When Erik was forced to leave his shift early yet again to pick up his truck from the mechanic, he could tell that tensions were running high between himself and his foreman. He had spent the entirety of his shortened shift moving at speeds that were likely not advisable or safe, launching himself into every task that was appointed to him with a vigor and dedication that he hoped would make up for the brevity of his attendance. Much more of these shortened hours and he would be breaking his contract; he was informed of this in no uncertain terms by the foreman himself, Logan Howlett. They had had a fairly cordial relationship until this point. Both men had a prickly temperament, Howlett's of a more outspoken variety, yet somehow they complimented one another and were able to get on without too much clashing of egos.

"It's the damnedest thing," Howlett was saying. He stood near the spot where a concrete island was being poured and molded in preparation for the gas pump destined to be installed atop it. Huge tanks were already in place underneath the ground nearby and they would supply the fuel for the pumps that had still yet to arrive. Howlett was not happy about the delay and he was made even less happy by the knowledge that one of his men was asking to leave, again. His stature was unnaturally short, though he made up for that with sheer muscle tone. This was to say nothing of the way his voice could carry across a work site regardless of the running machinery that was present. He was speaking to Erik as he watched the progress of the men working in front of him. "I ain't no plumber, but that damned pipe was busted. There was water damage all around it. It was a damn swamp. Then you dig down to it and...nothin'. It's all hunky dory, not a problem."

Erik stood very still at Howlett's side. They had gone over this once before. He could not reveal that he had used his mutation to heal the break in the copper pipe, nor could he fabricate any kind of story that would make for a likely explanation as to why it had mysteriously fixed itself. Anything that he came up with would be discredited by Howlett, who looked to be the same age at Erik yet was somehow several years older. His experience would undercut any bullshit thrown his way. The only course of action that would not breed even more suspicion was one where he kept his mouth more or less shut. "It must be luck."

"You seem to get lucky a lot." The site foreman grinned around his ever-present cigar at Erik. He was not technically allowed to smoke, considering the highly flammable subterranean material nearby, and had been warned against it by clients more than once. It did little to dissuade him. Since none of the men working under him (many of them smokers themselves) were of a mind to file a complaint, the bad habit was ignored. He looked right at Erik in an appraising manner. "I'm not gonna fire ya. Not yet. You're handy, for a kraut, and we could use some luck if we're gonna get this shit show wrapped up nice and pretty for the clients. Go do what ya need to do."

As to the prevalence of luck in his life, Erik could not speculate. He was relieved to be dismissed and he took advantage of it by wordlessly removing himself. Another cab ride on top of the bill that he would already be paying off once he reached the mechanic would set him back several hundred dollars and this coupled with the blatant wariness of his coworkers returned him to the surly mood that seemed to follow him wherever he went these days. It had been foolish to use his mutation to finish up his given task. He knew better than to make it that obvious, to all but flaunt his abilities and transform what should have taken an entire shift into a problem solved in a but a few seconds. It was careless and dangerous. He would have to keep his nose very clean if he didn't want to draw more attention than he already had.

Within an hour of leaving work he was back in the driver's seat of the Toyota. Whatever charm the truck might have held when he first bought it was no longer present. He was tempted to trade it in that very day for something newer and less troublesome. Instead, Erik went home and enjoyed a very long and very hot shower in his quiet, empty house. He shaved for the first time in nearly two weeks and fished clothes out of his closet that were not faded by bleach or torn on the job; few enough of those existed in his wardrobe that it took real effort to hunt them down. He settled on a black V-neck sweater and what were perhaps the only jeans that he did not wear to work. Why he felt like 'dressing up' more than he normally bothered to do, he wasn't entirely sure. It had been ages since he had put any real investment into his appearance. He had to admit that it made him feel better to get cleaned up for once.

Enough time remained before school let out that day for Erik to stop by a bakery and purchase a treat for himself and for Pietro. They were both equally fond of pastries. Their diets consisted of enough donuts and pies and strudel to likely qualify them as unhealthy. More than any other sweet, Pietro had always loved swirled cinnamon donuts. When younger he had delighted in how much they resembled giant lollipops and he would spend ages peeling the layers apart until he was half smothered in their icing. It became a weekly staple in their lives (if not more often) to splurge on them.

Erik stood leaning against the driver's side door of his truck, watching from behind reflective sunglasses as the first legion of students began to pour out of Littleleaf's double glass doors and line up for their respective buses. It was always chaos here this time of day. He would never quite become totally accustomed to just how noisy Americans were. Of course, children were naturally prone to existing at a high volume no matter what country they were in, but here the raucous atmosphere extended beyond schoolyards and playgrounds and included adults just as frequently as it did their younger counterparts. In New York these characteristics were especially noticeable. Be they on the street, indoors, or riding public transportation, Americans always had something to say. They often said those somethings very loudly, too. After years of living among them, Erik no longer resented this unavoidable fact and merely chose to observe it as an outsider. He bit into the apple fritter that he held by its wrapper in one hand and watched with mild interest.

Finally, Pietro appeared. He was not alone; Mr. Xavier was walking along at his side, chattering away about something or other, smiling. Laughing. He appeared to be a high-spirited man with an amiable face and body language that was just as open. His clothing was as clean and expensive as it had been the first time that Erik had seen him and it looked almost as though it were tailor-cut to fit him. He wore it well. The navy blue cardigan that he insisted on wearing over his more pale button-down shirt was unfortunate. Without it, one might better be able to see the lean shape of his upper body just as clearly as his legs could be admired through the well-fitted trousers. With that woolen thing on, it gave the impression that he was hiding. Maybe he was, reflected the German-born man. It would not do for a teacher to waltz about and scandalize his coworkers by flashing his buttons to the world.

Erik would have snickered at his own inner joke if he did not at that moment realize that both his son and Mr. Xavier were headed right for him. The man meant to talk to him, apparently. For a few panicked heartbeats, Erik was not certain what to do with himself. He nearly fled from the possibility of an interaction. Having that kind of response to a mere conversation was of course ridiculous and he immediately stilled and put himself into check. Why was he so unnerved by the thought of this younger, shorter academic approaching him? It was unreasonable.

"Mister... Mister Lehnsherr, hello." Xavier stopped a few paces away and frowned briefly before offering a warm smile. At first his expression registered perplexity, as if he did not quite recognize the person to whom he was speaking. Then he stepped forward, making it clear that he intended to extend their pleasantries beyond a simple greeting.

"What's that?" Pietro pointed at the paper-wrapped parcel in his father's hand.

"A snack for you." Erik had given Xavier a polite smile right back and then he tried to hand over the swirled donut to his son, surprised when it was rejected.

"I don't want anything."

It should not have been a surprise at all, Erik supposed. Nothing that he and Pietro used to enjoy together was evidently good enough for the boy now. Not even a sweet treat that had once been his favorite. Still, Erik felt chafed by the dismissal. He ran his tongue over his own upper teeth in a personal display of aggravation. Once again his quickly souring mood made absolutely no impression on the younger Lehnsherr, who promptly walked around to the passenger side of their truck and climbed inside without so much as a glance at either adult.

Xavier laughed. He shrugged as though to say, kids do the darnedest things. "Well, I can't imagine anyone not wanting a donut."

"Mmmmh." Erik sighed. He balled up the fritter still sitting half eaten in his hand with no small amount of aggression, having lost his appetite for it. Already there was an awkward silence stretching between himself and the Englishman stationed in front of him, who had the bearing of a man who wanted to say something but didn't know where to begin. It felt odd to be standing there with uneaten food in his hands and nothing to say, so Erik tried to break the tension by reaching out and offering Pietro's share of the baked goods to his guidance counselor.

The reaction was spectacular; Mr. Xavier's face lit up like a ray of sunshine peeking around a rain cloud. His smile enhanced the effect even further. Were Erik not wearing shades, he wondered whether it would have hurt his eyes to look at it. Even with them on it was an amazing thing to witness, so utterly genuine and pure. A smile like that was better suited to someone being offered a new car or a first born child, not a cinnamon roll.

"Oh, I couldn't." Xavier was acting downright abashed that such a proposition had even been made.

"He doesn't want it. I don't want it. Go ahead."

"But, he might want it later..."

"Just take the donut." Erik leaned in to make it more difficult for his unexpected gift to be refused, his tone hopefully brooking no argument. This was beginning to become silly. He could just keep the damn thing and throw it away in the next trash can that he came across. As soon as the two of them were brought just that little bit closer, a breeze whipped through the immediate area and he caught a whiff of Xavier. It was an agreeable marriage of the construction-paper-and-glue scent that all schools seemed to have, and a brand of hair gel that Erik was not familiar with but that he approved of. Whatever kind of product it was, it seemed to work judging by how well it held the man's longish brunette locks in place despite the autumn wind.

Finally, Xavier conceded and he reached out to accept the snack gingerly with warm, careful fingers. He did not yet eat any of it, but he gave his head a nod of gratitude. "Thank you. I wanted to touch base with you, if that's all right. Our first chat went well. Pietro and I. He's a very bright lad."

"Yes. He is."

"I was wondering... Is he a fan of sports? We have several after-school activities that he might be interested in trying. Just to help occupy his mind. We have basketball, track, football. Things like that."

"Track, probably." Erik was thankful for the fact that his sunglasses were made both to shield his eyes and to prevent others from seeing them, for at that moment he found himself distracted by the mouth that was speaking to him. It was full and extremely red. Almost unnaturally red. He wondered in an abstract way just how old this unofficial psychologist was and whether he wore something cherry-flavored, like chap stick. If one were to judge Xavier based on his looks, one would be forced to guess the age of a man too young to be dressing like a librarian and posing as a teacher.

"Wonderful! I will speak with our head of P.E." The light-of-a-thousand-suns smile made a comeback. "That is, if Pietro is available to train. I wasn't sure if he is otherwise occupied in the afternoons on certain days. With other family members, perhaps?"

Instantly, Erik sensed that he was being led. His hackles raised up and he tensed all over involuntarily at the line of questioning that was becoming increasingly personal. What right did this Xavier have to snoop around in their lives the way that he was doing? It felt like he was trying to work out information and form an opinion of the Lehnsherrs based on that information and Erik did not like it. He could not possibly have cared less what any so-called authority figure in this institution thought of his home life as a single parent, or whether they felt that Pietro should have a mother around or siblings or whatever else the narrow-minded assumed that all children required in order to turn out with any measure of normalcy. They were doing just fine, in Erik's opinion. "I will check our schedule and get back to you." He pushed himself the rest of the way off of his truck and turned to open the door and slipped into the driver's seat all in the same graceful motion. The starting of the engine would serve as a sufficient farewell to see Xavier off before any more questions could be asked. If not, his driving away would make the point very clear.