Patrolling for energy often left Jett coming back home near to starving. Tonight was no different; he'd stepped through the mirror and powered down, only to immediately be hit with a pang of hunger. Brushing himself off, he tied his hair up and slipped out of his room. He was careful to tread lightly; it was late and he didn't want to risk waking anyone up.

He'd nearly made it to the kitchen when he heard a noise that made him suspicious, and turning the corner, he was immediately greeted with the sight of his mother pacing. She looked a bit more haggard than usual—tired, and tense. She was wearing her nightgown, though didn't seem to have come from bed; she looked frustrated and wore a contemplative thought. Clearly she hadn't noticed him, so Jett quietly addressed her as he stepped nearer to her. "Mom?"

Charmaine registered the tone of concern in his voice—and responded with one of her own. Albeit, a much more hostile tone. "Where were you?" she demanded, hands on her hips as she angrily crossed the distance between them.

The action surprised Jett, who hadn't seen his mother in such a fuss at him in years. "I was here," he said defensively. He couldn’t very well tell her that he'd been out gathering energy for some strange space group. He'd had a hard enough time making up a lie about his disappearance from the Surrounding; he didn't think his mother could handle such a tale.

"You were not," she countered. "I knocked. You didn't answer. You weren't in your room."

…Which was going to be a bit of a dent in any lie he told. Not that it was ever a good idea to lie to your mother; they had a very unique talent for sniffing out anything other than the truth.

"Relax," he said in an effort to calm her down. "I was here and—"

"Don't you lie to me, young man. I'm your mother and I deserve to know if my son is up to something!"

Of course, she had every reason to wonder if he was. He hadn't exactly been a golden child in his teenage years, and while he was always as good a son as he could be for his mother, that didn't mean he didn't struggle with some nefarious activity that worried her half to death. But Jett wasn't going to up and confess—not if there was still a chance that he calm his mother.

"Mom," Jett said sternly, looking the woman in the eyes. "I promise. I'm not up to anything. I fell asleep organizing my closet. There's still a spilled over box if you need to check, but I swear to you. I was here." Of course, he'd tipped the box over a few nights ago, but it wasn't like Charmaine made a habit of frequenting her son's closet, so he doubted she would know.

For a few long seconds, Charmaine looked at her son skeptically—and then just sighed. She shook her head and then reached her arms around him to embrace him. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm just on edge. I worry if I don't here from you for so long."

"It was only a few hours," he mumbled as his mother squeezed him tighter. She was tall, almost as much as him, and the hug forced his chin on her shoulder.

"I worry," she said in a tone he couldn't argue with.

"…I know," he finally conceded, sighing heavily. "…Sorry."

"It's my fault," she admitted. "…I guess I just haven't gotten over last year. Or your father."

The very title made him stiffen. He knew that with as tight of an embrace as his mother was giving him that she would know that he was on edge, but she neither said anything nor released him from the hug.

Charmaine had not reacted very well to the news that her son was missing. He had only heard brief tidbits of the story, though in the weeks that they were gone, her health had declined and she'd very nearly spiraled into depression. She was working herself way too hard and not taking care of herself in the slightest.

Losing Jett meant losing everything, too her.

Jett felt a pang of guilt for reminding her of such a thing as the incident last year, but now, he could make sure that it never happened again. Now, he had the power to defend himself—to deal with psychotic situations like that.

The matter of his father was another story entirely.

"…That's not going to happen again. Last year was a fluke. I didn't mean to be gone for so long…this was just a few hours, nothing like six weeks. I promise…"

"Okay, Jett." Her tone was not one of defeat, just acceptance. She was a strong woman, and just as she was Jett's weakness, he was hers. "I trust you. You just be safe."

"I am, mom," he said, offering a light laugh as she finally loosened her arms around him. "I'm safe. Being a good boy, going to school, going to work, dating a good girl. What more could you ask for?"

Charmaine couldn't think of anything, so she just drew back and smiled. "Nothing, Jett. You make me proud."

The distance between them, now that Jett could see his mother's face, he just smiled. "You really stayed up worrying?" he prompted. "You look exhausted."

A light laugh spilled from her lips and she shook her head. "…It's a mother's right to worry, Jett. Sometimes I get paranoid, I have to walk around the house. Ophelia is lucky I'm not peeking into her room to make sure she's still tucked in bed and safe."

"Lucky?" Jett prompted, though just smiled. "…I'd say she's lucky she's got you to fawn over her. It'd be your right to poke your head in and check up on her."

"Oh, but I wouldn't," Charmaine laughed, swatting at Jett's hand playfully. She seemed exhausted, still—but more relieved. She took his hand, holding it tightly. "I guess you should be getting to bed. If you don't get eight hours of sleep, your hair will start looking like mine. I know how much you value your beauty sleep."

Jett still wore a soft smile on his lips. "I suppose I could get some rest. You, too though—all right? Or do you want me to come in and tell you a bedtime story first?" he asked playfully.

"Oh, stop it, Jett. Don't tease me. Rain check. You can come read to me the next time I have a cold."

"Which'll be soon if you don't take some more time off," he chastised, giving her hand another little squeeze. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as he watched her expression. Expecting her to shake her head and argue that there was some 'very important business negotiation' or something going on, he was surprised when she looked thoughtful—and then nodded.

"I suppose that's a good idea. I might like that, to take some time off. I'll think about it. We should do something fun the next time you're on break, hmm? Ophelia can come if she likes. Raven, too. And we can invite Bellatrix and Millie, won't that be fun?"

"Sounds like fun," Jett said, wondering how likely it would be to happen. He wasn't necessarily enthusiastic about Raven and Ophelia being under the same roof, but he wouldn’t mind spending some time with his mother where they weren't both worn out.

"It will be. All right, get to bed. A boy your age shouldn't be up at four in the morning," she scolded, leaning forward to give him a peck on the cheeks. "You sleep well, Jett, I'll see you in the morning."

"You too, mom," he promised, dropping her hand. She offered one last wave before she fixed her robe and shuffled off back towards her room. Somewhere in the short conversation, Jett had lost his appetite. He could always eat in the morning. Maybe he'd make his mother a nice breakfast to make it up to her that he'd worried her.

She deserved that, at the very least.