Why oh why don't my assignments come as easily as fluffy Dadneto? I own nothing, but I do have an amazing Dad. Thanks so much everyone who has read and reviewed my fics, you're all inspirational.
It was raining heavily, drawing the scent of petrichor and tree sap from the suburban streets. Awful weather for June, but Erik didn't mind it too much. He liked the gloomy weather. Charles called it 'pathetic fallacy' – when your mood and the world go together perfectly – and whilst Erik had little time or patience for Charles' pontificating on such things, he had to agree that he had a point on that one.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, he stared at the sidewalk as he moved. There weren't many people out in weather like this, and it was a Sunday after all – just a nice, quiet weekend in a nice, quiet street. Erik swallowed his hatred of the normalcy and complacency around him, people moving through their lives as if they didn't have to care. He tried to focus on what he was here for – why he was here – and to swallow the strange lump in his throat as he approached the house. The mailbox swayed a little as he passed, betraying his nerves. Erik stood on the Welcome mat with the worn streak down the middle from so much foot traffic, and took a deep breath before he raised his fist to knock.
He didn't have time before the door opened, and he looked up to see those dark eyes he had loved briefly but passionately almost thirty years ago. In the span of years that had passed, Magda had lost none of the spark and fire that he had been so drawn to, looking up at him now as though she wasn't surprised to find a superpowered terrorist on her doorstep. Giving him that little quirk of a smile that was so like her son's and which had charmed Erik from the moment he saw it. No feelings there now though – it was too long ago, he had seen too much since then. Lost too much.
"Are you going to come in, or do you like standing out there dripping?"
Her voice was gentle, but it held an edge of challenge. Maybe this had been a terrible idea after all. Erik didn't move from the doorstep.
"I'm only here to drop this off" he held out the bag he was carrying. She didn't take it, "I'm… sorry to have intruded on your Sunday"
"It took you 26 years to intrude on my life again, I think it's a little late for apologies"
"Magda – "
"Shut up, Erik" she closed her eyes briefly, sighed, held her patience and stood aside to motion him in, "We don't have to pretend to be friends. He's downstairs"
The house looks so normal. It hurts Erik's heart a little to step in and see the framed family photograph hanging on the hallway wall, the one beside it of a beautiful redheaded girl smiling proudly in a mortarboard and gown, clutching her degree scroll. He never had any contact with her at all, had the feeling that she had no use for him in her life – but her brother was different.
Charles had sent him back to his mother whilst his leg finished healing. The cast had been off a couple of weeks now, but the little twit couldn't stay out of trouble around the mansion, and in the interests of not getting himself killed the Professor had decided that his mother's house was the best place for Peter for now. Erik wondered if that were true. Charles hadn't had to tell him to visit on this particular Sunday in June – but he had smiled that insufferably fond little smile when Erik had announced his intention to go.
From downstairs he could hear music that sounded like a tuba having a fight with a pipe organ – honestly, how could the boy even stand that stuff? – and the rapid blip of an arcade machine. He could feel Magda watching him as he walked down the basement stairs, standing at the top, her eyes boring into the back of his head as if accusing him for all the other days he'd missed. Erik wished he could be as numb to Madga's accusations as he was to the concerns of the rest of her race. It was surprisingly tidy down here, if a little crowded, with low lighting and the smell of incense from somewhere. Erik only registered Peter for a fraction of a second before he had been standing in front of him, arms folded, giving Erik an obstinate look as though challenging him to speak first. Erik waited, knowing he wouldn't have to.
"Are you checking up on me?" the boy asked, flicked his hair out of his face, "Because I'm fine. My leg's fine, my arm's fine. I'm fine"
"No, I –"
"I've been resting, like Xavier said. No running, no speeding, nothing, so you can go tell him that it's driving me bats and he really needs to just let me come back to the mansion. Look -" he bent to pull back the leg of his jeans, the ugly scar where his fibula had been poking through the skin almost gone "I'm totally fine, I can come back any time"
Waiting for the machine-gun speech to stop, Erik folded his own arms, unconsciously mirroring the position of the arrogant little man in front of him.
"Have you finished?"
"Are you taking me back?"
It was almost pathetic, the way he asked that. As if Xavier had kicked him out of the team when really all he had done was remove him from the temptation of the Danger Room until the damnable little streak of silver wouldn't hurt himself all over again.
"No"
Erik felt a stab of agony that he couldn't explain or will away as Peter dropped his gaze, pointedly walked away at a normal speed and sat back down at his game, putting his back to Erik. He glanced up at Magda, still keeping vigil at the top of the stairs, but her stony look gave him no guidance. He sighed and crossed the room, holding out the bag he had brought with him.
"This is for you" he said, waited for the boy to turn and peer inside the bag, "to replace the one that Kurt broke"
In an instant, Peter had extracted the box from inside, and Erik felt a little heartened to see that though he was trying hard to keep up the façade of cool indifference, his eyes gleamed with pleasure as he saw the brand new model of Walkman. Erik had even found it in a metallic silver that matched the boy's flashy biker jacket, and with the over-ear buds that he knew the boy favoured.
This time, it was Peter who glanced up the stairs at Magda for guidance, and when he looked back there was a little more warmth in his eyes. Erik froze as he was unexpectedly pulled into a hug. For a moment he was held so tightly that he could feel the boy's rapid heartbeat buzzing against his own chest, and an almost painful feeling of joy washed through him.
"Thanks Dad" Peter whispered, releasing Erik and pausing for a fraction of a second before he had begun tearing into the box to examine his new gadget, continuingly offhandedly, "So like, do you wanna hang out or something? We could go to the new arcade up the street, though I already beat all the games there, or there's a great pinball table in the diner in town, I bet you're really good at pinball without even using the flippers. Or we could just…. Hang out, y'know. Get something to eat or -"
Taking his chance, Erik jumped in
"We could eat"
There was a flurry of movement and Peter was standing by the stairs with his new Walkman clipped to his belt, fully dressed and ready to bound off. So this was what he called 'resting'?
There was a moment where both of them offered a look to the woman standing at the top of the stairs. Magda nodded briefly, smiled at her son and turned to walk away.
Peter was already outside tapping his foot impatiently by the time Erik got to the front door, turning once more to look at Magda, trying to somehow reach across what he had done to her and leave her with a little peace. Knowing that such was futile, when he had no peace for himself. He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a small box, handed it to her and replying to her questioning look.
"For Wanda," he explained, "tell her I didn't forget her birthday"
Magda gave him a tight smile, nodded briefly.
"Don't let him get in trouble, have him back by six, and if you let him eat too much junk then he can throw up on *your* shoes"
Erik grimaced, wondering if showing up for the twin's birthday was really such a great idea after all. He nodded to Magda, who was looking past him at the son who was growing into a young man, a fond smile on her lips that Erik knew he would never win from her now, not after all this time. Finally she looked back, hand on the door to close it
"Have a nice Father's Day, Erik." she said, "Don't you dare screw this up"
"Shit dude, it's Father's Day?!"
"Language, Peter!" Erik and Magda snapped in unison. They exchanged one last guilty, awkward glance before she closed the front door.
A/N Title from "Best I Can" appearing on the album "Fly By Night" by Rush. Anyone getting that I dig some Prog Rock?