Jett had finally reached his limit.

His body was protesting. Battered from a few scuffles that he hadn’t exactly won in the past few days, he was sore, bruised, scraped and cut, and to top it all off, he had been sick for days now—sicker than he cared to admit. Ignoring the cold had done little to fend it off, and even his efforts with vitamins, chicken noodle soup and orange juice had failed him. He’d tried everything, from hot showers, to sleeping in, to sucking on a lemon, and though his pride prevented him from downright giving in.

It did not prevent him from staying in bed all day.

He was miserable, coughing and hacking, sneezing, blowing his nose. Being so generally achy had turned him into a grump (or, at least, more of one than usual) and he inwardly cursed Raven and Candice and Millicent for what he deemed ‘accelerating’ and ‘worsening’ his condition. He had been lying in bed all day, either sleeping or staring dully at the television. He’d fallen asleep with it on, as he usually did, though had been too lethargic to grope for the fallen remote and had, all day, been watching a crime drama marathon.

He felt strangely connected to these soulless detectives, though it was quite possible he was slipping into some delusional, thoughtless state. Usually so observant, he hadn’t heard the slam of the car door, or the unlocking of the front door. When there was a soft knock on his door, he’d missed it entirely and it took his mother’s hand on his shoulder for him to even realize she was even there.

Though her touch was light, he’d still jumped.

“Whoa, there,” the woman exclaimed with a little laugh, flashing her son a tired smile. “Interesting show?”

“What?” Jett blinked, eyes jerking to the television in confusion before shooting back to his mother. “No, I just.” He sat up, sniffling. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“I wasn’t exactly quiet,” Charmaine informed, brushing the comforter of Jett’s bed, smoothing it before she took a seat. She reached over, brushing Jett’s hair out of his face—ignoring the way his nose wrinkled and his protest of, “Mom…”. She let out a little sigh, smile still faintly clinging to her lips. “Oh, look at you. Are you feeling all right…?”

Jett shrugged, lips pressed in what looked to be a pout. He didn’t pull away from his mother, though warned, “I’m sick.”

“I figured. Are you eating your vegetables? And fruits?”

“Yeah, yeah. And vitamins, and medicine. And sucked on a lemon.”

Charmaine laughed in such a way that, while not scathing, made Jett huff. “I take it that it didn’t help?”

“Clearly,” Jett grumbled, earning him a look from his mother that very clearly informed him not to take that tone with her.

She never verbally acknowledged it, however, and just went on to ask, “What about that girlfriend of yours, she’s not taking good care of you. Leaving my baby here all alone, suffering. Can’t even get out of bed…”

Jett rolled his eyes at her teasing tone, “No, Raven’s sick and can’t get out of bed.”

“Raven? Oh. No, I was talking about Millie.”

A horrified expression crossed her son’s face as he stared at his mother, so appalled that words eluded him entirely.

Charmaine laughed—a rich, flighty laugh as she continued to stroke her son’s hair. “Relax, I’m teasing. I’m about to go make dinner, do you think you can make it out to the table?”

Disgruntled from her teasing, it was apparent that he wasn’t quite over her teasing. He shrugged, thinking it sounded so nice to just stay tucked in bed…

Though, his stomach was aching and nothing sounded better than a home cooked meal. “I suppose…What are you making?”

“Mm. Pork chops. And plenty of vegetables.” She lowered her hands to her lap and flashed a smile. “Sound good?”

Yes. Yes, it sounded very good. He’d been eating soup for the past few days, and so many fruits that he figured he’d never get scurvy. He didn’t want to seem too eager, so offered a measly shrug. “I guess.”

Charmaine wasn’t buying it; she knew her son better than that. “Well, all right. I’ll get started on that and come get you. I’ll leave you to your show,” she said, gesturing to the screen. “It’s good to see you, though,” she said with a small smile. “Even if you are sick. I feel like you’re always out of the house.”

Jett paused; he knew that tone in his mother’s voice well: disappointment.

His mind, already sluggish with sickness and fatigue, had a hard time processing this situation. His mother was disappointed in him? Or was it something else?

Speaking with Caelian weeks ago had left him feeling a bit like a bad son, and suddenly he felt guilty once more. “Sorry,” he mused, met with instant reassurance from his mother.

“No, no, don’t apologize! You’re young, go have fun while you still can. You don’t need to stick around the house all the time,” the woman said, smiling—though Jett knew his mother as well as she knew him. Or, at least, as well as she thought she knew him. He recognized the slight want in her voice, the slight longing on her face. He knew she was asking, even if she didn’t.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I’m young,” he agreed. “I’ve got all the time in the world to go out and have fun. I miss home. Miss you,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a little squeeze.

It was enough to placate the woman; the briefest look of gratitude crossed her face. “Oh, Jett,” she said only, squeezing his hand in response. “You’re such a good boy.” Leaning forward, she planted a small kiss on his cheek. “I’ll give you a call when dinner’s ready.”

She stood, smoothing off her skirt, and flashed a smile before she slipped out of the room.

Jett watched, taking note at how she closed the door behind her, careful to leave the room just as it had been before she arrived. He remained sitting up for a few seconds before he flopped back down with a groan, stretching. He’d have to make sacrifices—maybe start sneaking out a little later at night when he was going to gather energy, take more note of what days she had off. Maybe work a little less, or adjust his schedule with his friends so he could still spend some time with his mother when she was around.

There would be time to train more with the Dark Mirror Court, time to get stronger and prove himself. To get a rematch with Iris—and Chaonis, while he was at it. To beat Celsus’ face into the ground.

But that could wait.

He wasn’t going to neglect his mother any more than he already had—Caelian had done a fine job of reminding him how important she was to him, and while he’d been trying toe be a better son after his encounter with the Venus Page, her words were still nagging him. He hadn’t really changed, not like he’d wanted to. He wasn’t giving his mother the love or attention his she deserved.

Jett loved being a member of the Dark Mirror Court, but his mother had been around for far longer. He didn’t know the future of the Court—he hadn’t seen Ares or any of his allies sans Lesath in ages—but he knew that his mother wasn’t going anywhere.

He had a chance to make things up to her now, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to follow in his father’s footsteps.