Looking at Pietro was like looking at a younger version of himself these days—except that the boy had inherited his mother's ears and chin. At that moment he looked puzzled.

"Pietro, this is a pleasant surprise! When you hung up so abruptly, I thought it meant you weren't speaking to me again."

Pietro wasn't looking at him, but past him. "What happened to your bed?"

"Mystique didn't take the news of our break-up well, I'm afraid."

"Then you aren't thinking of marrying her?"

"No."

"Then who?"

Erik explained, leaving out Grace's pregnancy for the time being.

"A knitwear designer? Not an assassin, or a geneticist, but a knitter?"

"As I said. Why? Do you have some sort of anti-sweater bias?"

"No, of course not. But—this doesn't make sense! Why her? Why this one?"

I'm not about to tell him my interest in her is only partially for herself and partially for the potential 'Maeve' gene complex. That would be showing my hand too soon, and he would sneer, saying he should have known. I need a truth which isn't the entire truth.

"I like her laugh. She has a marvelous laugh. The best word I can think of to describe it is…'wacky'. In a good way, of course."

Pietro stared at him. "What. The hell. Has happened. To you?" he asked, spacing out his words deliberately and carefully.

Erik's phone rang. "I don't know what you mean—one moment." He answered it.

Wanda said, "When you said she was forty-seven, I wasn't expecting someone who looked like Rene Russo. I thought she would look more…middle-aged."

"Hello, Wanda! Rene Russo? I would have said Patricia Neal, but perhaps it's a generational difference. And she is middle-aged, therefore she looks middle-aged. She simply stretches the definition. I take it you are looking at her web-site."

"Who's Patricia Neal?"

"She was in The Day The Earth Stood Still and Hud. Have you worked out what is wrong?"

"Umm—not yet. May I speak to Pietro? Please." she added.

"Certainly." He took off the headset and handed it to his son. "Wanda would like to speak to you."

"Wanda?" Pietro asked, as he slipped it on. "No, I don't know what she looks like…He says he likes her laugh. Yes, I know…It can't be a mid-life crisis. For one thing, he's too old, and for another, since when does he have a life?"

"I have a life." Erik stated with dignity. "You simply haven't had any interest in it."

"You do not have a life," retorted his son. "You have a Cause. A life has people who are important to you. A Cause has ideals that are important to you."

"Can one not have both?"

"'One' might. You can't…She's what? Father, you didn't—did you get her pregnant?"

"I don't think we have the kind of relationship where I would feel comfortable sharing something so personal with you." He put a stack of shirts in his trunk, and pulled some more steel from the other cabinets to enlarge it.

Pietro's face darkened with anger. "If you're going to be like that—"

"I'm quoting your own words back to you. That was what you said to me when I asked about your estrangement from Crystal. Could you please decide whether you wish to talk to me or to Wanda? This manner of conversing is rather awkward."

"I'll call you back, Wanda. Father, I—why are you packing?"

"Didn't your sister tell you? Grace is going to sue her health care provider for outing her as a mutant and the government for enacting laws which resulted in losses, pain and suffering because she is a mutant. Given enough help, she has an excellent chance of winning, getting the Registration Act repealed and anti-discrimination laws passed instead. To that end, I and all my followers are moving camp to Xavier's for the duration."

"Who are you, and what have you done with the real Magneto?" He wasn't joking.

"I am the real Magneto. Grace is a visionary of sorts, and quite a powerful one. If we mutants don't stop fighting amongst ourselves and work together, the camps will return. We have until the first week of April to achieve our goal. I assure you nothing else—not my slightest opinion—has changed."

"And you believe in her visions?"

"So would you, if you had witnessed what I have. You're more than welcome to come along and meet her."

"I don't know…Father, I—we—think you're making a terrible mistake."

"Why does it matter to you? I would have thought you would be pleased, if not for my sake, then for your own."

"Why?"

"Because if this works out, she will legally be my next of kin, and you will therefore be relieved of the responsibility of figuring out what to do with me when I become truly decrepit and start to dribble."

Pietro spluttered for a moment. "How can you talk like that?"

"I find it helps to keep one's sense of humor."

"Father—she's too young for you. I'm afraid she's going to make an awful fool of you."

"You mean that she will be unfaithful to me—just as Mystique was?"

"No. Not like Mystique. What you had going with her didn't mean any more to you than—than washing your hands. But now you're talking about how you like her laugh, and spending the rest of your life with her. This Ms. Engstrom means something to you. We just don't want to see your heart get broken."

Erik closed the lid of his trunk and sealed it. "I have two things to say in reply to that. First, you don't know her." I myself am only just learning, but I like what I'm discovering.

"Second, your concern for my heart is most touching, considering that for years you have acted as if I had no heart to break." The angry, passionate words spilled out from somewhere deep within him, long repressed and now inexorable.

"Every time one of you hung up in the middle of my calls, every time you responded to my questions about what was going on in your lives with short, cold, polite answers, every time you rejected my offer to meet somewhere, just to go for a simple cup of coffee—my heart broke a little." The final words came thick and slow from a throat which was threatening to close with unshed tears.

Finally I say what I have wanted to say for years, but been afraid to voice.

"Hey. Everybody's ready downstairs." Pyro stood in the doorway.

The moment was broken. "Pietro, this is Pyro, my right-hand man around here." Pyro brightened a little at that praise. "Pyro, this is my son Pietro. Pietro, if you wish to continue this conversation now, it will have to be in transit. You may come or not, as you please."

Pietro looked as though he was torn. "I'll—come along."


A/N: A blanket thank you to all my reviewers. I can't always reply as I would like to and as you deserve.

Also, a question. Grace has her hair dyed red by professionals. Since she won't be able to go back to her regular salon, should she find another near Xavier's, or should she get a product to remove all the artificial color, and go with what's underneath, which is mostly silvery-grey?