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Part 3- Cooking
Magnus laid on the couch with his wife Anna-Marie Eisenhardt in the living room of his inherited estate, now his home.
'Anna-Marie,' he thought blissfully as he failed to take in the material set before him in the book he was holding. Her given name suited her so well. He'd developed a habit of calling her by it, almost exclusively, since the wedding. He lamented he hadn't known it prior. But documentation had been required at the courthouse and it had been an eye-opening experience for them both.
'Thank heaven that nonsense has been dispensed with,' he thought, relieved. He certainly never wished to engage with the United Nations again, one trial had been more than enough for him. And now the whole globe at large knew his given name and that of his parents, his lineage, all of it.
And the ordeal had nearly cost them his inheritance. Cyclops had attempted to fight Charles's will, stating Eric Magnus Lehnsheer was the named beneficiary, not this stranger, Max Eisenhardt. Thankfully, Charles had drafted the document with his full name listed as 'Eric Magnus Lehnsheer (Magneto)'. There were even two such paragraphs that it listed as '(Magneto- Master of Magnetism)'.
Max had recalled having to keep a straight face when first reading the entries that utilize his entire moniker. Charles had been a little heavy-handed in his use. But what had been intended as sarcastic rhetoric, and indeed saved them this inheritance. In the end, he was grateful. And what judge after such a public national trial could deny that he was indeed; Magneto?
Even after Cyclops had so thoroughly lost his lawsuit, he and Anna-Marie had extended an olive branch, reassuring them never needed to change, bygones being bygones, water under the bridge. They were happy to share the mansion that Cyclops had lived in since he was a child.
Their generosity was spat back in their faces, as Scott's, Jean's, and little Nathan's belongings were packed and they disappeared from their lives. He heard wind they'd moved to Alaska. Something about Scott's grandparents. But it was simply none of their business any longer.
Ororo had left during the middle of it, returning to Africa to help her native land. Funds, trusts, and other necessary functions were provided by his inherited estate to aid Storm in her endeavors. Even Scott couldn't protest that expenditure. And of course, her room was hers should she want it. It was seldom used, though promises had been made to return after the new home's owners had successfully delivered their child to return for the celebration.
Wolverine and Morph were- was lurking the right word? They were night-owls, while he and Anna-Marie were up during the day. His only proof they hadn't vanished all together was the beer he kept in the refrigerator for their sole use was constantly in need of restocking. Or perhaps it was the two teenagers under their roof, Jubilee and Roberto, who had been indulging in its recreational use? Or perhaps a mix of both? He knew it wasn't Kurt, who had been visiting-
Well, it was meant to be a visit, one of many, where Kurt attempted to convince the newlyweds to give up on the lawsuit and relocate to Genosha…
Kurt was the one who had relocated, now living at the mansion, in anticipation of good news, of the birth of his nephew. And that joyous news had spurred about a new love in the nascent uncle. To spoil their newborn with love and affection.
Regardless, he didn't care enough to investigate the matter of alcohol use further. The mansion was quiet, peaceful, and he intended for it to stay that way, for the sake of their family.
To that end, Max was sitting up straight and Anna-Marie's legs were resting on top of his, as she was laying down across the couch. He had a hand on her knee, rubbing little circles around her joint. Both of them had their novel of choice in front of them; he used one hand and a little magnetism to keep his up, while Anna-Marie held her book firmly with both hands.
"Max, I'm hungry," a soft voice announced from the far end of the couch; the book remained where it was, her face covered by the copy of Jane Eyre.
"Alright," Max said decisively as he closed his book and placed it on the coffee table beside the couch. "What would you like me to do to rectify the situation?" he asked, knowing full well, the burden of providing a meal would be his and his alone. She was seven months pregnant. Whatever she wanted was hers. That was the rule.
"I want a Fluffernutter," she answered. He hesitated a moment as he tried to recall if he had ever-
No, this was first.
"Very well. However, I do apologize as I'll require some… insight into that particular recipe," he said.
A smile tugged at his lips as he listened to his wife snort behind her book.
"It ain't nothin' gross, Max," she claimed.
"That remains to be seen," he quipped, earning him another snort. "If you could list the ingredients, that would be most helpful?"
"White bread, peanut butter and marshmallow fluff," she provided, her face and the smile that was, no doubt, permeating her features, concealed behind the book.
"That's it?" he asked, expecting something more elaborate.
"That's it," she confirmed. "You're making a PB and J; expect you're subbing out the jelly for marshmallow," she further explained.
"I think I can manage that," he said as he patted her legs. She obliged his silent request and lifted her legs up, allowing him to stand. Once risen, he glanced down at the face of his wife and saw that she was indeed smiling as he expected. "Anything else I need to know?" he asked.
"If you could toast the bread that would be amazing," she said, beaming up at him.
"Done," he nodded. "Drink?"
"Chocolate milk, oh and make two of 'em," she instructed and he felt his eyebrow raise.
"Because you want two Fluffernutters or because you want me to try it?" he asked.
"Sugar," she said, tilting her head, "that is entirely up to the baby," she replied and it was his turn to snort.
"I suppose, it would be prudent if I assembled three," he replied.
"Love you," she said, in a sing-songy way.
"Love you too," he said before he departed the room and set himself to task.
Magneto returned a short while later, holding a metal tray with their meal and drinks upon it. He'd ended up making three, cutting them into triangles and placing them upon two plates. His plate held two triangles, while hers had four. He'd either finish what she didn't want, or make more.
Levitating the tray in the air, he watched her close and put down the book before he handed her a plate. Since it was light she was able to place it on her stomach as he positioned her chocolate milk on the coffee table, inching the table a few inches closer to the couch to ensure she could reach her glass.
"Thank you, Max," she smiled as she pulled her legs up, her knees now closer to her growing belly. He responded with a wink and a smile as he sat down next to her on the couch.
Levitating the tray closer to him, he used it as his table as he watched her pick up one of the triangles, a grin coming to her face as she saw he'd already taken a bite.
"So, whatcha think?" she smirked before she took a bite into the sandwich herself.
"The sweetness of the marshmallow compliments the saltiness of the peanut butter well," he commented. She snorted in between bites. "Though I found the original recipe lacking somewhat," he added, before he took a bite of his own creation. It had the perfect mix of sweet, salty and savory, in his opinion.
"Oh, yeah?" she asked, giggling under her breath. "And how would you improve it, sugar?" she asked, openly amused.
"I was contemplating that very quandary, while waiting for the bread to toast, when I came upon the jar of Nutella," he informed her before he heard something hit the plate.
Glancing up at his wife, he saw her eyes widened with astonishment, her hand empty as she had dropped her sandwich back to her plate rather abruptly. Wordlessly, she held up her open hand expectantly toward him with a true sense of eagerness.
Doing his best to refrain from laughing, he moved the tray toward her and she snatched up the second triangle on his plate, examining it a moment to see the layer of chocolate-y Nutella he'd added to the sandwich before she took a large bite, nearly eating a quarter of it in one go.
Good god, how her eyes sparkled when she was happy. And now there were tears swiftly forming and threatening to spill over. Oh his sweet darling, it was so easy to fall in love with her when she was overwhelmed with simple pleasures that a single sandwich could bring.
"Shall I go add Nutella to the others?" he asked, not commenting on the tears, knowing they would pass.
"Ah-huh," she sniffed and with that he was back on his feet, retrieving the plate from her lap as she nibbled on the sandwich. He'd leave her his plate, letting her finish what he'd already made while he'd obtain further sustenance.
"Actually, Anna-Marie, would you mind waiting maybe fifteen minutes before I return?" he asked as she blinked up at him, confused. "I thought I might utilize the air fryer," he elaborated, not only would it improve the recipe further, but it would give her time to collect herself. Not that he didn't relish seeing his wife enraptured with joy, but embarrassment was bound to follow the emotional extremes the pregnancy brought out of her.
"Ah-huh," she nodded. With that, he leaned down and kissed her forehead before turning to leave the room. "Baby, we are so lucky your poppa's a genius," his wife muttered under her breath. He didn't need to turn his head to know she was touching her stomach as she talked to their unborn child.
He quickened his steps, needing to vacate the room. He sped to the kitchen before he finally allowed his laughter to overtake him.
God, he loved her. He loved her so much.
Was that selfish of him; relish in the joys of marriage when so many had perished on Genosha?
Perhaps…
Or perhaps his first instinct was correct, perhaps it was better to hide.