"Hey, do you want cake?"
Erik turned around from his print outs. Peter was standing behind him, balancing what looked like four different plates of cake. A few crumbs were scattered down the front of his shirt, and he saw traces of frosting around his mouth.
"Is it Betty Crocker or Duncan Hines?" asked Erik flatly.
Peter licked the corner of his mouth.
"Definitely Duncan Hines," Peter said, "You know, I got bored once growing up, and I actually ate it without adding water or baking it?"
"So...just the flour, sugar and baking powder?"
"Yeah," Peter said, flopping down next to him and sliding the plates on the table, "Totally gross. I think I barfed that night. Want some?"
Erik sighed, but took a slice anyway. Peter had been kind enough to balance a metal fork from the kitchen on the plate, which presented something of a more appealing prospect than merely eating with his hands. Not that he expected a culinary masterpiece from boxed cake.
And he didn't receive one. It tasted packaged even before he took a bite. He swallowed, wondering just why there was so much frosting. Was it something Kevin liked, frosting? He'd thought Moira and Charles wouldn't want him too hyped up on sugar.
"So, who are the other slices for?" he asked.
"Oh, Kurt and Raven and me," said Peter, "I didn't know if she'd want some, but she's like Kurt's shadow right now, so I figured it'd be rude if I didn't offer any."
Erik tilted his head in agreement, then took another bite.
"Hank says Kurt's almost healed up," said Peter, "And that's great, because it'd be great to get the other half of Team Lightning back."
"Team Lightning?" asked Erik.
"That's what I'm calling us now," Peter said, "We're both really fast, right? Well, he's not, but he can just keep teleporting everywhere. Together, we're lightning."
"That's..." Erik said.
"Stupid? Cheesy?" suggested Peter, "Already heard it, but I like it."
He grinned and grabbed another slice of cake, shovelling it in at a pace that, while it would've shocked most people, was only a fraction of the speed he could go. The fact that Peter wasn't using any utensils probably would've shocked his mother, or at least resulted in Charles telling him to slow down.
They weren't there though, and Erik didn't see the harm in it. Peter was a bit much, and still incredibly immature, but it was plain to see the potential Charles saw in him. There was something almost infectious about his sense of fun and cheer. Children reacted well to it, and he won over his peers easily. It didn't work so well on people like him and Logan, but it was still there. Done right, it could even be translated into leadership qualities, a way to manipulate others.
But that wasn't who Peter was. He was utterly guileless, despite what he'd seen as an X-man. There was a temper there, of course there was, but it was something sparked by a perception and an honest to God belief in fair play. Peter was a boy whose name seemed to have been given to him by a mother who recognized he'd never truly grow up.
It made it more puzzling that he seemed to like him. Sometimes he wanted to ask him if he knew who he was because, ever since his arrival, not a day had gone by without Peter trying to have a conversation. It wasn't the kind of "Hi and Bye" situation common to so many either. No, Peter actually wanted to talk.
"So, whatcha working on?" Peter asked, sucking on his fingers.
"Just looking at some information from the Yashida Corporation," he said.
"Oh yeah, the tech place," said Peter, leaning over.
A few crumbs sprinkled onto the papers from his shirt. Erik sighed and brushed them away. Peter gave him a sheepish grin, then cocked his head.
"So, what did you find?" he asked.
"On the outside, it looks like, after he fought in the war, Ichiro Yashida used some money he'd inherited from his father to start a technological empire," said Erik.
"So...former soldier?" Peter asked.
Erik snorted. While the Japanese didn't have anything to do with the camps where he had endured torture and misery, they had allied themselves with those who did. Peter gave him a side glance, and then moved around some of the papers.
"So...one son, one granddaughter?" Peter asked.
"And one adopted mutant pet for that granddaughter," said Erik.
"What the hell?" Peter asked, withdrawing his hand from the papers as though he'd been scalded.
"I thought you'd say that," Erik said, "Although I think the term they use is sister, but it appears like she is treated as more of a companion for the girl. There are some other things though..."
He shook his head.
"It appears mutants have always held a kind of fascination for Yashida," said Erik, "Some of his technological advances have been geared toward using their powers. It's always looked like just an odd curiosity, but, with the link to Essex-"
"-and him moving his stuff there-" Peter said.
"-then I think we'll need to pay him a visit," finished Erik, "But not on his normal stomping grounds. He has something of a black facility just outside the village where he grew up."
"How'd you find that out?" asked Peter.
Erik rubbed his chin.
"I have some contacts Charles wouldn't dream of using," he said, "For all of his righteousness, Charles needs someone like me on this, and he knew he needed me."
"That wasn't totally gloom and doom," Peter said, "But we gotta look into him. But...does that mean we have a field trip?"
His grin shown like a new penny someone had left lying in the sun.
"If you want to call it that," Erik said, slicing away another bit of cake with his fork, "But I'd recommend a covert action, or at least as much as we can, perhaps only two or three people. Essex and Stryker haven't reported our engagements yet because I think they want to keep in the shadows as much as possible. Yashida might not have those concerns."
"How do ya figure?"
"Because if they had, we'd be dealing with tanks at the school," said Erik, bringing the cake to his lips.
"Which you'd make short work of," Peter pointed out.
The fork stopped, the cake crumbs just brushing his lips. Peter shrugged.
"Just saying," he said, "They'd have to be pretty stupid if they did. I mean, you know."
He cleared his throat, putting on a deep, pompous voice.
"'Hey boys, looks like the other side has a guy who controls metal!" he said, "Let's go send giant metal machines to bring him in!"
He snorted.
"Brilliant freakin plan."
"Never stopped them before," Erik said, amused, "And, granted, I'm not routinely on the same side as Charles, as you may recall."
"But you are now."
Erik sighed, and put down his fork. While he could tell Peter, for once in his life, wasn't trying to be argumentative or difficult, he really did need to stop this.
"And I might not be after all this is over," Erik said, "He knows that just as well as I, and it's his decision, not mine."
The words were more bitter than he'd initially intended, bu the had difficulty saying it any other way. He'd been the one who had asked Charles to come with him, imploring him to see reason. Charles hadn't, and their lives had taken them in different directions.
Erik would never hesitate to help Charles when his family was threatened, when a madman was trying to steal his child, and when that same madman was experimenting on mutants. But they would have differences. Erik had tried doing things like Charles, would have lived his life that way, but it had resulted in him burying his wife and daughter.
"Yeah, I guess," Peter said, "But he reached out to you for help. He wanted your help, you specifically. I'm sure he probably knows other people who might have contacts, like Raven. That doesn't sound like something you'd ask of an enemy."
"I never said it was a normal friendship," said Erik.
Peter looked at him a minute longer.
"So, lemme...just, okay," he said, "Right now, living in his home, helping him take care of his wife, his kids, that doesn't make you wanna put whatever this is behind you? I mean, he trusts you."
A headache was starting, and Erik wished he'd never brought up the topic.
"Charles knows I wouldn't harm children," he said.
"He's also trusting you to be in his school, with his students," Peter said sharply, "That's not just a 'he won't harm kids.' The Professor cares about this place, and don't think inviting you didn't cause some people to question his judgement, coz it did. Big time."
He narrowed his eyes at the boy. Peter might not have specified the names, but he had a feeling, from the way he was acting, at least one protester had been Hank.
"You shouldn't talk about things you don't understand," Erik warned.
Peter looked back at him blankly. It was frustrating, but Erik couldn't see any fear there. Maybe there was some defiance: he was clearly digging his heels in. The idea of Peter being frightened of him wasn't a good one, but he wasn't even intimidated.
It would be impressive if it wasn't so irritating. Fear, at least, would've made him back down.
"You don't need to be a Hank-level genius to figure this one out," Peter said, "I'm just trying ta say you don't hafta go when all this is over. You could stay."
"And be a teacher?" asked Erik derisively.
"If I'm teaching material, anyone is," Peter said cockily.
Erik snorted.
"This isn't really your business," he said.
"I'm here now, aren't I?" asked Peter, "Look, I'm just saying you can do things a different way. This place isn't bad as a home. Sure you hafta use communal bathrooms sometimes, but-"
"You're missing the point," snapped Erik, "I have lived here Peter, and I have lived outside these walls, can tell you that the rest of the world isn't as forgiving. I've tried it my way, and I've tried it Charles's way. I can say that trying it his way was a mistake."
Peter looked at him, a tinge of anger clouding his blank look.
"So...your wife and daughter were a mistake?" he asked.
Erik stared. The fork on his plate started dancing against the plastic, skittering and clattering.
"Because I assume that's what you're talking about, right?" Peter asked, "Given that, you know, the Professor has a wife and kid now, and I guess that's what you're alluding to-"
"Get. Out."
"That's what you're saying! You're saying they're a mistake!" snapped Peter, "And that's not fair! I mean, it was shit what happened, I get that. And maybe you only had them for a few years, but you still had them, and that's more than some-"
"Get out!" Erik roared.
The fork flew from his plate and embedded itself in the wall. While its final destination wasn't anywhere near Peter, it was enough to make him turn. He expected to see fear now, but the boy only narrowed his eyes.
"Fine," he said, "Fine!"
The air stirred, and Peter was gone. So were the remaining slices of cake, down to the crumbs.