Thus, Love

Part 3

You glanced at your phone as it lit up. Setting down your fork, ignoring your kids mocking chant of 'no phones at the table, no phones at the table'.

You bit your cheek to hide the smile. Mikey had stolen whatever it was Leonardo used to communicate with earlier in the day and had been sending weird snapshots periodically.

Most images were blurry, but a few were decent. Like this one.

Leo says he misses you. The text read, displaying an image in crisp quality of the mutant in question shoving half a Chicago deep dish slice in his mouth.

You're a little shit. You sent back, setting your phone down. Taking a bite of spaghetti to mask your grin.

It took you by surprise how much fun you'd been having over the last three days. You'd forgotten, in the repetition of your every day, how much you enjoyed talking to people about stuff. Not even important stuff.

Leo sending a picture of pigeons on a billboard because he thought one looked pretty. Raph photo bombing Donnie. Mikey's hijinks. In return you'd sent little snapshots of your desk at work, a pile of immunizations you had to give to a five year old whose parents had fallen behind and suddenly needed to catch up to enroll in kindergarten. The boys gathered around one phone to watch a vine compilation.

You even sent a selfie of you in your green and blue scrubs, teasing I'm cosplaying as you. Only after Leo had made a comment about you always wearing red when he saw you. That hadn't received a response, but you weren't expecting one.

You twirled your fork and your phone lit up again.

"Jeez Mom." Your oldest groaned, "you gotta boyfriend or what."

"A friend." You corrected, poking at your phone case. "A few friends, actually."

"Pff." Your middle son scoffed. "You, friends? Cap."

"You little ass." You grinned at him, watching him rinse his plate and vanish into his room.

"It's okay Mom." Your oldest sympathized. "I know it's hard to make friends at your age. I'm proud of you."

Your mouth dropped open, you had no response as he also washed his plate and migrated to the living room. The TV buzzed on.

"You're on my side," you turned to your youngest, who had somehow managed to get spaghetti sauce in his hair. "Right, lovie?"

"Don't call me that." He grumbled, leaving his plate on the table to join his oldest brother.

"I've raised monsters." You muttered, not meaning it. Your phone brightened again.

Leaning back you checked the notifications.

So sorry. Obviously Leo again. Mikey stole my phone and I had no idea. I thought I lost it on patrol.

You grinned. I figured. You sent.

You feeling better?

Your lips pursed. Yes. And it was true. The bruise was fading to a sickly green and yellow now, and despite still hurting the pain when walking was more of a stiff ache than genuine hurt.

You being honest? You rolled your eyes.

Yes, sir! You sent, watching your screen.

Three minutes passed by. Then five. With a huff you grabbed the two last plates off the table, chiding yourself.

You were an adult. You had things to do. You couldn't spend your time glued to your phone. You turned on the water and began scrubbing. Besides, you shrugged physically. They're superheroes. You frowned, lips pursed as you put a dish and fork in the strainer.