Peter woke up, yawning and stretching. He had to ask Kayla what kind of sleeping aides those were, because they were fantastic. He hadn't gotten that good a night's sleep since never. Sleep just seemed to be taking time he could use for something else.
He rolled to his side, trying to remember where the clock was on. Kayla had told him she would only let him sleep for a few hours, and he'd need to figure out just how long it had been. Instead, he saw his father sitting by the bed, his eyes alert.
Peter did a double take. How long had he been there? Why? Peter hadn't been hurt in the battle at the factory. The most that had happened was being told he needed to drink more water, and he'd almost drowned in it on the plane. He felt like he was ten thousand percent water right now.
So why was his father sitting there, almost looking at him like he was waiting for something? Honest to God, it was terrifying. Had something happened? If something had, he'd probably be talking now. Why wasn't he talking?
Was he supposed to say something, or was that on the guy who was much more awake than he was? Peter had no idea. He awkwardly straightened up, his mind racing. And, as was so often the case, he said the first thing that came to mind.
"I wasn't snoring, was I?" he asked.
His father raised a brow.
"Because I have these really gross snores," said Peter, wondering if his tongue was just on auto-pilot, "Totally embarrassing. My mom said it was like walking in on a herd of elephants."
His father shook his head.
"You weren't snoring," he said.
"Good," Peter said, grinning, "Because I thought I'd outgrown that, you know? And um, yeah. I mean, maybe it's not something you outgrow necessarily-"
"Peter, calm down," his father said.
Peter snapped his mouth shut. His father leaned back in his chair.
"I thought you should know a decision has already been made concerning Stryker," he said.
"Oh yeah, military asshole guy," said Peter.
The words were immature, even for him, but they were out automatically. Maybe the sleeping aides were making his lips even looser than usual. He'd have to look into the side effects sometime.
"Yes," his father said, "It appears he'll be court martialed to cut down on the chance his political friends will weasel their way into the trial. It was agreed it was a safer route."
"Cool," said Peter, "So, do we get to lock him up, throw away the key?"
"They're hoping it's more put him somewhere that he'll never see the light of day," his father said, "There's an agency gaining grown in D.C., some long, stupid, beauacratic name. They have a few prisons for people of his caliber."
"Not sure what that means," Peter said.
His father shrugged.
"They were some of the people who bid on constructing my prison cell," he said, "Trask beat them out by a hair."
"Huh," Peter said, "Do the others know about this?"
"Yes. Logan was under the impression he should be put up in front of a firing squad, but I don't think they do that anymore," Erik said.
"That guy really is ancient," Peter said, "The others cool with it?"
"Raven wants his people to take responsibility for him, and Kayla just wants to move on," he said, "But something else happened I didn't tell them about."
Peter frowned, and his father ran a hand through his hair.
"For a long time there's been talk of a pardon, given what happened with Nur," he said, "While not all the facts are known, they decided it was enough for a presidential pardon. The official announcement is scheduled for tomorrow. After that…no one will be looking for me."
A stupid grin spread over Peter's face. He clambered to the edge of the bed, grabbing his father's hand and shaking it. His father's expression didn't change, but Peter just kept pumping his hand up and down.
"That is rad!" Peter said, "I mean, really! Congratulations! You can like, go to the supermarket without a baseball cap or sunglasses now! Awesome!"
"Peter," his father said, "Calm down."
The heaviness in his father's voice was enough to make Peter stop his motions. He let go of his father's hand uncertainly and sat back down. Was there something he was missing? What part about getting pardoned wasn't amazing?
"What…what's wrong?" he asked, "I mean…shouldn't that make you happy?"
"Not as happy as you," his father said, "Mostly because, in all honesty, it comes about a year too late to really help anyone."
Peter felt the joy drain from his lungs. He leaned back against the headboard. His sister and stepmom.
"Right," he said, "I mean…I'm sorry."
"You shouldn't be that either," his father said, "Because, as you pointed out, I can be somewhere now without anyone trying to arrest me. It would, I suppose, give Charles less trouble, and I owe him that, especially if I want to stay."
He hesitated.
"And I think I may also owe that to you," he said, "And that is one of the few things that makes me feel any emotion about this."
His father's tone was struggling, but it was nothing compared to what Peter was feeling. The words were turning into shackles, each one locking him into place. It was good, because, despite everything, there was a little part of him that still wanted to run away from this.
"I think…Peter, I just…I have…" his father said, "I…goddamnit."
Peter could feel a sense of panic rise inside him. His fingers clenched in the fabric of his blanket. Sweat was coating the inside of his hands as his heartbeat increased to an almost frantic rate.
"I should start…I've been thinking about this a great deal," his father said, "And…well, all things considered…there are certain things I've noticed...our blood type, and..."
A moment passed, then two. His father looked down at his hands, and Peter let go of the blanket.
"I need to know-"
"I'm your son."
His father's head jerked up. The words had come out easier than he'd thought they would.
"I've wanted to tell you for almost a year now," Peter said, "I came to Westchester because I thought maybe the Professor could find you. I thought you just needed to know. And then there was all this other stuff going on, and we were in Cairo, and I wanted to tell you. I was gonna tell you."
"That is what you were trying to say," his father said, his voice ponderous.
"Yeah," said Peter, "But I just, I looked at you, and I couldn't. I didn't know why. I told myself later that it was because you'd just lost so much and, I mean, you didn't even know me. It was totally not cool for me to do that then. And, yeah, that was part of it but…I mean, it just wouldn't come out. Years of wanting to tell you about everything, of wanting to meet you, and I just…couldn't."
His cheeks felt warm. Peter wanted to touch them and find out why, he didn't feel hot, but then tears fell onto his jacket. How long had he been crying?
"I think, I mean, I think the reason why I couldn't…why it's taken me so long," said Peter, "I think, I think…"
The tears kept coming down as, for the first time since his declaration, twords became difficult to find. He swallowed hard. He wasn't breathing, at least he didn't think so. He wanted to be able to breathe, to stop crying, but neither of those things felt like they were going to be possible.
He thought of watching his stepfather walk away for the second time in the factory in Japan, of the way his father had yelled and screamed at him when he'd met him covered in soot and dirt.
And, as he looked down, the words came.
"I think it's because I know now that, you'll believe me when I say that I don't think it's a mistake that you're my father," he said, "And, maybe it's because, even if you don't want me, I know you won't think of me as your mistake, that at least-"
His words were swallowed as his father grabbed him, pulling him into a fierce hug that splattered tears over the two of them.
It had to have been 1958, given Peter's age. He would've been conceived in a motel room that Erik would ultimately rent for two months. That much he could remember. He wished he could remember more, maybe how the woman in question had looked. She'd had dark brown hair, and her name had been Magda. That was all he knew, and he should remember more.
The fact of the matter remained that it hadn't been a long relationship. She'd seemed cagey, and he hadn't wanted to stay there for too much longer. He'd only been taking a brief break from hunting Shaw after all. He was still years away from the breakthrough that would lead him to the CIA and Charles Xavier.
But it had ended badly, the exact specifics had faded. It hadn't been that she had been engaged to another man, because that information had only clicked seconds ago. Yesterday, he wouldn't have given a damn about any of it but now, now he wished he remembered more, because there'd been a son.
And now that son was here in his arms. He was twenty-six, sporting shoes spray-painted to match his hair. He liked cake and coming up with strange nicknames for things. He wanted to be a teacher, probably of art, and was very, very good with kids. It was his exuberance, the way he could make people laugh and look at the world as though he was seeing it for the first time every day.
"I'm so, so damn sorry," he said.
"What for?" Peter managed, "I mean…I just told you."
"I wasn't there," said Erik, "I wasn't…and that sonuvabitch told you…I…"
He dug his fingers into Peter's shoulder, realizing that Peter would've grown up with every single news report about Magneto. He'd been surprised by Erik's declaration that he killed the president, but he would've seen what happened at D.C. He would've read about him, known that he'd thrown his lot in with Nur.
"You still came," he said, pulling away, "In Cairo, you still came for me. Why? Why the hell would you do that?"
His voice was harsher than he'd meant, and, despite the tears bathing Peter's face, his expression was more confused than sad.
"I told you," Peter stammered, "I…I was there for my family."
"You didn't know me!"
"I wanted to!" Peter said, "That's all I ever wanted. And I thought…I thought that, maybe you would want to know me too. I mean…you do, don't you?"
His voice was pleading, matching a look in his eyes that made Erik want to run and never look back. But on the day his wife had handed him Nina, he'd vowed that his child wouldn't lose her parents like he'd lost his. He'd vowed that he'd be there for her, that she'd be spared the pain of losing her father.
Ultimately, she hadn't lost him. She'd lost so much more. And, looking at Peter, that terrified him
"I don't know if I'll be a good father," said Erik.
It wasn't, he knew, the kind of thing Peter wanted to hear. However, it wasn't something he could fake. Peter needed to know that before he went any further.
"Maybe I'll be a shitty son," Peter said.
"I highly doubt that."
"No, I mean it," said Peter, "I was kind of an asshole to my mom, and my stepdad was an asshole, but he never liked me even a little. And I-"
"Peter, you're not a mistake," Erik said, "Your stepfather was the mistake, my mistake."
Peter stopped talking, his eyes widening slightly. How had he not seen his own eyes in Peter before now?
"You should've been…well, you should've at least known…" Erik said.
A strangled, frustrated sound made its way through his teeth. Logically, Peter never would've been able to be by his side. He never would've had the chance to raise him, not with the way things had turned out. Even if he had known about him, would he have been enough of a bastard to take him as a child from his mother? Unlikely.
So he said the only thing that, no matter what, would've been true.
"Nina would have loved you as a brother."
Peter swallowed, and Erik saw more tears drip from his jaw onto his jacket.
"I always wanted a little sister," he said.
Erik reached out, pulling his sleeve up with his hand. He moved it across Peter's face, trying to wipe away the torrent of tears. It was soaked within seconds.
"I probably won't be the father you always dreamed of," he said, "But…I will never leave until you tell me to. You have my word."
Peter raised his hand, stilling Erik's. His mouth started to twist into a smile. It wasn't one of wild grins though. Instead, it was something quieter and much, much deeper.
"I may not be the best son," he said, "But…we're smart. Between the two of us, I think we'll figure it out."
His son hesitated, and then hugged him. It wasn't as fierce as Erik's, but it was more thoughtful. Erik hugged him back, wondering what he had done to deserve a second child after his failure with his first.
"And…just so you know?" Peter said, "I'll never ask you to leave."
All thoughts of questioning the universe's decision fled, leaving only something Erik had rarely had in his life: hope.