First Night
When they get back to the mansion from the White House, Scott shows Kurt a bedroom. The bed is nicely made up with very sharp corners, and the room smells of old wood and soap.
"I'd give you the tour," Scott says, "but everything's still a mess." He rubs his forehead like that will help him make sense of the thing that he still cannot yet accept about the world.
"Of course," Kurt says. "You must have many things to do."
"There are clean towels in the bathroom closet," Scott says. "And there's a laundry room downstairs."
"I think I can figure it out," Kurt says.
"Great," Scott says, and shuts the door.
Kurt stretches out on the very comfortable bed. He's tired, but it's hard to sleep with the itch of curiosity. He doesn't even have much idea of where they are, let alone of what there is to see in a house dedicated to the training of mutant teenagers. Still, he's aware that downstairs people are busy and upset, and that he has been very politely asked to stay out of the way, so it's quite some time later when he finally opens the door cautiously and steps out.
He means only to go down the hall and find the bathroom, wherein he can presumably find clean towels and take a much-needed shower, but he finds himself tempted by the stairs. He is, he thinks, a guest, and surely that means his freedom extends to going downstairs. He makes his way down, avoiding the glass at the bottom of the stairs. He has the urge to cover the broken windows with brown paper and tape, but he supposes someone else is thinking of that.
There is a room with a large television set and sofas and various games, but no one is in it, and the television set is off. There's nothing Kurt particularly wants to know about the outside world at this moment, anyway. There are many closed doors which he does not open for fear of disturbing people. There is the entry hall, from which he can tell only that outside there is a long drive lined by shadowy trees.
Eventually he finds the kitchen, and is suddenly aware that he's hungry; they ate on the plane, but he can't really remember what he ate, only that he was glad for the strong coffee. He peers in, wondering if anyone will mind if he makes a sandwich.
Ororo is there, looking into one of the cabinets, and he hesitates, feeling suddenly shy. She turns and smiles at him tiredly.
"Hi," she says. "Are you hungry? You should have come down; I think most of the pizza got eaten." She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a pizza box. "Watch the glass on the floor."
"I was not hungry," Kurt says. "But I admit I am now."
"There's ..." She investigates. "Some pretty pathetic-looking sausage and mushroom, if that's your thing. Also we have doughnuts," she says, nodding at the cabinet. "Really a lot of doughnuts. Scott went to pick up the pizza, and there's a doughnut shop across the street from the pizza place, and apparently at times like this we are all twelve years old at heart."
"Pizza, then doughnuts," Kurt says. "A more balanced meal."
"You got it," Ororo says, putting the pizza on a plate and sticking it in the microwave. "I'm sorry. We're not usually this off our stride."
"You have been through a great deal," Kurt says, not sure why Ororo thinks things ought to be normal the evening after her friend's death.
"We're the grown-ups," Ororo says, taking down the box of doughnuts and shutting the cabinet door too hard. "If we freak out, who's going to hold the kids together? They need stability and to feel safe and ..." Kurt takes the box of doughnuts from her, and she turns up her hands in frustration. "We've just done so much work with some of these kids, and this is just going to take them apart."
"Children can survive many hard things," Kurt says. "When they must."
"They're good kids," Ororo says automatically, but he's not sure she's really listening to him. The microwave beeps, and Ororo hands him his pizza. It's dried around the edges, but it still tastes good. He wonders if there's any chance of beer to accompany it.
"What can I do?" Kurt asks. "I do not know how long I plan to stay, but I am happy to be helpful if I can."
"You're welcome to stay as long as you want," Ororo says. "I swear we'll get ourselves together."
"I could help with breakfast?" Kurt offers. It's not his life that's shattered, but he can't help the urge to try to mend some of the broken places, because he is also a grown-up and knows how to cook breakfast and be gentle with children who are grieving.
"We may have it covered with the doughnuts," Ororo says. "And there'll be a lot to do in the morning ..."
"Not very nutritious," Kurt says gravely. "I think I can manage eggs."
"It needs to be a lot of eggs," Ororo says.
"I have cooked for a lot of people in the circus," Kurt says. "Trust me just this little bit?"
"I'm not so much in a trusting place right now," Ororo says, with a wry smile that he thinks makes that an apology. "But, sure. Eggs are in the refrigerator, pans are under the stove, you're safest with scrambled or you'll have everybody acting like you're a short-order cook. The kids can make their own toast, but don't let them use the stove. Especially not --" She breaks off and stares at the donut in her hand. "I hate this," she says. He knows she doesn't mean the donut.
"We survive," Kurt says. "If somewhat the worse for wear."
Ororo smiles a little bit. "How are you holding up?"
"I think now I want a shower," Kurt says. "Scott says there are towels?"
"There should be plenty of towels," Ororo says, as if relieved to be asked a question she can easily answer. "Make yourself at home."
Kurt nods; at least for a while, he will.