Summary: Magneto and his son sit down and talk. Takes place directly after the events of "Speed and Spyke" (season 1, episode 5). P.S.: Did anyone else notice that both Charles and Magneto end up breaking someone out of prison in this episode? I can't help but wonder if they saw one another and were just kind of like, "you too, huh?" Oh, the joys of raising mutant teenagers.
Reunion
He could hear/feel the bars of the cage rattling from down the hallway, and smirked to himself. After all this time, he thought, Pietro had yet to learn a thing about patience.
"C'mon, let me out, it wasn't my fault," Pietro was whining to an imaginary audience as Magneto drew closer. "There were extenuating circumstances." His heavy footsteps seemed to draw the boy's attention temporarily away from himself: "It's you," he blinked when Magneto entered the room, his eyes wide.
It was easy enough to convince the boy to come with him; Magneto suspected that it wasn't every day the boy had been quite literally given a 'get out of jail free' card in the form of the Master of Magnetism melting the steel bars of his cell. Brushing himself off, Pietro took the older man's proffered hand, and shivered a little as they lifted into the air and off into the night.
Magneto kept a firm grip on the boy's waist as they traveled, eventually touching down up the street from a small, quiet shopping plaza that was mostly closed or in the process of shutting down for the evening as the sun continued to set. "There's a diner up here," he intoned, setting Pietro down to stand on his own feet. He strode towards it, and Pietro shrugged and followed.
They sat at a small, cramped booth in a corner, Magneto's tall, caped frame something of a sight, though nobody hassled him about it. Pietro sat opposite him and watched as Magneto removed his helmet, setting it next to himself on the booth seat. When a worn-faced waitress proffered them both menus, a few wisps of hair pulled from her bun and her white shoes scuffed, Magneto simply nodded at her, and off she went. He watched the boy stare listlessly at the offerings for several minutes, neither of them talking. Finally, their silence was broken by the same waitress returning for their respective orders.
"I don't want anything," Pietro said quietly, ducking his head. When Magneto ordered enough food for two people, including the exact sandwich-and-side combination that he knew Pietro had enjoyed as a kid, he still didn't acknowledge it. Finally, the man - his father - spoke: "Don't be ridiculous, Pietro. You obviously haven't had a substantial meal in days." He gave his son a once-over, taking in his skinny frame, his gangly limbs. "Just let me feed you."
Pietro gulped and looked away, knowing it was fruitless to argue with Magneto. "Yes, Sir," he mumbled. He didn't know what to say, was starting to wonder whether this had been a good idea, after all. In truth, he had mixed feelings about his father. It had never not hurt that Magneto had simply abandoned him. The Maximoffs were good enough people, sure; Pietro still thought highly of them even after he'd crawled out of the window of their spare bedroom for the last time, and was officially declared a runaway, but they weren't his true family.
He didn't know how to take his father at present, either. Magneto, the champion for mutant rights, was a fierce warrior, a determined, self-made man, an anti-hero and a terrorist, depending on who you asked. As a child, Pietro also recalled moments of paternal tenderness: Magneto making them lunch, playing catch, teaching him how to ride a bike. He remembered his father patting him affectionately on the head; and of course, he would never forget that terrible night when Magneto dropped Wanda off at the asylum. He'd hesitated only a second before steering the car out of the parking lot and onto the damp, winding road. When Pietro had turned his head towards the window and sniffled into his shirt sleeve, Magneto had softly rebuked him: "That won't bring her back, son. Just try and move past this." That was only scant months before he'd been left with some of Magneto's old Jewish friends, and the older man had walked out of his life for years.
The waitress returned with their food. Reluctantly, Pietro picked up the sloppy hamburger Magneto had ordered for him and took a bite, his stomach growling happily as he chewed and swallowed it. He felt his father watching him, and tried not to seem too ravenous. "So why did you break me out of the slammer?" he queried at last, and Magneto set down the fork he was using to eat a dark green salad. The fork started to float a few inches off of the table, hovering, and Magneto smiled at him.
"I had hoped that that would be fairly self-explanatory." He paused and let the fork fall neatly into his hand. "I've had Mystique monitor your progress from afar, ever since your mutation began to show itself. I've decided the time has come to take a more active role in training you to hone your powers. You could be great, Pietro. You already have a considerable amount of raw talent." At this, Pietro grinned a little, and then sobered when he remembered that he was supposed to be finding this whole meeting dubious, at best. "However, you're also reckless; obstinate; Mystique says you're hot-headed. Case in point, the police have been involved in one of your recent skirmishes."
"That wasn't my fault," Pietro protested quietly, seemingly his catch-phrase for the evening. "Ol' spikey boy was just jealous that I kept owning him on the court." He'd always liked the other boy well enough, ever since they'd palled around in the same neighborhood during a good portion of their adolescence. Still, when both of them showed signs of carrying the X-gene, everything had changed. It was no skin off of Pietro's nose, in any case; he had new friends now, or at least, housemates and occasionally people he cut school with to go wreak a bit of harmless havoc around town, and that was good enough for now.
"In any case," Magneto said firmly, and Pietro dropped his eyes to his plate, nervous again, "I can help you. I want to help you better yourself; and in the meantime, you can help me out with some business here and there."
Pietro swallowed. "What sort of business?" he asked, but his father was pushing a small, black flip phone towards him. He opened it and stared a bit.
"Nothing you wouldn't enjoy doing anyways," Magneto assured him. He gestured at the phone. "Use this only to contact me, and vice-versa. If you need something, you can reach me best this way." He cocked his head. "I understand you're living with the Brotherhood now officially, yes?"
Pietro shrugged. "I guess so." He wasn't sure how much his father knew about his jumping ship at the Maximoffs, and it wasn't particularly a conversation he felt like having. Still, something niggled at him: "What about Wanda?" he finally blurted, and Magneto couldn't quite mask the pain that flitted briefly across his broad features. "Does she get to join the Brotherhood?"
Magneto sighed and steepled his fingers. "It's ... complicated, Pietro," he settled on finally. "I miss her as much as you do." When Pietro began to protest this, Magneto shushed him. "I keep in frequent contact with someone who visits with her regularly," he continued, trying to mollify. "She hasn't gotten any better. I'm not sure ... whether she ever will."
Pietro nodded miserably, and then firmed up the tension in his jaw so as to keep himself from crying outright. It still hurt, he realized, and his father floating literally into his life again out of thin air and buying him dinner didn't take that away. If anything, he thought, frowning stubbornly now, it only made things worse. At least with Magneto seemingly gone forever, he could pretend the man had never existed. Now, however, he was seemingly everywhere, crowding Pietro's headspace, forcing him to confront feelings that had long ago been laid dormant.
Magneto continued to watch as Pietro shoveled French fries into his mouth, two and three at a time. "I'm serious when I say that I want to be there for you, you know," he says, and Pietro stops eating momentarily. "I've missed you, my boy."
Pietro took a long swig of soda - his father had even remembered which kind he preferred - to avoid having to answer for a few seconds. Finally, he swallowed and said, his voice small and quavering just a bit, "I miss you, too, Dad."
Magneto's smile was conservative, but pleased. "This is a new beginning for us, Pietro," he promised, and Pietro wanted to believe him, wanted to believe in him again, the way he had when he was a little boy. He didn't know whether that was possible at this point; but as he watched Magneto pay the bill, leaving a generous tip for the worn waitress, and allowed himself to be scooped up and carried into the sky again, he thought that he'd be willing to try, at least.
When Magneto touched down again, Pietro recognized the weed-sprawled lawn of the Brotherhood mansion. "I'll be in touch soon," Magneto told him, and Pietro nodded and hurried up the front steps, shutting the door behind himself firmly. Lance frowned at him from the couch: "Where've you been?" he demanded, and Pietro shrugged noncommittally, not sure how much he wanted anyone else to know. They weren't exactly friends, after all, just people with occasionally shared interests and living conditions.
"None of your business," he said airily, and smirked as he sauntered upstairs to his room. His right hand brushed the phone in his jeans pocket, and he took it out, glanced at it, and smiled to himself.