cerebro was also yielding no results, either on Moira or those who had taken her. Charles had used it to follow Stryker, to tap into his mind, but he found nothing. All he could find was an annoyance at Moira, a deep anger. Charles had to struggle not to leave him with a migraine when he left.

Levine was still suspicious of Stryker, but he was exploring other avenues, just as Charles was in Cerebro. Other than that, all Charles could do was be grateful that his sister was helping him find the woman he loved.

"I get the Poland and East Germany stops," said Scott, "But I don't get Belgium. That's not behind the iron curtain. They could use legal channels to immigrate to the U.S."

"Do you even know what that process involves?" Raven asked, "It's not easy. Some people, especially mutants, might find it easier to just get on a ship that's only supposed to be shipping cargo."

"It doesn't sound safe," said Jean.

"From what I hear, it's not," said Raven, "It's poor conditions, since they're not built for passengers. There's usually only pallets for beds, and they're not allowed above deck too much, since this is all illegal. I remember one of my sources saying it was like transporting cattle."

She made a terrible face, but turned back to the board.

"Mutants who take this route are desperate," she said, "They have next to nothing, and what they did have was probably spent on the passage. They're runaways, poor, and no one will miss them."

Raven tapped the board.

"That's why I think, again from what I heard, that most ships make an undocumented stop in Scotland," she said, "Reports are trickling in that some of the mutant passengers disappear there. And I've heard that, when they stop, they've spotted someone who sounds remarkably like our teleporter."

"Are you sure?" asked Hank.

She shrugged.

"While I'm sure there's more than one," she said, "I still doubt that there's that many African American male teleporters who have a preference for cowboy hats and hang out with someone with remarkably good aim."

"Point taken," said Hank.

"Moira also mentioned to me that she was investigating a militant group there," Charles said, "It's worth a look."

Raven nodded and took down the map.

"However, it's not just something we can simply appear at," she said, "We need to be very careful about this. If they think something's wrong with the ship, or if it's compromised, I don't think our teleporter friend is going to show."

Charles folded his hands thoughtfully.

"You're suggesting an undercover mission, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," Raven said, "I have experience in this sort of operation. I can embark at one of the different ports, posing as a mutant fleeing the country. It would be more beneficial to have someone there long term, especially if there's any long-term information available, like maybe shutting these human smuggling rings down."

"It's...not a bad idea," Charles said cautiously, "But it would take more time than I think we have."

"There's a ship that's going to pull into Latveria soon," said Raven, "Two nights from now."

He thought of Moira, of what they might be doing to her in those two days, in the following days it would take to get to Scotland. He began to shake his head.

"We don't have a lot of options," said Raven, "This is, quite literally, our only lead right now."

"It's risky and time-consuming," Charles said, "You would need to have an escape route, and that's not easy to come by at sea."

"Oooh," Peter said, "Pick me. I can do it. I can. Pick me."

"Do not be ridiculous," said Kurt, "You do not know ze language. Me, on ze ozzer hand-"

"You're German!"

"Ja, a German who vas taught how to speak Latverian for show purposes!" Kurt said, "It is actually a lot like German."

Raven's eyes went wide. She looked over at Charles, who gave her an even look.

He's right you know, he said, Still think it's a good idea?

It's the best plan, she said, But he can't come. He's too young, too inexperienced.

And would Hank or I fare better in this particular exercise? asked Charles, I have the feeling my wheelchair would attract too much attention and, for all his gifts, Hank is very clearly an American. You and Kurt are the only ones with any chance of blending in.

Raven hesitated while Kurt and Peter continued arguing. She looked back at Charles, who set his face.

I don't like this plan Raven, he said, We need to find her now.

And I understand that, Raven said, Trust me, I do. I really, really do. But right now we don't have a lot of choices. I think she's still alive, and likely to remain that way for a while. If they'd wanted to kill her, they would've just shot her in the woods. Charles, this is our best bet.

His eyes flicked over to Kurt.

But you'd have to bring him with you, said Charles, I'm not being cruel, just realistic. If something happens to you on that ship, or you seen an opportunity, you'll be going against a teleporter who can easily leave the picture. If you lose him, then this is all for nothing. Kurt can stop that from happening or get you out if something's wrong.

A bitter fight raged in her eyes as she looked over the boy who, despite an argument and a shocking similarity in looks, she refused to claim as her son. Charles sighed, rubbing his temples as Peter threw an empty soda can at Kurt, who dodged it deftly.

I understand your concern Raven, he said, If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't want to bring Kevin-

It's not the same thing! Raven snapped, Wanting him to be your son doesn't make him yours!

He recoiled, hurt, and he saw a momentary flicker in her eyes. Then she turned away and clapped her hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"Alright, fine," she said, "For lack of anyone who really knows what they're doing, just how much Latverian do you know?"

A/N: Hi everyone! It's nice to be back, and I've had time to consider what I want to do with this story. Also, as the first chapter suggests, we're going to have some time with Mystique and Kurt, as well as their issues.