Disclaimer: Neocolai owns nothing and is not making a profit from this series.
According to the comics, Erik and Magda did have a first daughter who was killed in a fire. Magneto never had a happy life. :(
"It's kind of like a fair," Peter elaborated as he darted from table to booth, glancing back exasperatedly while Erik plodded behind. "Only it's smaller, but there's games and stuff and it's all about fundraising which means you're supposed to participate."
"Fine." He was there for the kid, anyways. No one said he had to be directly involved.
"You've never been to a park festival," Peter guessed.
"Nope." This was all Charles' doing. The telepath seemed compelled to amend everyone's tragic upbringing. Peter missing a father? Magneto gets called in. Jean ostracized in school? Welcome to Mutant High. Erik raised in poverty? He'd dealt with that shortcoming himself. Charles was just pushing the family button again.
"Okay, so this is really easy," Peter explained as he flitted behind Erik and pushed him towards one of the brightly lit stands. "You buy a ticket and toss one of those illegally weighted metal rings onto the impossible to reach metal poles. It's really really hard."
"Peter." Erik looked darkly over his shoulder and the kid shrugged. Really? Magneto was expected to levitate a simple metal ring for a prize.
"They have cracker jacks," Peter said hopefully.
Erik sighed. "If we're arrested, you're not getting bail."
"It's not like we're cheating. You're just throwing the metal hoop onto the metal pole which isn't supposed to win anyways because – "
"Just get the dang ticket."
Delighted, Peter held up two dollars and waved to the vendor. If his silver hair had magically vanished under a dark hat, Erik wasn't going to testify. Just an ordinary old geezer hanging out with his non-mutant kid, he tried to convey. Charles' interference would have been convenient at this time.
"You're going to give it a shot?" the vendor chirped.
"Yeah, my dad is going to throw." Peter sounded mighty proud as he thrust the hoops into Erik's hands and shoved him forward. "Aim for the tiny one at the top. The one that's really, really impossibly hard to reach."
"Got it." Smirking, (really, he wouldn't even need his mutation; he knew exactly what this metal was capable of), Erik spun the circlet a few times and flicked it towards the smallest rod. One target acquired. Two. Three.
Peter clapped his hands onto his hat and whooped. Dazed, the vendor tilted his sunglasses and stared at the three bobbing rings.
"How'd you do that?"
"Practice." Erik shrugged. "The kid gets a prize, I take it."
Enthusiastically crunching a sack of caramel popcorn five minutes later, Peter garbled, "We're gonna hit all the vendors. Hey, I know where you can win a goldfish!"
Prediction accurate. He knew the kid wanted a fish for his birthday. (Apparently the stolen tank wasn't enough. Acquisitive little imp.)
The ensuing games were similar to the first. Erik was challenged to find a weighted rubber duck. (The filling turned out to be lead. That round didn't count and they lost a dollar. Peter found it thirty ducks into his turn and the vendor never knew the difference.) Erik swapped the cotton candy prize for the rest of Peter's cracker jacks, since technically he had won those in the first place.
Throwing a few wooden balls at lead-weighted pins was trivial; he merely gave a calculated toss and Peter knocked down the pins for him. (Why the kid needed a stuffed pink panther, Erik would never guess.)
The shooting range was too easy. Even Peter complained that the vendors couldn't possibly make a profit with guns that actually aimed at their targets. (He still grabbed a swirly lollipop for his prize.)
Twenty stalls, three cracker-jacks, a string of silver flags, a tin harmonica, two sports flags, a balloon animal hat (that Erik refused to wear), a whole apple pie, a goldfish complete with bowl and pebbles, and one soccer ball later, the two mutants were quietly escorted from the vendors' court. Apparently losing was mandatory for continued participation.
"We could try the rubber ducks again," Peter mused. "You were really lame at that one."
"Watch it, Kid," Erik mumbled around a handful of apple pie.
"Hey, what about that one over there?" Peter suggested, tugging on Erik's sleeve.
Math Wizards – Compete for Cash and Scholarships! read the outstretched sign. Erik choked on his pie.
"What? I used all my cash on the games," Peter said. "They haven't started yet. I can still sign up."
"Sure," Erik blustered. He glanced at the children's table and hoped they'd let an older-than-college-student compete. "You'll fit right in."
Peter's jaw set in a definitely sulky-sparrow manner.
"What?" Erik exclaimed.
"Fine. Hold this stuff." Thrusting the goldfish bowl, the balloon animal, the soccer ball, the tin harmonica, the sports decal, the last cracker jack box, and the string of flags into Erik's arms (wait, the scamp expected him to carry all of this and eat his pie?), Peter adjusted his hat and stalked to the entry table.
"One for college-entry level?" the director asked.
Erik didn't bother to listen in. While Peter filled in paperwork, he found a chair not-entirely hemmed in by single mothers and tucked his son's loot under the frame. The goldfish was cradled in his lap – no sense letting some thieving brat run off with it. Settling back with his pie, Erik nodded to Peter and hoped the kid wouldn't be too disappointed with a participation award for arithmetic.
He was surprised when Peter took a seat among the college-level entrants. Chewing methodically, Erik calculated the difficulty level.
He was going to have a downtrodden puppy to pacify in fifteen minutes.
Packets were handed out: easy arithmetic for the youngsters, thicker stacks for the buck-toothed teenagers, pamphlets lined with diagrams for the oldest entrants. Peter inhaled deeply, shivering with pent energy, already gnawing the end of his pencil.
Erik contemplated fetching another goldfish.
The rules were obvious. No cheating, no half-finished answers, no assistance from parents, show your work. Winners of the elementary group would earn a cash prize, while middle-graders on up had the chance for cash or a college grant. Three college level contestants would win a full-ride scholarship.
No awards were listed for participation.
Make that two goldfish.
The contest opened with a curt "Begin". Pencils scribbled, erasers deteriorated, little brats chewed their nails, older students grit their teeth. Peter's teeth dug into his lower lip as his pencil scrabbled, looking for all the world like everyone was writing too slowly and he was forced to match their pace. His knees jittered beneath the table until one of the judges cleared her throat.
Poor kid looked up at her like his shoelaces were tied together.
Two goldfish and a cup of cocoa. And a suitable explanation to Hank for why he was returning a sorely abused nestling to the academy.
The first college entrant flipped to his second page. A flurry of paper and Peter followed in sync, leaning over the packet, his pencil a yellow blur.
Erik peered closer.
The kid was moving pretty fast.
Cheater, Erik thought reluctantly. He wasn't surprised – he'd hardly been an example of morality that afternoon – but he had hoped that this time the kid would realize he couldn't do everything by speed alone. Hank was complaining about Peter's absence in the classroom. If the silver mutant lacked the brains to match his speed, his talents were wasted. Erik had hoped this instance would teach him to mind his studies.
Of course, once again, the boy had his way without a lick of hard work. Erik was disappointed.
Another page flipped as Peter grabbed a third pencil. Some of the judges had taken notice. One of them leaned forward, scrutinizing the mutant for any signs of fraudulence. Of course they would never catch him. Even Erik couldn't target the flits of posture that would indicate the boy had copied from his opponents.
The fifth page turned. The kid was still jittering in the same locked position. For an instant Erik wondered if he had judged erroneously.
Then he smiled.
"Charles," he drawled. "Let the kid do his own work."
Surprise blinked in his mind. "Are you at the park?" Charles responded after a long pause. "Hank told me there was an event today. I didn't have time, but I sent Jean down there. Is Peter with you?"
"You weren't communicating with him?" Erik said, flummoxed.
"I wasn't aware he needed to talk…. Is everything all right?"
Erik tensed as one of the judges strolled around the tables, lingering over Peter's work before moving on. "Yeah…. Everything's fine here."
The kid owed him an explanation.
Twenty minutes into the contest, Peter flipped the last page, looking disillusioned at the blank paper. He tidied his corner of the table and leaned his chin on his hand, glancing at the others before retrieving a pencil. One of the judges harrumphed.
"If you're finished, Mister Maximoff, you may leave the table."
Awkwardly Peter glanced around and then rose. A third-grader glowered enviously. Sliding around the other tables, Peter wavered before the judges' table and handed over his packet. Dubiousness mingled with admiration among the directors.
"You will hear the results in three hours," the executive told him.
Peter jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged, leaving with the casual uncertainty that Erik recognized as Snap I did something wrong but it was totally worth it see how awesome I am?
"Mathematician, huh?" Erik said smugly as Peter flounced into the chair beside him.
The boy shrugged, retrieving his goldfish and reaching for the last slice of pie.
"Uh-uh." Erik lurched back and tossed him a Cracker Jack box instead.
"It wasn't so hard," Peter said around a mouthful of caramel corn. "Mom had a Calculus book in the basement and Wanda didn't want it. Never thought it'd be useful."
"You studied Calculus?" Erik's brow furrowed. This was the kid he couldn't get to settle down for five minutes with his homework.
"Well… I read the book," Peter mumbled. "Got bored the second time around, but I usually don't have to read stuff twice. Don't know why Hank gets so bothered about book reviews and all that."
"You read a Calculus volume and completed the test," Erik stressed.
Peter shrugged. "Yeah…. Why do you think the professor stopped bugging me about the kidsie word problems?"
"You – " Erik flung a hand in the air and gave up. For weeks he had been chastening the kid for ignoring common math sensibility, and Peter may well have graduated in fifth grade. "And you didn't tell me?"
"You seemed to think it was important," Peter said uncomfortably. "I mean, I kept hinting that I knew all that stuff, but you insisted on tutoring me, so I went along with it. I thought maybe it was one of those 'play catch' but with numbers bonding moments."
Erik snorted. "Bonding moments." He rubbed a hand along his brow, then slapped his knee and stood. "Come on."
"What – we're leaving?" Peter jolted uneasily. "The contest hasn't finished yet."
"We'll come back for the results," Erik promised. "Bring your stuff." He waved impatiently, hiding a smile when Peter forced himself to gather his prize collection like a normal, slothful kid.
"Where are we going?" Peter wondered, still edging as though he feared the judges would shred his packet the moment he turned away.
"Back to the booths," Erik stated. "We're going to give this one more try."
He owed the kid a pie after his patronization.
And another goldfish.
The proud bearer of a beta and two goldfish had to balance his treasures as he accepted the highest cash prize the Math Wizards competition had to offer. It was a pittance compared to the scholarship, as voiced by the disappointed director.
"Your mind is amazing!" he emphasized, slinging an arm over Peter's shoulders. "Why throw away this chance? You could be the next Einstein – the most brilliant man in America!"
The silver mutant glowed at the praise. "Actually, I – "
"He already has a full-paid tuition," Erik interjected firmly. "At the most prodigious private university in America."
Peter grinned. "Sorry, Prof," he said to the director, "But my dad's right. I'm booked for the next ten years of my life."
"Longer than that," Erik muttered.
The director sighed. "Well, if I can't convince you…." He rifled out a business card and tucked it into Peter's jacket pocket. "Call me if you change your mind. The world is searching for extraordinary young men like you."
"I couldn't agree more." Sliding between the two, Erik looped an arm over Peter's shoulders and guided him away. "Lousy sycophant," he growled under his breath.
"You know, Mom was right about one thing," Peter chirped, "You're a pretty possessive papa bear."
"She said that?" Erik frowned.
"Not exactly – more like overbearing and vengeful, which kinda means the same thing if you think about it. I think she was exaggerating about a lot of stuff, actually. You're not really that scary – I mean, when you're dropping metal on people it's pretty terrifying, but that's why I'm here. Charles says I'm good for you – I overheard him talking when I wasn't supposed to be around. I think he figured it out because he pulled my ear over breakfast the next morning. I thought only Mystique was allowed to do that…"
He lost track of the kid's rambling, his thoughts filled with the woman he had once loved. The woman he had believed was the one. The woman who had forsaken him.
She had left him after the fire; alone with the scorched corpse of their daughter and a hoard of armed men. In spite she had hidden Peter away.
Somehow, their son had grown to be nothing like her. Forgiving and loyal, even after his father's negligence nearly cost him his leg.
Erik couldn't understand how such a kid had been spawned by two destructive parents.
He only knew that if – somehow – Peter grew up to be anything like the professor he respected….
He could never be more proud.