Hello! Here is another chapter for you all—this takes place a few years after Belong's epilogue.
How to Apologize
Peter was in the middle of an amazing game of pinball. In fact, he was doing the best he had ever done, including that time he was trying to impress Jubilee with his amazingly amazing powers.
Luckily, God decided to favor Peter that day. Because in the midst of his incredible game, Peter glanced up—and saw his father marching down the hall. Erik had a furious scowl, clenched fists (with a newspaper in one), and murderous eyes honed in on Peter.
Peter was no idiot; he knew trouble when he saw it. So rather than face whatever that furious man had in store for him, Peter snapped his goggles over his wide eyes, gulped, and sprinted off through the mansion.
However, the next thing Peter knew, he was sitting in an armchair. A plush, red armchair. In Charles's study. With Charles motionlessly waiting behind his desk.
Charles's patiently sat, his fingers steepled and his elbows propped on the wooden desk. His eyes were dark and predatory.
Peter went to throw himself out of the room, but his feet refused to listen to his will. He was stuck in the chair.
"Your father and I would like a word with you," Charles stated simply.
Peter tried to keep a cool demeanor. As if he totally wanted to be in that chair and was in no way stapled to it. "Oh? Want some vacation destination ideas? Because I've been thinking Fiji, personally."
In reality, Peter's mind whirled, trying really hard to think of what could have made his parents so testy.
The door slammed open, and Erik's towering form marched through the doorway.
"In my defense," Peter quickly pled at the sight of his father's glare, "I was drugged, and I didn't know what was happening."
Erik towered over his son, his stiff hand clenching around the newspaper.
"I highly doubt you were incoherently drugged if you were able to do so well in this competition," Charles commented dryly.
Peter glanced at the newspaper with a confused frown. The title screamed CHEATER OR WINNER? MUTANT OUTRUNS OLYMPIC FINALISTS.
Oh. That. Peter settled back into his chair with a slight smirk.
Erik whacked the newspaper across the top of his son's head. "Of all the idiotic reasons to expose yourself and your powers—"
"I was bored!" Peter protested in a whine.
Erik's glower was bloodcurdling. Peter shrank slightly away.
"Peter, you do understand that this was an unfair match to begin with," Charles checked with a raised eyebrow.
Peter gave him a look. "No way. We all ran with our God-given abilities; mine just freaking rock."
Erik slapped the paper back over Peter's head. "Your stupidity has drawn the eyes of government officials! I doubt I need to remind you of the harm that they can cause."
Images of General Stryker swirled through the teen's mind. Peter paled.
Charles threw Erik a warning look and then spoke to Peter. "There's talk of prohibiting mutants from any further competitions."
Peter's lost gaze snapped back to attention at that. "Like, the Olympics?"
Charles gave a nod. "The Olympics. Professional sports teams. High school sports."
Peter's heart turned thick as he thought about all the people impacted by his recklessness. "Oh…"
"How could you be so foolish?" Erik demanded out of fear for his child. "For something so unimportant—"
"I'm sorry!" Peter exclaimed, his head bowed. "I was just running, and I saw a sign for a race, and I thought it'd be funny—"
"What about this is funny?!" Erik demanded.
"Erik," Charles cautioned with that look.
A tear trickled down Peter's cheek and off his nose. "I didn't know it'd mess things up." He pushed the tear away harshly.
Charles rolled himself out from his desk and over to Peter. "We know, Peter. It wasn't our intention to make you feel guilty; we—"
"But you need to understand the severity of your actions, Pietro," Erik finished crisply.
Charles brought that look back to his partner, this time more sharply. Erik continued to ignore it.
"I'm sorry," Peter said sadly.
Charles placed a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's alright, Peter. The aftershocks of this event were obviously not intended. But in the future—"
"You'll be doing additional chores around the mansion," Erik cut his partner off again. He strode over towards the window, keeping his arms crossed and his stern gaze on the teen. "Meanwhile, Charles and I will attempt to deal with the aftermath of this mess."
Peter's head bowed meekly lower as he nodded. "OK."
Charles's gaze had turned piercing on Erik.
"You may start by doing any and all dishes left in the kitchen sink," Erik stated, oblivious to the telepath.
Peter stood, nodded obediently, and disappeared with a final "Sorry."
The second the door closed, Erik looked over to Charles. "What?"
Charles was fuming. "That was rather unnecessary, Erik."
Erik gave him a confused look and wandered towards the bookshelf. "Punishing Pietro?"
"Yes!"
Erik fished out a tumbler and a bottle of scotch. "He needs to understand that idiocy has consequences, Charles."
"Yes, I agree!" Charles shot back. "However, if he obviously, wholeheartedly regrets his mistake, I don't believe it's necessary to force him into additional chores!"
Erik took a swig of his poured glass of alcohol. "So you don't believe our son deserves a punishment? He's brought the eyes of the government upon us, Charles—"
"I understand," Charles interjected through gritted teeth, "what Peter has done. But so does Peter. And the entire purpose of a punishment is to reinforce a deterrent of behavior."
"And now it won't happen again," Erik stated plainly.
Charles nearly wanted to throttle the man. "Fine, Erik. Even though Peter clearly regrets his mistake, please, punish him further. I'd hate for your pride to be damaged." And with that, he shoved his joystick forwards and exited the study.
Erik stood at the bookshelf with an empty tumbler and a brooding gaze.
Two days passed, and Charles only spoke to Erik in short, crisp statements.
Two days passed, and Peter continued to obedient fulfill any chore Erik demanded of him.
Two days passed, and Erik finally began to realize he may have been wrong.
In the yard, children were taking advantage of the Saturday afternoon. Groups of friends lounged on the grass, a couple took turns pretending to push each other into the chilly pond water, and a few mutants laughing as they played with their abilities.
Peter was taking advantage of the Saturday afternoon, but he was not enjoying himself like his peers. He was kneeling in the garden bed lining the side of the house, using his powers to weed and weed and weed and weed. His dad had asked, so Peter did.
And when Erik marched outside to check on the progress, it finally hit him.
Peter was bent over the weeds, his hands flying shards of green leaves into a tidy pile. But his face was despondent. He had bags under his eyes. He had a permanent frown on his face.
Originally, Erik had assumed this to be a side effect of earning a punishment. But now, as Erik studied his son, he realized that this stretched deeper.
"Pietro," Erik called softly.
The teen paused and looked up at his father with miserable eyes.
Erik's heart broke at the sight. "Your punishment is over, son. You can stop."
Peter turned back to the garden and shrugged. "It's OK. It's fair." He resumed tugging out the weeds.
Erik knelt down on the dirt, ruining his tan dress pants. He grabbed his son's shoulder, making the teen stop and turn towards him. "Pietro, this isn't fair. And I'm sorry that I was too blinded to see that." And too deaf to hear it from Charles.
Peter was confused, but he sat back and stopped weeding.
Ask him about his feelings, Charles prompted Erik mentally.
Erik grimaced at the intrusion. And a way to phrase that request. "I… How are you?"
Peter was very confused now. His tired eyes squinted at nothing in particular. "Uh… fine…"
Prompt him, Charles encouraged.
"You haven't been sleeping," Erik observed, with a gesture to the teen's dark-rimmed eyes.
Peter frowned and looked down.
He feels guilty, Charles said. Ask him—
"If you would like to speak with Pietro, you may come talk with him yourself," Erik growled aloud.
Peter was giving his father a weird look. "Are you talking to Charles about me?"
Erik huffed out a breath and dragged his hand down his face. "We're worried about you, Pietro. And I realize that I was wrong to force you into a punishment that was undeserved."
Peter's frown returned. "It wasn't undeserved."
Charles's words about punishments filtered back through Erik's mind. "Yes, it was. And I'm sorry."
Peter looked to the ground.
Prompt him, Charles repeated.
Erik resisted the urge to sigh. "And if you would like to discuss anything, I'm here."
Peter looked up at that. "I… I didn't realize I'd hurt anybody, Dad."
Erik opened his mouth to refute that anyone had been injured.
Let him finish, Charles rebuked.
Peter heaved a shaky breath and fiddled with the leaves of a weed. "I thought it would be funny to watch the Olympians' faces when I showed them up. And, yeah, it was. But now all those people whose lives depend on competitions are gonna be out of jobs. And kids like me don't get to play sports anymore." His eyes were tearing up as he finally met his father's gaze. "And you and Charles have to deal with those government assholes, and what if they try to quarantine me again—"
Erik grabbed his son and enveloped him in a hug. At the contact, Peter heaved a sob and gripped him back.
"Shh," Erik soothed. "That'll never happen, Pietro. I'm sorry for ever giving you that impression."
"I just feel so bad," Peter cried. "Those mutants' lives suck because of me. And I don't want another government guy trying to drag me off—"
"Pietro," Erik cut him off sharply and pulled away to give him a better look. "Never worry about that. I will never allow it. Charles will never allow it. You're safe with us."
Peter swallowed through a thick throat and reigned in his sobs with a shaky breath.
Erik held his son firmly by the shoulders. "And you aren't responsible for the prejudice that reigns Homo sapiens, Pietro."
"But—"
"If it hadn't been your race," Erik assured him, "some other mutant would have prompted this conversation. It'd been a long time coming, son."
Peter's lips curled into a thin line as he mulled that over.
"Don't draw unnecessary attention again," Erik said, "but this isn't your fault, Pietro."
Peter's shoulders sagged as he felt the relief of that statement.
Erik pulled his son back into a hug and kissed the top of his silver head.
After a moment, Peter mumbled against his father's shirt, "Everyone's gonna think I'm a whimp. My dad's hugging me because I'm crying in the garden."
Erik's toothy grin resembled a shark. "These children wouldn't dare insult you."
Peter's watery eyes looked up at his father. "Yeah, because I'm the teacher's pet."
Erik feigned indifference. "I was implying that you possess the power to outshine the country's best athletes. But if you believe that your sole quality is impressive parents…" Erik shrugged, not denying it.
Peter rolled his eyes, grinned, and shoved himself off of his dad. "I can totally make you punch yourself, old man."
Erik's shark grin grew as the metal of Peter's jeans and jacket pulled the boy into a stand.
"Peter!" Jubilee called, running over. "Where've you been? We're about to play Frisbee, and I totally want you on our team."
Peter glanced at his kneeling father, confused that there wasn't a crowd to have witnessed that moment of weakness.
I ensured that your conversation remained private, Charles assure the Lehnsherrs.
"Come on!" Jubilee grabbed Peter's hand and began tugging him across the grass. "God, why do I have to drag the speed-demon into moving?"
As he watched his son be carted off, Erik pushed himself off the dirt. Sensing the mental link still in his mind, Erik walked into the mansion and followed it.
He followed it to his bedroom—their bedroom. And there, in the center of the large bed, Charles laid with his glasses on and a thick book in his hands.
The door shut behind Erik as Charles looked up.
"I'm sorry," Erik said, taking a step towards the bed.
"I know," Charles assured him calmly.
"You were right all along," Erik said, moving closer.
Charles smirked over his book. "I know."
Erik unbuttoned the top of his shirt when he reached the edge of the bed. "I've been an idiot."
Charles set down the book, interlocked his fingers behind his head, and grinned. "It's like you're my puppet, yet I haven't resorted to controlling your mind. Yet."
"I doubt mind control is necessary to bend me to your will," Erik said, his pupils growing wide as he undid the middle buttons.
Charles shrugged indifferently. "You're right. But perhaps a mental nudge would assist?" Charles's "mental nudge" involved an immediate flood of images and feelings to overwhelm Erik's mind.
Without another thought, Erik launched himself at the bed. And as Charles laughed, Erik shoved the book off the bed and locked his lips down onto his.
I've loved your suggestions for future chapters. If you have any more in mind, send 'em my way!
