ERIK POV

They said farewell to his daughters beneath the small shadow of a newly planted tree—a weeping willow tree to be precise. At first Erik had balked at the choice. Were their deaths not sad enough without permanently tying them to nature's living representation of mourning? But Erik's feelings on the matter quickly changed course once he, close to fuming, approached Charles ready to berate him for such a horrendous selection, for his friend told him that the tree had in fact been Pietro's idea. As it turned out, Wanda had a particular fondness for Willow trees. His daughter had felt a kinship to the mysterious and almost magical vegetation, finding them to be majestic and misunderstood, rather than depressing or cursed as folklore might have one believe.

So that was just one more thing to add to the growing list of facts and opinions he would never learn directly from his daughter—and apparently not even from his son—and instead would have to learn through the grapevine, if at all.

Of course, Wanda and Lorna were not literally laid to rest beneath the tree. It had simply been planted in their honor. Beneath the tree there was nothing more than dirt and worms. The bulk of Erik was glad for that—that his girls weren't rotting away in boxes beneath the earth. Having spent nearly a decade in a cell, he didn't like to imagine it—them trapped down there. Though another part of him was further burdened by the fact that they were now only dust; his already overflowing guilt threatening to spill over because they would not receive proper Jewish burials. But it had been so long since he had managed anything resembling the practice of faith that he would be hard pressed now to make sure it was done correctly even if he tried.

No, it was better this way, better not to force his beliefs (or lack thereof) on his children in death when he had hardly known them—or known them not at all—in life.

Besides, perhaps it was fitting that he could not say for sure where any of his daughters' remains truly lay. After all, he didn't know where Anya was buried, if she even was. He'd left Magda while his eldest daughter's body was still warm, and he hadn't asked Marya when he'd had the chance. He could ask Pietro if he knew, but he wouldn't remind his son of one more sibling he would grow up without, and besides, he lacked the courage. But that was all fine. If there was a life after this one—which Erik often doubted—it wasn't taking place underground. If Anya was out there in some new world, she was running and shining as bright as the sun and welcoming Lorna and Wanda into a new life.

She wasn't jammed into a box, not his little girl who had been afraid of the dark.

But, at the same time, as much as he tried to rationalize his feelings, the wrongness of it all kept creeping in on top of the overwhelming grief he felt for his children—both living and dead. The explosion, the cremation, they brought forth memories of his parents and the fact that their bodies—or what was left of them—had been burned too, but then, those circumstances were vastly different. No one had gathered in their memory next to a soon to be beautifully constructed building upon a newly and neatly manicured lawn. And certainly, no one had planted a tree in their honor.

They had just been gone, without song or ceremony, forgotten by everyone but the son they left behind, just like so many others who had perished at that place and where the boy Erik had once been also went to die.

Erik felt a tear begin to roll down the side of his face, and he quickly wiped it away before it scarcely reached the top of cheekbone. He had allowed himself to grieve last night. He would not do so today, not when Pietro and Nina needed him to be strong.

The whole melancholy event was shorter than the girls' deserved, but as they say, a funeral—or whatever they labeled their gathering—was for the living, not the dead.

Having known both girls, Mila was the one to speak at the event. He was sure he, Pietro, Nina, Alex, Charles, or anyone really who had known the girls could have spoken about them had they wished to do so. But it seemed that how they felt about their family and friends did not need to be voiced aloud. Or perhaps the students had already had their own little therapeutic sharing session to voice their memories of the girls; an event in which Erik was sure no one would have wanted their so-called-father to attend. That was something Erik could certainly see Charles organizing for the students. He always did push the importance of discussing one's feelings. Whereas Erik . . . did not do that to say the least.

To be honest, Erik had a hard time even listening to what Mila had to say about Lorna and Wanda because no matter what she shared, all that stood out to him was 'they were' or 'she was'.

Always past tense. No longer present. And never future.

When it was over, it was Alex who first approached the trio of would be Lehnsherrs—Erik, Pietro, and Nina that is—explaining through a slightly shaky voice, that he was going to scatter Lorna's ashes and he wondered if they wanted to be a part of that. He had no grand plan of how he was going to do it or where. He just planned to drive until it felt right. And that was the key, because if Erik knew one thing, it was that it would not be right if he were there. But his children deserved the chance to join Alex in the morbid event if they so wished.

Erik looked down at Nina, attempting to gauge her reaction to Alex's question. Though she had her face half-buried into his side as she held tightly to his hand, it was not difficult to determine her response, because even before she spoke, the young girl was already shaking her head.

"No thank you." Nina said quietly, gazing up at the two men without quite raising her head. "Lorna and Wanda, they're everywhere now. I don't want to pretend that they are stuck in any one place just because we leave a-a p-part of Lorna somewhere."

Erik let go of Nina's hand to rest his own hand upon Nina's head as she spoke, running it down the back of her hair until his hand rested on her shoulder. It was meant to be a small comfort to her, but he knew it was more for himself, to remind him that this beautiful child—his beautiful—lived and breathed still and had such a gentle heart that it seemed impossible that any part of her could have come from him.

Erik squeezed her shoulder softly before grasping her hand once more.

"T-that's really profound, Nina. I bet you're right that they can be anywhere and everywhere now." said Alex, looking down at the little girl, even though she had gone back to hiding her face in her father's chest. "but all the same, I think doing this . . . it'll help me say goodbye. . . . what about you, Pete? Do you want to come along?" Alex asked, and to Erik, he almost sounded hopeful. And Erik had to remind himself that Alex had experience missing more than one of his children. Even if they're time together had been literally torturous, Alex had still bonded with Pietro when they'd been imprisoned, and had no doubt felt like he had lost a little brother when they disappeared ten years ago.

Erik cleared his throat and then he turned to his son, to Pietro, his silver-haired child.

Pietro was on Erik's other side, leaning on his crutches, rather than his father.

It was still difficult for Pietro to manage any great distances even with crutches, given the state of his leg, his hands, and his arm, but yet, here he stood because he refused the wheelchair. Instead, he had stubbornly made his way through the school and across the grounds, wincing with each step. But though he refused the wheelchair, he couldn't stop Erik from trailing quietly behind his son, ready to catch him should he fall.

Erik looked down at Pietro—his only son and his eldest living child.

And that fact felt so wrong. Pietro should have three older siblings (or at least two if you set aside time travel). He should not be the only sibling Nina had to look up to. He should not have to shoulder so much alone, not when there was so much to carry.

Unlike Nina, Pietro hadn't been paying attention to the conversation. Though his eyes were hidden behind overlarge sunglasses, it was clear that he was staring at the tree that had just been planted like he expected it to fall over or disappear. Erik wasn't quite sure why Pietro was wearing sunglasses, but he knew it had nothing to do with the weather. It wasn't raining—the setting for the ceremony wasn't as cliché as that—but it was overcast, so if anything, the sunglasses had to impair his vision . . . but maybe that was the point. Why would he want to see what was before him, when Wanda would never be again?

The sunglasses also weren't a pair that Erik had seen on him before, not that they really could be if they weren't the pair that he had with him in Cairo, given that almost everything from Before had been destroyed in the explosion. And it was clear that they didn't originally belong to Pietro. They were far too big from him, sliding down his nose slightly, but he didn't seem to notice or care, which could be said about his attitude toward most things nowadays.

"Peter." Said Erik just loud enough to get his attention. He was trying to get better at using his Americanized name, though it was still difficult, but since Wanda's death, Pietro had yet to correct him when he slipped up. He wished he would. He wished he could get any kind of reaction out of his son.

Pietro rolled his head lazily over toward his father, looking at him with detached apathy, but nonetheless waiting for Erik to say his piece.

"Do you want to go with Alex to . . ." Erik paused struggling with the past way to describe what Alex would be doing. "scatter Lorna's ashes?" Erik asked finally.

Pietro looked from Erik to Alex. Or at least, Erik thought that's where his eyes traveled beneath the sunglass. The dark lenses made it hard to tell where his gaze truly lay.

His stare fell back on Erik and then the ground as he shook his head slowly. "Sorry . . . I don't . . . want to." He said softly and hesitantly, like he felt his answer was the wrong one, and there would be consequences for it.

Before Erik could say anything in response to reassure the boy that it was completely okay to not feel up to that task and, in fact, he felt the same, Alex reached out and laid a firm hand on Peter's shoulder.

"It's alright, kid. You don't have to. She wouldn't want the fuss anyway." Alex gave Peter's shoulder a slight squeeze, much like Erik had done moments ago to Nina, before letting go. "You hang in there Pete, okay?" Alex said, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his eye to no avail.

Still, Peter gave Alex a nearly imperceptible nod, and then Alex was gone, leaving Peter leaning on his crutches, Nina leaning on Erik, and Erik . . . feeling as though the ground would give way beneath his feet.

A short while later, after he had gotten Nina and Pietro each settled with a plate of food, which he suspected neither would barely touch, from the lavish spread Charles had had brought in, Erik found himself alone on a bench by the school's small pond.

Although rationally he knew leaving his children some yards away was not the worst of what he should feel guilty for, all the same, even that small action brought him shame.

But he hadn't really left them alone. Mila was with them now talking to Raven's child as they watched Nina feed a squirrel from the palm of her hand. Jubilee had joined their group too. She was leaning toward Pietro ever so slightly, as if she wished she could reach out and hug him. Erik knew the feeling, though he recognized that their desires to do so weren't of quite the same origin. But from what he had seen of the girl, he could tell that she would be a good friend to his son. And if that was all he ever wanted, that was all she would ever be.

He watched them for a few minutes, debating whether he should go back to them, even though he had only just stepped away. But before he could make up his mind, Charles made the decision for him, wheeling himself toward Erik, which though his wheelchair had been modified for tough terrain still looked a bit difficult to do on the grass.

Erik thought about using his powers to lift Charles and the wheelchair more quickly across the grounds, but he had a feeling that action wouldn't be welcomed, and what's more, he wasn't quite sure that he wanted Charles to arrive any sooner than already would.

No matter, all too soon Charles was sitting beside him, frowning slightly at Erik. "You fixed your children plates, but you're not eating?" He asked, and it was impossible to miss the twinge of concern in his voice.

"I'm not hungry." Erik replied simply.

"You weren't particularly hungry at breakfast either I noticed." Charles countered.

"Trust me Charles." Said Erik rather brusquely. "I know what real hunger is. I will eat before it comes to that. Do not waste your worries on me."

Charles pursed his lips slightly at Erik's reply. "I would never consider my worries wasted when spent on you."

"Well, that's your prerogative I suppose." Said Erik as he absentmindedly twirled a coin back and forth through his fingers for a moment before eventually catching it in his palm, storing it in his pocket, and continuing. "Did you really just come over here to inquire about my eating habits, or did you come to try to change my mind again?"

"No. Unfortunately, I can see that you are set in your choice." Said Charles and then he nodded his head in the direction of the children. "You haven't told them yet."

Although he knew it wasn't a question, Erik still shook his head. "No, but I will. Soon. . . . But not today. . . . you didn't fully answer my question, so assume I need to ask it more explicitly. If you haven't come to talk me out of my plans, why have you followed me over here?"

"I came to give you something." Said Charles, and as he spoke, he reached alongside his lap, where a book-shaped item had been tucked beside him unnoticed by Erik.

"What is this?" asked Erik, though as soon as Charles held it out to him, Erik could see exactly what it was. And it wasn't a book. It was a photo album.

"It's a photo album of your children." said Charles as Erik slowly took the album from Charles. It was a well-worn, but well-crafted album with a brown leather cover and a bit of embroidery along the side.

"H-how?" Asked Erik not yet daring to open the album.

"It's Mila's, so to be more precise, it's of your children and Mila. I gave it to her shortly after you and the twins disappeared. It was empty then of course, but over the years she's filled it entirely on her own with old photos and more recent ones. She had others, but this was her favorite because there's really not much order to it. She has simply picked her favorite photos from her mother's old albums and new photos from her time here, so I believe there are actually quite a lot of young Peter and Wanda, but there's at least a couple of Mila with Lorna too, and a few of Nina. If you feel so inclined, you may want to ask Alex if he has any more of Lorna. I'm quite sure he does. . . . And, if you skip to the back, if you remember those photos you showed me ten years ago—well ten years for me—she kept those too. We found them after . . . and, well, she and I both knew they were important to you."

"But . . ." Erik began, swallowing before continuing. "How could this have possibly survived the explosion?"

Charles gave his friend a small smile. "Like I said, it was—it is Mila's favorite. And . . . well before Apocalypse, Wanda had just . . . died . . . . everyone was grieving in their own way. For Mila, that meant looking at old photographs. She was looking through it when the explosion happened. Whether he realized what it was or not, Peter must have grabbed it when he saved Mila from the blast."

"I can't take this." Said Erik, looking down for a moment as he ran one hand across the spine of the album. "Surely, Mila wants to keep it."

Charles cleared his throat. "No. You are quite right. I should have been more clear. She'll want it back. But Mila clearly stated that you're welcome to the photos in the envelop in the front of the album, which belonged to you in the first place. And, I believe she's added a couple of new ones she'd like you to have too."

Erik looked back down at the album in his lap, flipping open its front cover to the blank cover page, where indeed there was a small envelop waiting for him. Slowly, he picked it up and pulled out the photographs inside. Just as Charles said they would be, the photos he had taken from the Maximoff household were all there, looking a little more worn than they had the last time he had seen them, but clear enough still. However, he could tell just by feel that there were more photos within than the ones he had left behind.

Erik didn't trust himself to look at them in the presence of his old friend, but still, he could not resist completely, and he pulled one out at random. As soon as he saw the image captured in the photo he had chosen, his throat begin to constrict.

It was a photo of Erik, Wanda, Pietro, and Nina. They were quite near where Erik sat now, except they were out sitting on the pond's small dock. Nina was sitting contently in Erik's lap, both watching Pietro as he appeared to skip a rock out onto the water. Wanda sat beside them, but unlike the others in the image, she alone was aware of the photo being taken. Her head was turned to the camera, and one side of her mouth was turned upward in a half smile, as if she hadn't quite decided whether or not to point the camera out to the others or to call out to the person taking the photo, who Erik assumed must have been Mila. But ultimately, she must have decided to remain quiet for Erik did not recall the photo being taken, even though—for obvious reasons—it could not have been taken very long ago.

Erik stared down at his daughter's half-smile. Her smirk reminding him of the first time he laid eyes on his son—though he did not know that at the time—in the pentagon, when he stared down at him cheekily, as though he had hardly a care in the world.

Erik felt the lump in his throat growing, and he swallowed in an attempt to clear it.

"I shouldn't take these." Said Erik after a moment. "It only endangers them."

"Erik . . . Wanda's gone, Lorna's gone, Stryker already knows about Pietro, which leaves only Nina. I understand your concern, but you deny yourself so much. Please don't deny yourself this little piece of solace."

Erik blinked rapidly. His hand holding the photo shook slightly, but he somehow managed to place the photo back in the envelop with the others.

Charles must have seen in his head that, although he could not change his mind about much, he was able to persuade Erik on this small point because he did not push further. Instead, he asked "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You've already given me this." Said Erik holding up the envelop and gesturing to the album. "And beyond that, you know already know what I want you to do."

"I was merely the messenger in the former case. Mila—and your son really—are the ones you should thank for that." Said Charles nodding at the items in question. "And you already know I will watch out for them, but I was thinking more immediately. If you don't plan on eating, perhaps I can get you an aspirin or some tea?"

Erik just shook his head, not meeting Charles' eye, but then after a moment, he looked up. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something that I didn't get the chance to bring up last night."

Charles waited patiently, knowing his friend would continue when he was ready.

It was difficult, but Erik forced himself to maintain eye contact with the other man. "You know that I asked—that I made—Jean take Pietro's memories of Wanda's death after you refused to."

Charles stared back at Erik intently, face surprisingly calm. "I am aware, yes."

Erik tilted his head slightly. "Do you not judge me for that?"

Charles sighed, moving his wheelchair around, so that he was facing Erik more directly. "I know in the past I have not always handled our disagreements with as much grace as I would have liked, but over these past years and even more so after recent events, Erik, my friend, I have come to realize that you judge yourself more harshly than I ever could. And as you pointed out before, though I regret the decision now, I did do the same with Moira. It wasn't right then; and it isn't right now, but you know better than I that the past cannot be changed."

Erik fiddled with the knot of the likely outrageously expensive tie Charles had purchased for him, suddenly finding it uncomfortably tight. "All the same, you know it didn't turn out as planned. His—she—I expected too much. Asked too much. Jean's powerful, but untrained. Even with what she did to Apocalypse, she does not know how to fully control her powers. I should have realized that. Pietro, he . . . he lost too much, and then somehow Apocalypse must have given his memories back, but . . . his mind is . . . fragmented. . . . Can you tell?"

Charles ran one hand over the barely there fuzz on top of his head before placing both arms on the sides of his wheelchair once again. "Your son's mind is not one I dwell on. Not because it is a dark mind or anything like that" Charles quickly clarified. "Though it is undeniable that he—and all your children—have experienced dark events. It's that Peter's mind is unlike any other I've ever encountered. I catch feelings and some stray thoughts—or a fractions of thoughts—here and there, but his mind is miles ahead of my own, miles ahead of anyone's I'd imagine. To be honest, Erik, it's not just the speed of his thoughts. I think your son is quite intelligent. His ability to process things as quickly as he does makes it nearly impossible for even the most experienced telepath to keep up."

Erik swallowed, accepting what he had already expected. "So there's no way—you could never—you can't help him?"

Charles shook his head. "I'm not saying that. And, as I know you've already thought about, there are other ways to help him. But in regard to his memories . . . I don't know. I can try. But I will not do so now, and I will not do so hastily. With his permission, I will familiarize myself with his mind as best I can. But I will never enter it or try to fix what has been fractured unless and until I'm am certain a positive outcome is nearly definitive, and, of course, I will not do anything without his permission. That's all I can give him. And that's all I can give you."

Erik nodded his head slightly, looking up and away for a moment as one might when they are trying to keep tears at bay. "That's all I'm asking for."

Charles gave Erik's forearm two quick gentle pats and then rolled his wheelchair a couple of feet backward before turning it so that he was facing toward the crowd again with Erik at his side. "Shall we return? Are you sure I cannot get you something else?"

"No. I think I'll stay here for a little while more. Just for a few minutes." Said Erik, resting one hand on the photo album on his lap. The implication was clear.

Charles smiled sadly at his old friend. "Take as much time as you need. Nina will come find you if she needs you I'm sure, and I promise, no one will let Pietro be alone today."

"Thank you." Said Erik quietly.

"Not at all, Erik." Charles replied, his eyes misty, "I only wish I could do more."

{Author's Note: If you want to know who the sunglasses Pietro is wearing belong to, I imagine they are Alex's.

Fun fact, I finally saw The New Mutants. I now definitely understand the reviews, but I gotta say, I enjoyed Magik and Lockheed.}