warning: more pseudo math and science

Charles sat across from Erik in what would be called their third actual date. This time Charles had insisted upon taking the bill and took them to a small, moderately classy restaurant downtown. It wasn't that he wanted to imply that Erik's tastes were poor or that he was stingy—Erik's choices were just fine—but Charles really wanted to make sure it was special this time.

At the restaurant, he ordered the chef's special, lobster with a garlic baked potato served with cocktail sauce on the side, while Erik passed on that and instead opted for a cut of rotisserie with roasted carrots and steamed green beans, all drizzled with a luscious gravy.

Currently, they waited for their meals, Charles relaxed back in the booth while Erik sat straight, elbows propped on the table to weave his fingers together beneath his chin as he studied Charles.

"You're being rude, Erik," Charles said halfheartedly.

"Hm?" Erik returned, gaze brightening as he refocused on the situation at hand.

"Elbows," Charles elaborated, but was more focused on stretching discreetly.

Erik raised his eyebrows, "Gang member."

"Your status therein is not an excuse for you to enforce the negative stereotypes." Charles rolled his head to give Erik a pinning stare.

"Why do you refuse to ride with me?" Erik countered.

"Well, I'm not yet at a state in our relationship where I know and trust you with my life in that manner." Charles still wasn't sure, despite all the sarcastic references as such, what their relationship status was. He supposed people weren't exaggerating with the "are we or aren't we" talk. "And also your motorcycle isn't legal for a passenger and I'm a police officer."

Erik sunk his mouth behind his hands to hide his growing smirk, "So if I fix that second problem?"

"Still no. Who wears a suit on a motorcycle?" Charles eyes wrinkled as he smiled. Erik was never lacking in physical appeal, even while he was wearing raggedy jeans and paint smeared shirt, but Charles admittedly underestimated his ability to dress up. He wasn't expecting the sharp, clean curves of a perfectly pressed suit, and it definitely didn't hinder Erik's appearance, but the original question still stood.

Erik gestured at his body, grinning viciously at the miraculous spotlessness of the outfit.

"Unbelievable," Charles muttered, still smiling even as he shook his head.

Their bickering was interrupted when the server returned with their food. Charles thanked her and Erik gave a vaguely thankful grunt.

Charles breathed deeply, appreciating the aroma as Erik went straight to the utensils. "Do you not like lobster?" He asked, filling the time while he worked with the lobster.

Erik's eyebrows rose as he paused mid-bite. Charles wondered if he would talk with his mouth full, but the concern was waived shortly after. "Never ate it," he responded as he cut through the next piece. "I don't eat much seafood. Fish."

Charles nodded, going silent to allow Erik peace while he ate. Erik was a much faster eater than Charles—at least when Charles's own meal was contained within a thick exoskeleton he had to maneuver to get to—and it wasn't too long before he considered it safe to speak up again. "What are you doing for the holiday?"

"Nothing." It was an immediate reply, blunt and careless.

"Nothing?" Charles reeled back, blinking, "Nothing at all?" Most people at least took care to spend extra time with their family.

"The garage will remain open, and I will remain working in it," Erik declared neutrally.

"I…see." Charles quietly redirected his gaze to his food.

An awkward amount of time passed before Erik seemed to realize the faux pas and readjust, "And yourself?"

"Spending time with Hank and Raven, mostly, or at least the time we're off." Charles tilted his head in thought, before trying to shrug off the dark spell that rested over their conversation.

"Your officers?" Erik questioned.

"Yes," Charles responded immediately, before deciding that more detail was appropriate. He was dating Erik now, regardless of how long it would last, so might as well share everything now, "My real family is long gone, and my step-family is… was…n't nice, so to say." Charles didn't like thinking about those days and the conflicted emotions that came with them, and the details contained within were a torture that he would inflict on no one.

Erik made a deep hum, his gaze falling and mouth thinning. Dark contemplation, Charles felt now, from that mind so intensely attractive and still managing to surprise him in its glorious complexity and synergy. Contemplation, deep and vast, but not surprised. Charles wondered what had hardened him so firmly against such terrors. Charles still hadn't made the jump to actively read his mind, only allowing himself to feel the general emotion—not hard—but it still hadn't ceased to amaze him.

Realizing that Erik was, once again, lapsing into silence, Charles decided to take a plunge and ask, "And yours?"

"Dead," Erik stated, again in that same straightforward bluntness that was just him.

"I'm…I'm sorry to hear that?" Charles didn't intend for it to come out as a question, but Erik just seemed hellbent on creating an atmosphere as toxic to mutual communication and bonding as possible, and the suffocation of the situation made the last part like more of a squeal.

They had both finished a while ago, and Charles would make sure to tip heftily so he didn't feel bad about staying, especially as the restaurant was less than busy. But it would be pointless if Erik continued acting like that.

Charles cleared his throat, refocusing his attention on Erik. Erik, on the other hand, had not done the same, eyes fogged and body tense. "Erik?" He cautiously reached out to Erik's hand on the table.

When Charles brushed him, Erik jerked back to life, withdrawing his hand frighteningly fast. He stood immediately after, picking up his jacket, "I think it's best if we go, now."

"I—what, Erik—wait?" Charles stood too, concern bubbling out of him in a volcano of incoherence.

Erik did not heed his pleas.

Charles paid the tab and left.

"107 miles per hour," Hank said, randomly from his desk.

Logan and Raven looked over at him. They were currently looking through the datafile of Viper texts, or, at least, they were supposed to be, they weren't sure what Hank was referring to.

"Magneto. In the video from the dashcam a few days ago. He's going around 107 miles per hour," Hank elaborated, spinning around in his chair so they could see the video as he played it.

Logan and Raven gave a glance to each other before looking back towards him.

"You and Charles were sitting around four feet from the road, the roads were around 10 feet wide, which judging by the angle of the video, he was around 21 feet away from you," Hank began, complete with sketch. "Your dash cam has an angle of view of around 85 degrees, which means at that distance it sees around 461.3 feet. He's on the screen for 88 frames, and at 30 frames per second, that's 2.93 seconds. So he travelled 461.3 feet in 2.93 seconds, or 156.9 feet per second or 107 miles per hour."

Logan and Raven looked at each other again, "Did you get that?" Logan mouthed.

Raven shrugged and returned to Hank, "So?"

"Er…well, that's fast."

"No shit."

Hank blinked and looked dethroned. "Well. Uh. Have you found anything of interest?"

Logan grunted as the shuffle of papers indicated they were retrieving papers.

Raven decided to go first, "Do either of you know what Eastside is?"

Logan gave a questioning grunt.

"One of them, mentioning Erik, said there was a breakout at Eastside," Raven mumbled, skimming a pencil over her notes.

"It's a prison, up north, I guess. Stryker had some weird fascination with the place." Logan shrugged but looked away.

Hank cleared his throat. "Raven, we're investigating Magneto, not Erik."

"Sorry," Raven said, lacking any indication she was sorry.

"What'd he say?" Logan exacerbated, solely to bother Hank.

"Logan!" Hank scolded.

"Said it was impossible, but the other one insisted it happened, then they dropped the conversation," Raven answered anyways.

"Guys…" Hank said weakly.

"Alright, stop your whining." Logan clapped him on the back. "There was an explicit mention by one of the members that 'the boss' is Jewish."

"…Huh," was Hank's only response.

"That doesn't really change anything," Raven reflected.

"No, but it's important data when doing a search to narrow down the suspects," Hank argues, but sighs. "They were arguing about hula hoops at one point."

"For being the boss, the boss didn't actually say that much," Raven observed, and the others nodded. "Create meetings…"

"And there was him, the vice president, and the accountant. I guess those are the major three," Logan said.

"Magneto, Lambert, and Big Theta. Did either of you catch his real name?"

"Her. And no." Raven corrected.

They slipped into silence.

"He used proper spelling and grammar," Logan volunteered eventually. "Weren't you trying to do something to that degree?"

"I was, yes," Hank responded, blinking and looking oddly pleased that Logan had remembered.

"And a lot of them didn't, which should help," Raven added.

"What are we going to do anyways?" Logan changed the topic. As a rather violent and short-tempered man, he was always keenly aware of what they could and couldn't do, and the consequences related. "He hasn't done anything. It feels like a wasted effort, to me."

"Reckless endangerment, probably," Raven ventured. "No evading arrest, because you didn't even try."

"So we're wasting resources chasing a misdemeanor?" Logan grunted, shoving his notes aside.

Hank inhaled deeply, "It could be a felony. It would probably come down to the jury."

"Ideally," Raven intoned, drawing out the syllables and giving individual stress, "we want to catch him and get them all to break up whatever this is, before there's a felony to levy. It just so happens that their leader is an asshole who breaks the law."

"Gang mentality is dangerous," Hank remarked, more to himself than the group. "The public is already uneased by their growing activity, and the last thing we need is a turf war or them to start recruiting impressionable youth."

"Or, in summary, it's our job to protect the public, and we're going to do our best to do so," Raven said, determination burning in her voice.

In regards to Erik's religion, since this is primarily movie universe (I do believe there are some comics that portray him as more practicing) he doesn't entirely involve himself with his religion, but he is Most Definitely Not Christian.

A lot of Charles's past here is being drawn from the comics (which was somewhat implied in the movie), and if you've read them or other fanfics you probably have an idea of where this is going. If you're not a comics fan, don't worry, I'll make sure to explain the important parts when it becomes relevant.