It takes him three months to track John down, after what happens on Alcatraz. With both the Professor and Dr. Grey gone, psychic assistance is pretty thin on the ground at Westchester and there's certainly none to spare to help search for a borderline-psychopathic traitor, who may or may not be alive. He does it the old fashioned way, follows all the clues and keeps his ear to the ground, and after three months, he finds him. He takes his Ford and makes one stop overnight, at a motel that feels like it still belongs in the seventies, with a plastic-coated mattress.
The house is a surprise, big and old and grand. He'd been expecting a tiny box apartment on the wrong side of the tracks and he wonders at first whether he's got the address wrong. He double checks it, triples checks it. It's definitely right and not for the first time, Bobby really wonders why he's here.
He knocks on the door three times and when it swings open, he tells himself that he's surprised even though really, it isn't that much of a shock. Magneto. He'd seen the way that John looked at his king, last time they'd seen each other, when he left his (ex) best friend for dead. He'd seen the adoration and the trust and the way that John actually listened to him, waited for his approval. He coughs, and shuffles his feet, giving the old man what he hopes is a winning smile.
"Um, hi."
Magneto manages to look pretty unsurprised because Bobby knows that having an X-Man turn up on his undercover doorstep and grin at him is a fairly irregular event. Magneto, he looks a little greyer, but not as much as Bobby expected. He can't ever remember seeing the man out of his cloak and helmet, so the sight of him in jeans and a loose cotton shirt is pretty surreal.
"Mr. Drake," Magneto nods politely, but Bobby hears the underlying question in that firm, unwavering voice. It's saying exactly the same thing as his conscience, what are you doing here? "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
It's really, really admirable the way he keeps his control, and Bobby respects that. He just keeps smiling and it's starting to make his jaw ache. He's been searching for three months and now that he's found them, he can't for the life of him think what to say.
"I was wondering, is Jo-" He cuts off midway, when he realizes that he doesn't know what to call his friend anymore. He remembers the conversation that he overheard 'What's your real name John?' and he sighs "Is Pyro here?"
Magneto's lips, they curve into a smirk and he raises one of those thin, shaped grey brows, "Ah, I see." He says, and Bobby can almost hear that same smirk in his voice "I'm afraid that St. John isn't here."
And Bobby he's not sure if Magneto's lying to him. Maybe he doesn't want to let Bobby see John. Or maybe John doesn't want to see him. The latter seems likely but it makes Bobby's heart sting to think it might be true. He turns around to leave, starts to move off and then there are brittle fingers on his shoulder and he has to concentrate on keeping back the frost that threatens to cover his hands at that unwelcome touch.
"John's stepped out for a little bit, Robert." No one calls him Robert anymore, not since his mother and it sounds so peculiar coming from this old man, the one he used to think of as the enemy. He turns around to face him again, and lowers his eyes at the sympathetic smile on Magneto's face "Would you like me to tell him you called? Or would you like to come in and wait? He shouldn't be too long."
It's terrifying how domesticated Magneto sounds. Three months ago, he tore the Golden Gate Bridge off its foundations and relocated it across to Alcatraz Island, just because he could. Now he's acting like a parent talking to his kid's crush. Making sure he doesn't look too slack-jawed, he debates the probability of John ever getting back to him if he just leaves a number. He calculates it at somewhere between slim and none. Then again, the prospect of waiting around for a boy that probably hates him with a man who started a war three months ago was equally as unappealing. The latter eventually won out as Bobby reasons, 'He can't hurt me anymore' when what he really means is 'I need some closure'. He shrugs and steps onto the porch as Magneto begins to retreat back into the house.
"I'll wait I think, if you don't mind."
It's uncomfortable, the long spans of silence between them. Bobby has entirely no idea what to do and what to talk about. When he call's the old man Magneto, he's met with a visible flinch and the curt response of 'It's Erik.'. He realizes that he never knew the man's real name before. When it feels that they've reached some kind of equilibrium (Bobby studiously avoiding the discussion of mutations and Erik deigning not to bring up Professor Xavier, or Dr. Grey, or Scott) their small talk is stilted but not as laboured as Bobby expected and it makes the surreal feeling shake him again. It's at this point that the figurative shit, hits the fan.
Both of them look up from their cups of tea as they hear the click of the door opening and heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards in the hall. Bobby places his cup on the table and let's his hands rest on his knee's, his fingers clutching at them so tightly it hurts as the sound of a too familiar voice drifts closer to the parlour.
"Erik? You wouldn't believe how busy it is out today! There isn't some kind of holiday is there? The store was practically sold out so I had to go all the way to that market three blocks away," The parlour-door swings open and Bobby doesn't look up, but the voice is so clear now. The faded traces of the Australian twang hidden underneath the rapid New York drawl. St. John clearly hasn't noticed him yet, as he carries on talking "I had to get shallots instead of spring onions too, because they didn't look so good at the market. I stopped by the bakery on the way back though, and got some of those-" John stops dead in the middle of what he was saying and Bobby hears the slow, shuddering intake of breath "…What's he doing here?" It's a hiss, and Bobby knows it's directed at Magneto, not him, but he looks up anyway.
If Magneto looks older than the last time he saw him, John looks younger to Bobby. It might be the way that his hair is darker again, and not so spiky. It's grown out and it's falling in his eyes again, the way it always used to when it was in good need of a cut. It might have been the fact that the wrist-lighter and the boots and the combats are missing, replaced by a loose t-shirt and old sneakers and faded jeans with a small, rectangular shaped lump in the pocket, which John's hand automatically strays to. Or it might just be the way that before his eyes narrowed at Bobby, before a scowl found it's way onto those perfect lips, he actually looked genuinely happy. He's carrying two large brown bags and he sets them down on the sofa, a smaller bag of what is presumably shallots spilling out from the top of one of the larger ones. He places one hand on his hip and turns to glare at Magneto. Bobby has the common decency to look away again, as he begins to flush.
"Erik," John's voice is softer now, with a slightly pleading note to it "Why is here?"