Archive of Our Own ^beta

wed. 12:17am

Family Quality Time

Magneto <[email protected]>

to: Lorna, Pietro, Wanda

      Children,

I apologize for the hour I am sending this, but I feared if I didn’t write this text now, I never would.

How does everyone feel about going on a small trip abroad? The four of us are rarely together — unless, of course, there is an Earth-threatening situation. And even then, we do not get to talk much.

I would like to hang out with you, if you’d like. Please reply to this if you are interested.

Of course, if that’s not the case, I take no offense whatsoever. It’s up to you. I simply thought it would be nice.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best,

Magneto

“Was he hacked?” asks Pietro. “Did he hit his head? Is this a clone of him, again? Please don’t tell me Joseph is miraculously back. I can only deal with that for so long.”

Wanda scrolls through her phone. “I checked and the sender coincides with other emails I got from him,” she states, looking equally as confused as her brother.

“You email with Magneto?”

“Well, it’s easier than talking to him, sometimes,” Wanda shrugs.

“So he could have been hacked,” Lorna cuts in. This Zoom call so early in the morning could be an actual fever dream she’s having. “How does he know how to send an email to more than one person?”

“You’re right. Father could never work out the internet like this,” says Pietro, crossing his arms. Then, he looks at his phone again. “Do you guys think this sounds like him? Since when does he call us ‘children’?”

“He calls me ‘child’ sometimes,” Lorna replies.

“Yeah, well, he acknowledges my existence twice a year, so,” Pietro shrugs. “Excuse me for not believing his speech patterns. Are we sure it’s actually Magneto?”

“There is no actual way for us to know he sent this,” Wanda says with finality. “It could be someone else impersonating him. I also believe he was hacked.”

Lorna hangs her head, laughing incredulously. “Wow. We all would rather believe that he’s either insane or hacked than think he wants to hang out with all of us.”

“It’s just,” Pietro gestures vaguely. “You know. He’s like. You know.”

“I know,” Lorna sighs. “But, honestly? Giving him credit where it’s due? He’s been a nice father for as long as he’s been in Krakoa. Sure, some hiccups here and there, but in the—um, grand Magneto scheme of things, he’s been nice.”

“That’s true,” Wanda hums thoughtfully. “He’s done things for me that no one in the world would. Maybe he does mean it.”

“Sorry to cut in on this beautiful moment, but, last time I checked—” he looks at an imaginary watch on his wrist, “—I’m still his least favorite child. He only likes his daughters, I guess.”

“Pietro, he loves you,” says Wanda. Then winces a little, as if unsure of that statement. “Or, well, he’s—in his—well, in his own Magneto way.”

“I hate his Magneto way so much,” Pietro groans. “Why can’t he be normal? Just send a postcard every now and then. Make a group chat on Whatsapp like every other family ever.”

“He probably doesn’t believe in phones,” Lorna says.

“Oh, but he believes in emails,” Pietro counters. “Back to square one: he’s probably been hacked. He is a who-knows-how-many-year-old man trapped in a vaguely-fifty years old body. You think he knows about cybersecurity?”

Lorna arches an eyebrow at him. “And you think Charles didn’t make sure Doug and Kate got together to create the most incomprehensible passwords known to anyone? Yeah, sorry, I doubt it.”

“Let’s just make a decision,” Wanda cuts in, trying to be the voice of reason. Her siblings would probably go on another twenty-minute tangent about Magneto and technology. To be fair, she agrees with them. “Let’s go to Krakoa and ask him straight out.”

“But do we want to go on a trip with Magneto to—” Pietro checks his email again, “—seemingly to an unknown location?”

“I just finished my PhD. Do you know what that means? It means I’m in that weird limbo where I trick myself into thinking that I miss studying, and that maybe another PhD won’t be a bad idea,” Lorna’s voice gets decidedly more stressed as her sentence goes on. “Yeah, I’ll go to the middle of nowhere before starting another research proposal.”

“I’ve been thinking of taking a trip myself,” Wanda says. “It’s nearing the end of the year. I have a lot to reflect on, and I want a clear head to do so. I’m up for it.”

“A clear head plus Magneto doesn’t sound like a perfect combination, sister,” Pietro groans. “But yeah. Okay. At least it means I also get to be with you guys. Sure, let’s go on a trip with Magneto.”

“If it was Magneto,” Wanda adds with a laugh.

“If it was Magneto,” Lorna and Pietro echo.

It was Magneto.

“This is certainly a sight,” Erik says in lieu of a greeting, floating down to where his three children are outside the House of M. “I feel as though doomsday has arrived.”

“Don't joke about that,” Pietro says back. “If anything, that's how we feel.”

“Father, did you send this email?” Wanda holds her phone up to him.

Erik squints at it. Then he nods. “Of course. I even signed it.”

“Yeah, well, we were under the impression you got hacked,” Lorna interjects. At Erik's offended stare, she adds, “What? You have to know how weird this looks.”

“Did you come all this way just to corroborate it was me?” asks Erik.

“Obviously. What if someone had hacked you? Maybe you are a clone? A Skrull?” Pietro shrugs. “Maybe you went insane again. Maybe there's a telepath controlling you and making you do things.”

Erik gestures at the helmet he's carrying with him. Pietro gives him a look.

“Okay, sure, the helmet blocks telepathy. But not anything else!”

“So you want to go? On a trip? With us?” Lorna asks, leaning in slightly. “You? With us?”

“Yes, Lorna. Is that so bad?”

“Only because you’re a goddamn maniac!” Pietro exclaims.

“Pietro!” chides Wanda.

“Pietro, always so rude, aren’t you?” Erik says, but he almost looks… amused by the reaction. “Although, I probably deserve that. Children, as I said—this is your choice. I am not forcing you to come with me.”

“Where are we going, then?” Wanda asks, putting the conversation back on track. Erik turns his attention to her now, a little awed.

“You want to come with me?”

“I mean, what's the worst that could happen?” Lorna waves her hand. “I could use a trip.”

“Me too,” says Wanda. “It's not like you're kidnapping us.”

“I like hanging out with my sisters,” Pietro agrees. “So. Sure. When do we leave? And where?”

Erik actually gives them a small smile. Maybe he is a clone.

“I thought about going to some other countries,” Erik says. He raises three fingers: “Three different countries. Maybe we won’t be gone longer than a week.”

“...Are we taking a flight?” Wanda asks.

“Charles here is ever so kind as to lend us an airplane,” he grins. “We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.”

“We’ll be back,” Lorna promises. “So we'll be out for a week, right?”

“Or less,” Pietro adds, just for good measure.

Erik nods. “Make sure to bring warm clothes. But some summer outfits, as well.”

The three of them frown at Erik.

Erik smiles mysteriously in return. “You'll see.”

“So he’s not insane, or a clone, and neither did he get hacked,” Pietro lists off. He, of course, is already done packing.

Sometimes Wanda wishes her powers also allowed her to do everything extremely fast. Pietro always has such an easy time packing. “Apparently not. Who would've thought?”

“I'm still wary of him, though,” he mutters, growing impatient with how Wanda is taking her time to grab her shoes, and putting them inside her suitcase. “Any invitation of his just reeks, you know. I can't let you forget that our father is a massive jerk.”

“Trust me. I can't forget, no matter how hard I try,” And have I tried, she doesn't add. “I'm glad you're coming with us. Sometimes it really feels like he has changed—I just don't think you're ever around to see it.”

Pietro rolls his eyes. In the next half-second, her clothes are already arranged. She wants to scold him, to please be patient, but it is kind of nice to have it done already. She's never been fond of packing anyway.

“You mean, he never involves me in whatever little redemption crusade he has,” Pietro scoffs. “But I'd be an idiot to pass up a free trip like this.”

“You'd be an idiot anyway,” Wanda teases with a grin.

Pietro shoves her playfully, but once they both sober up, Pietro grabs his own suitcase. “I'd say we're ready to go?”

“Sure,” Wanda says. She subtly inhales deeply, trying to keep calm.

There’s no chance that Magnus would invite all of them only to lead them to a certain death. Despite everything, there is one thing she is certain of, these days: he truly cares for them. If not the three of them, then Wanda’s assured he cares about her. The way he held her when they danced at the Gala, the way he held her as he opened up about things he hadn’t told his children before… it had been one of, if not the first time, she had ever felt like she was actually being held by her father.

If there’s anything life’s taught Wanda, it is to not trust anything. To not believe things would always be like this, no matter how badly she wanted to. Maybe the trick is to not hope for an always. Maybe things will be good for a week.

Maybe.

“This is…” Wanda starts next to Lorna, “surreal?”

“That’s one word for it,” she says as they watch their father walk ahead of them, in completely normal, civilian clothing. His suit—well-dressed for the cold weather—is so, so normal. Wanda can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen him without the cape and spandex. Lorna pushes up her dark sunglasses. “At least I’m not the only one who’s going crazy.”

“I’m not quite sure I’m even experiencing reality right now,” Pietro pipes in, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t even know he owned these types of clothes.”

“We used to go out together,” Lorna recalls. “He’d dress up for the occasion.”

“Damn,” Pietro says. “What did you guys do?”

“We’d watch movies sometimes,” she shrugs. “Obviously, it came with a favor from him at the end, but the act itself was nice enough.”

“I don’t know if I’m relieved he’s never asked us, or jealous,” Wanda says. Although, there must have been so many points in her life where she’d rather never look at Magneto again. She never had time to mourn the father he could have been to her. “Guess we all have time to decide that now.”

Erik turns around. “Children,” he says, “if you are going to be talking behind someone’s back, at least make an effort to pretend you are not.”

Lorna grins nervously at him. “Sorry, Dad.”

“Sorry,” Wanda says.

“I’m not,” says Pietro.

“Of course,” he says. With a wave of his hand, the gate to the airplane opens. “After you.”

This should be interesting.

It is interesting.

She ends up having lunch with Erik, just the two of them. Lorna and Pietro insisted they were not hungry yet, wanting to sightsee, so Wanda agreed to lunch with him.

She tries to trace everything back. Have they ever done this? Just the two of them, grabbing lunch? Probably never. Even back when she was a member of the Brotherhood, she never had a one-on-one moment with him. He’s always been so out of her reach, and somehow, after she found out he was her father—

He became even more unreachable.

But here he is now, sitting with her, having lunch.

Could it be that ruling a nation really changed him? Wanda tries to pinpoint a moment when her father started changing. He always tried, but never tried enough. Something always broke. Something always gives with him. But this time, there’s a serenity that hadn’t come to him before. Maybe it’s the fact he rules alongside Charles, maybe it’s having all of mutantkind in one place to protect. Maybe it’s all of that.

“Are you liking this trip?” Erik asks. “I hope you didn’t feel obligated to come. You could have said no.”

“I’m liking it,” she promises. “I didn’t think you’d like Italy. Can you even speak Italian?”

Erik does a little ‘so-so’ gesture. “A bit here and there. Definitely helps to be fluent in other languages, but ah, it is not my strongest one.”

Wanda smiles. “Well, we can’t all be perfect.”

That makes Erik laugh. The waiter arrives with their food and he shakes Erik’s hand enthusiastically as if he’s an old friend of his. Wanda watches the exchange with amusement and intrigue, not quite understanding the language they’re communicating in. The waiter pats Erik’s back and leaves them with their plates, as Erik laughs a bit more.

“Friend of yours?” asks Wanda, although the answer is so clearly yes.

“He’s a mutant who had to leave Krakoa,” Erik explains. “This little diner is a family business. His parents are human, and he loves them too much to give up on his place here. Still, he has a place in Krakoa, should he ever need it.”

“And you agree with that?” she wonders again. “Preferring human traditions over Krakoa?”

“Who am I to tell him what to do?” Erik shrugs. “Charles and I never intended to force anyone to come to our nation. It is true, I would prefer it if he was with us at home. However,” he glances at the waiter, who’s animatedly chatting up another table. “He truly is happy here, with his family. I really cannot blame him.”

“You’ve grown soft,” Wanda points out. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Erik chuckles, digging into his food. After a moment, he continues: “I fear I have lived for such a long time, my dear. Times change, and the world keeps moving—holding onto anger and resentment can become so very tiring. After all this time, I think I’d like to take a move out of that young man’s book, and simply… try to be there for my family.”

“Better late than never,” she says. It’d be so easy to believe him, and thus far, she doesn’t have a reason to not trust him. He’s baring his soul out for her. She can afford to trust her father, that’s for sure. Erik’s face falls, just slightly.

“How I hope it isn’t too late,” Erik sighs. “I should count myself lucky that the three of you would agree to this—this silly outing. But enough about that. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she says, and really tries to mean it. “Or, I’m as good as I can be. I’m still an Avenger,” and oh, the way her father’s face turns into such a small grimace—guess some things are hard to change, and that man is still Erik Lehnsherr and not a clone. “But there’s something, well… I wouldn’t want to say there’s something off about it. I am happy to be with them. I just think—well—maybe my loyalties lie somewhere else.”

“Is that so?” he asks, casually. “Where does your heart lie, then?”

“It’s… honestly, I used to think it should be the epicenter of my identity,” she explains. “If I was back to being an Avenger, it’d mean I’m okay again. Stable. But it’s just—not where I am happiest anymore. I’m happy when I connect with—well, with the parts of who I am. I have been reconnecting with my people, the Roma. I have been taking solo gigs, helping out people with my magic. I have been teaching children how to wield theirs. I even… got to reconnect with Billy, just a little bit, over this. This is where my heart lies, I believe.”

Erik smiles at her, in a way that almost looks… proud? Of her? There’s the urge to backtrack on everything she said, too unaccustomed to this feeling from her father, but she squashes it down. It’s a very silly thing to feel, anyway, so she just waits for a further response.

“Oh, Wanda. You have such a kind heart,” he says. Wanda is glad she’s swallowed her food, otherwise, she would have choked. He has never said those words before. “After everything that you have been through, I can only imagine it has not been easy. And yet you remain kind.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” she agrees. “I have done so much wrong. I have done so much wrong, and for so long, everyone just thought of me as—insane, unstable. It has been so hard to convince myself I’m not. I just need a little help, sometimes.”

It’s a delicate topic to breach, especially with Erik. Wanda hasn’t ever sat down and talked about it with him—she hasn’t really sat down and talked about anything with him. But it’s such a hard, fragile topic to tell. And she’s sorry. And she has been sorry for so long. He knows that, of course—had to kill his own daughter in her quest for redemption. Then, surprisingly, he speaks.

“I don’t blame you for that,” Erik says. “I did, at first. But after a while, when everything dwindled, when I tried so hard to look for you… well. I suppose I had realized how much I had failed you if we had gotten to this stage.”

“It was my fault, father. It’s a known fact.”

“But it’s not as black and white as it seems,” he says. He inhales. “This is a heavy burden you’ve carried for so long, Wanda. Nearly a decade. You have redeemed yourself, my daughter.”

It’s funny, because Wanda hasn’t sought his approval since… she can’t even remember anymore. And yet the burden on her shoulders lifts ever so slightly.

“I can only hope so,” she replies, hoping her voice doesn’t tremble. “It’s not on me to decide, is it? I can only continue to do the best I can, every day.”

“It’s what any of us should do,” he seems to consider reaching out to hold her hand but aborts the movement at the last second. “Please, do not chain yourself to the past. Look at where you are—what you are. You are incredible. I hope, at least, you don’t forget this.”

Those words take her by surprise. It must show on her face, because Erik laughs a little, so she takes it upon herself to reach out and hold his hand instead.

“Thank you, father,” she says. She squeezes his hand. She thinks back to his promise to do right by his children, again, and perhaps he’s not doing such a bad job at it this time. “I truly appreciate it.”

At their hostel, Erik turns on a small light in the kitchen. Everyone else should be asleep, but, ah—he forgot to take his meds.

As he grabs a glass of water, Lorna walks into the kitchen but stops dead in her tracks when she sees Erik. “Dad? What are you doing?”

“Almost forgot to take my meds, that’s all,” he says.

“Oh, shit, me too! That’s why I’m here,” she says as she fills another glass with water, briefly glancing at his box. “You take Xanax, too?”

“Yes. I—” Erik turns at the sound of more footsteps. Wanda has also entered the kitchen. “Wanda.”

“Did something happen?”

“We forgot to take our meds,” Lorna says. “Did you, too?”

“I forgot to journal,” she holds up a little red notebook. “I was going outside to write. And no, I take my medication in the morning.

“Noted,” Lorna nods. “Is it maybe Xanax?”

“No, I take Zoloft,” Wanda answers. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I feel as though your brother is bound to walk in—” Erik begins as Pietro speeds in, “—any second now. Hello, son. Could it be that you are also here to take your medicine?”

“I—how did you know?”

Lorna holds up her box. “Xanax or Zoloft?”

“Xanax,” he says.

“Wanda, you’re the odd one out,” Lorna shakes her head. “You’re exiled from this family.”

Wanda shakes her head. “Such a horrible fate. Good luck to you guys with your Xanax—I have a journal entry to write.”

“Talk about this in it,” Pietro suggests.

“Oh, most definitely,” she promises.

The craziest part about this vacation is that it is a vacation.

Lorna’s in Amsterdam. She hadn’t wanted to let go of Italy just yet, but she’s so curious about whatever Erik is planning. She can’t quite help it—there’s a part of her that simply analyzes him, ready to rise up to challenge him if needed. She respects him, but she’s always ready to oppose him if the situation calls for it. She knows Magneto values that about her. And, hell, with a father like him—it’s probably one of her most valuable assets when it comes to dealing with him.

But so far?

She can’t actually find anything off about him.

“I guess that’s suspicious in itself,” she says to Wanda. “Or, maybe he really is just trying to spend a nice moment with us.”

Erik had mentioned offhandedly that he’d go check them in, and they were free to roam around if they wanted. They could rent bikes, if they wanted—apparently he knew the owner. She’s a mutant from Krakoa who was rescued by Magneto, therefore, they’d get a really nice discount if they mentioned that.

“What was he doing with you, when you went to have lunch?” asks Pietro, pretending to check out the bikes. Lorna knows he’d find them too slow.

“Nothing. We just had lunch,” Wanda says, smiling. “I was a bit unsure about this whole thing, but after that—I don’t know, we talked, and I could only sense he had good intentions. I know it’s hard to lower our defenses, but I don’t think this will end badly.”

Pietro’s the more stubborn twin, she knows. There’s a gap between them and her, perhaps because they’re older, perhaps because they experienced growing up with Magneto in a way entirely different from her. All three of them had suffered, but again—it’d be easy to tell that their father does seem to favor her a little bit more. In the bigger picture, it didn’t matter that much—but Lorna has a lot of normal, happy memories with Erik compared to her siblings. Of course, they’d have a harder time opening up, and trusting.

So does Lorna. She’s cynical, but she trusts her father. Again, he’s been good, in his own Erik way. Lorna’s grown to trust him, to look forward to Sundays for them to share tea—hell, before that tradition, they used to live together, like an actual father and daughter. A healthy dose of cynicism, is that what she should call it?

Back to reality, Pietro does end up shrugging. “I hate to admit it, but I haven’t found anything wrong.”

“Sounds like you want to find something wrong,” Lorna says. She adjusts her jacket, noticing the slightly chilly weather. Should they ride bikes in the cold? “I think we should start enjoying the sights more. And the free food. Seriously, the food’s been to die for.”

“I have never had so much pasta in my life,” Pietro agrees. “It's ridiculously good. Infuriates me.”

Wanda laughs. “I guess we're all gaining something out of this,” she says, then fixes on one bike. “I don’t know about you guys, but I want to ride around. Anyone wants to come with me?”

“Oh, me,” Lorna grabs her own bike now. “Pietro, you should come with us.”

“Riding a bike is like torture,” he rolls his eyes. “I always end up knocking out the pedals. They never go as fast as I want them to go.”

“Can’t you just make an effort? For us?” Wanda pleads. “When do we ever go biking, the three of us? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Pietro sighs, but he looks amused again. “Okay, convincing argument. I’m in. Whoever wins the race has to buy dinner tonight.”

“We’re—we’re not racing,” Lorna says.

“We are,” Pietro says back.

“Seems like you’re getting along just fine,” Erik says as he comes back. The three of them turn to look at him. “Out for a ride?”

“Want to come with us?” asks Lorna. “Unless you’re too old for this sort of thing.”

“I regret to say it does make my knees hurt,” Erik grins. “And I can never make bikes go as fast as I want them to go.”

“That’s what I said,” Pietro says, half-relieved, half-scandalized to be agreeing with him.

“Well then,” Erik continues, “don’t let me keep you. Enjoy yourselves.”

“We’ll be back, dad,” Lorna promises.

Pietro, being a little shit, runs off first. It’s not a competition. It’s really not. But Lorna takes the challenge anyway and starts pedaling as fast as possible. She swears she can hear Wanda sighing inside her head.

“Oh, there you are,” she says to Erik’s back. He’s in the middle of the bridge, leaning against the guardrail, looking at the water below him. “We got back a while ago. I was looking for you.”

“Here I am,” he turns to her as she walks closer to him. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, of course. Wanda lost the race, so she’s buying dinner for us today.”

Erik chuckles, “Isn’t it futile to race against Pietro?”

“We’re not giving up that easily!” she says, leaning against the rail as well. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Oh, sightseeing,” he answers. “I quite like this place, I think. Have you been liking this trip?”

She stretches her arms, trying to be comfortable. It’s a bit of a heavy question, even without it trying to be.

“Yes, plenty. I needed this trip,” she begins. She wants to elaborate, but—did her father actually sign up to hear her out? Lorna isn’t even sure how to word her emotions herself. They’re always so intense. “I have been a little lost these days, I think.”

Erik hums. “How so?”

“Do you actually want to hear it? Because it’s not too late to go back,” she warns, waiting for a reaction. Erik shakes his head, laughing a bit.

“You’re my daughter. Of course I want to hear you out.”

Oh, okay. Lorna nods at him, trying to comprehend that sentence. He really can be so caring when he wants to be.

“I think I’m a little lost,” she explains, wincing internally at how corny that sounds. Erik doesn’t seem to mind. “I mean, aren’t we all? I think it’s just a thing people my age go through, but it doesn't mean it’s any easier.”

“Indeed,” Erik replies. “I have felt lost quite often myself.”

“Oh. Really? You?” Lorna’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t seem the type. You always look like you have everything figured out.”

Erik rests his chin on his hand, shaking his head. “Then I must be a better actor than I thought. Keep going, though. What else, Lorna?”

“Ugh, I hate doing this,” she sighs. “I have all these accomplishments, right. I have a PhD. Which, by the way, now that I have one, I truly understand why everyone needs to mention it every five minutes. It’s so fucking hard. And I have been in all these teams, too. X-Factor. Hell, I was an X-Man again. It’s all nice developments, right? So why does it still feel so empty?” she lets out a hollow laugh. “I think anyone else but me would be proud. I am happy, I can smile and laugh easily, it all just feels so… aimless.”

Erik puts a hand on her back, rubbing a little. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. I’m sorry you’re feeling like this.”

The words do bring a little smile to her face. Unfortunately, it doesn’t magically fix all of her issues like she hoped it would. Instead, she comes closer to Erik and rests her head on his shoulder.

“That was nice to hear. Not a lot of people say it, believe it or not,” she sighs. The water below them is so still, so calming. “And I don’t need, you know, external validation all the time. It’s just—I have this brain that only lets me remember all the bad stuff I’ve done. So all these accomplishments, they fly under my radar. Sometimes I really am proud of myself. Sometimes I am extremely hateful toward myself. Where is the middle ground? It’s really tiring.”

Erik squeezes her shoulder now. He laughs a little. “You sound like me when I was your age. So irritating, isn’t it? To feel everything you do to such an intense degree. It all just seems to lead up to irrational anger.”

Oh, she really is his father’s daughter, isn’t she? She’s never heard her emotions being described so accurately. Even years in therapy hadn’t taught her how to word them. Then again, her dad’s been alive for so long. At one point, you must come up with ways to describe your feelings accurately.

“It sucks,” Lorna says. “Why do we have to go through this?”

“Well, you know, professional geneticists say this is a result of our brain trying to keep up with our mutation. Didn’t you know?”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. Apparently, for us—our brain is trying every second it can to keep electromagnetism under control. It is such a fantastic power for such a human organ as the brain. In return, it messes us up, just a tad bit. Fascinating, isn’t it? Haven’t you always been prone to migraines?”

Nobody knew that about her. “I have,” Lorna says in awe. “How did you know?”

Erik points at his temple. “Chronic migraines,” he laughs. “It’s one of those things. Anyway, that’s what professionals say. On the other hand, psychiatrists simply call it ‘bipolar disorder’.”

Now Lorna laughs loudly. “I think I like the geneticist’s theory. Sounds funnier.”

“That, it does,” Erik agrees, trying to rub her shoulder comfortingly. “Again, I’m proud of you and everything you have accomplished. You have been trying to find yourself for quite a while, haven’t you? I hope you do, one day. But for now, the woman you are—someone who is as fierce as she is kind—is wonderful already. Don’t forget it.”

Oh. “Thank you, dad.”

“I mean it. I haven’t been the best to you, Lorna, and I have taken advantage of your fascinating power and kindness so many times,” he sighs deeply. “And I have always wondered how you had the heart to forgive me, time and time again. Still, it brings me an immeasurable amount of peace—always has and always will—to know that I always had you in my corner. More peace than I could ever put into words. I’m sorry it’s been so difficult. But you’re doing alright, my child.”

Oh.

Lorna places her arms around him, trying to fit her head under his arm. Erik allows it, wrapping an arm around her. Father and daughters—they so ever rarely get it right. But today, he truly did.

“You too,” she says, because nobody said it to him yet, probably. “If you really care about my mental health, you’ll keep taking care of yourself. I’ve seen you die enough times in this lifetime. So no reckless stunts, got it?”

“Oh, I will. I intend to live quietly now,” he grins. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” she says. “Or I’ll be really pissed.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” she repeats. “I’ll keep trying my best, too.”

“And that alone is reason to celebrate,” Erik tells her, letting go of her and stepping away from the handrail. “Doesn’t your sister have dinner to pay for us?”

“That, she does,” Lorna smiles again. “Let’s hurry before Pietro gets ahead of us.”

“I get why you asked for summer clothes now,” Pietro says, taking his shirt off. “It’s so fucking hot.”

“Colombia is a warm country, anyway,” Wanda says. “But it’s the middle of summer.”

“I thought a nice change of scenery would keep you on your toes,” Erik says, seemingly unaffected by the heat. Which is insane. The three of them are melting inside the car. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Why aren’t you using a GPS?” Lorna asks from the backseat. “Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Of course I know where we’re going.”

“And since when do you drive?” asks Pietro, arching an eyebrow at him. Erik turns to the passenger seat to shoot him a look. “Eyes on the road!”

“Honestly, Pietro. Do you actually think I could crash something made of metal?”

“Well, no, but still,” Pietro crosses his arm. “You’re avoiding the other question, though.”

“Which is?”

“The GPS one,” Wanda supplies. “Way easier.”

“The only thing I would use to guide myself is a map, thank you very much,” says Erik.

“I’m going to jump out of this car,” mutters Pietro. “I knew he didn’t believe in phones.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is it normal for it to be this hot?” Lorna asks again. “Are we dying?”

“Have you never been to South America?” Erik wonders, still looking like this is normal weather to have.

“No,” the three of them answer.

“Oh, well. That explains it. You’ll get used to it after an hour.”

“I’m never getting used to this. Are you kidding? This is inhumane. Nobody could ever stand this weather. We’re going to die,” complains Pietro.

“Actually, it’s fine now,” Pietro says an hour later. “I got used to it.”

He’s run through this beach at least five times now, and it’s still fascinating.

It’s not like he hasn’t been to beaches before. But there’s a certain energy here, like positivity spread all out. The sun is setting, so now the weather is extremely comfortable, and the sands are so white. Pietro freely runs from coast to sea, and then back to the coast again, enjoying the way he can run on water.

Lorna makes him trip a few times, because she’s annoying, but Pietro’s too happy to actually be mad. Of course, he just splashes more water on her, and then Wanda gets involved somehow. The water goes up and down irregularly as Wanda and Lorna join their powers.

“You guys are insane!” Pietro shrieks when the water lifts him up again, having him run down only to go right up again. “You should not be allowed to be near water, ever!”

“Sounds like someone is a sore loser,” Lorna says, grinning widely. “Your turn to get us dinner.”

The water finally deposits him on the white beach, as he stares up at the starry sky. “Fine. My wallet is back at our house,” he says, because Erik somehow got them a beach house to stay in. When did he find so many contacts? “Go wild. And bring me some, too!”

“Of course we will!” Wanda calls back.

He hears them walking away and allows himself to smile. He’s comfortable on the sand now, and if he focuses, he can hear some children playing in the distance. The vibrations on the floor, every single person on this beach doing something. Moving so impossibly slow and so out of touch with Pietro, like he’s a simple by-passer in a world he doesn’t quite fit in.

He takes a deep breath. It’s been hard, since that time he lost control of his powers, to stop noticing how everything could be frozen if he let it be. Almost like he needs to readjust to normal life, like he needs to reintegrate into society. In a way, he supposes he needs to. He hears laughter again. He should’ve brought Luna along—Erik wouldn’t have minded.

Somehow, he knows that.

Speak of the devil—

“Are you alright, Pietro?” he asks from above him. “Did your sisters knock you out?”

“They did,” he says, looking up at Erik standing over him. He doesn’t attempt to move from the ground, though, so Erik sits down next to him. “Been beaten to a pulp.”

“How rather unfortunate,” Erik chuckles, “But I’m glad I found you here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Pietro sits up now, frowning. “What did I do?”

“Oh, please relax. I don’t mean anything bad by that,” he says calmly, as Pietro continues to be suspicious. “I just wanted to check how you’re doing. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“...What’s the catch?” Pietro asks instead. This has been going on for too long. If he means to lead the three of them to their death, then at least he’d rather know now. “What are you playing at?”

“I assure you, Pietro, if I had wanted to kill you we would not be having this conversation,” he states. His voice is calm, with a certain air of finality.

Pietro swallows. “What a touching and normal thing to say, father. I am really feeling the love.”

Erik inhales. “I apologize. I truly mean to say, I have no ill intentions. I am simply wondering if you have liked this trip.”

Pietro… decides to play along. Why not? He’s not trusting Erik to fulfill his word, but he’s at a beach in Colombia, and the weather is pretty nice. The waves come rolling and go back again, the moon is slowly announcing its presence. He can afford to relax. When he’s inevitably about to be killed, he’ll make a run for it. But sure. Play along. Maybe his father is not insane after all.

“It’s been nice,” he says. “I love my sisters. It’s been nice to be away from everything, you know. I don’t think you know this about me, but recently, I had this—realization, of sorts, on how to live my life and all that. This feels like an extension of that.”

“Oh? How interesting. What realization did you have?”

“Do you actually care to know?” he asks, frowning. Erik nods. O…kay then. “It was just to slow down. I know, funny and ironic all at once. I can’t outrun all the bad things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt, but I can, y’know—I don’t need to wallow in misery forever. Good and bad can exist, believe it or not. I just need to pay attention. Be patient. Look around.”

Erik smiles at him. “Lovely. I agree, I think—the things that hurt us can only hurt us as long as we let them. It takes incredible strength to accept the darker parts of yourself and reconcile them with the good,” Is he… complimenting him? Pietro nods, a little dumbfounded. “How is it going, not running away?”

Is it really the safest option to open up to Magneto? Pietro doesn’t want to run away from this conversation, but neither does he want to dive headfirst in. Still, this was bound to happen sooner or later. He can’t outrun his past. And this past largely involves Erik, for better or for worse. He’s quick to call up the hate and resentment, the grudges, the impatience that will taint Erik’s name inside his head for as long as he lives. Similarly, he can’t outrun that other part of him—the part that feels compelled to give his father another chance, the same way he has for so long; the same way his sisters have done so again and again.

Then again—so many people must have those thoughts about Pietro.

Pietro decides to open up, then.

“It’s been… nice, most of all,” Pietro says. “I’m just very slow to start.”

Erik laughs a little. Pietro finds himself laughing along.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he continues, “but, my relationship with Wanda is doing a lot better. You don’t know this, but we had a pretty ugly fight. I thought I had lost her forever. But I—well, we talked it out. I could have continued to run away from her, but I didn't. Now we're… happier than before. Like we set some boundaries, I don't know. The point is, I know it works. I just don't know how to approach the other relationships I want to work on.”

Erik hums. “So you keep putting them off.”

“I really think speedsters can be the worst procrastinators,” Pietro sighs. “I talked to Jean-Paul one time and he agreed.”

“Your speedster parameter reduces to, what, one mutant?”

“Aurora terrifies me and I—well—my nephew is one of those people I am putting off reconnecting to. It’s bad.”

“One step at a time, Pietro. Nobody will be offended if you take your time—as long as you come around in the end,” Erik says. Oddly wise. “Who is the one you want to reconnect with most?”

Ah, her name comes as easily as ever.

“Luna,” he says. “Believe it or not, this trip is making me miss her a lot. I want to have one with her like this.”

“You should, then. What’s stopping you?”

“I…” Pietro stops. He knows if he goes down this thread, it’s going to end with uncomfortable truths. And it’s the first time in, what, thirty years? More? That he’s not arguing with his father after two sentences. He hopes he doesn’t lash out. Hell, Pietro hopes for himself to not lash out, to not grow bitter over it. “I don’t know how to be a good father to her. I don’t know if she’d let me be one, at this stage. It’s probably too late for me to do that, anyway.”

Erik stares at him with understanding, nodding. It’s probably easy for him to relate. “It’s never too late.”

Pietro chuckles. “Maybe. Point stands that I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t mean to be estranged from her, and yet—I always end up just like that. I had a good father figure growing up, you know. My uncle taught me enough of the basics, of what I should expect a father to be like. And in those years with Luna as a baby, I tried, and I failed. She loved me and I failed her, often. How was I meant to raise her, meant to be a good father, if by the time my father actually met me—in the most important stages of my life—he just treated me like shit?”

Erik closes his eyes. “I’m so very sorry.”

He’s ready to get mad, the fight urging him on, but that makes him stop. Erik never apologized to him. He probably has to Wanda. Probably to Lorna. But his treatment of Pietro has always been passive-aggressive. Always managed to shift the blame to him—somehow, he always managed to accept he was a shit father, but never managed to apologize for the damage done. Except for right now.

Pietro doesn’t know how to acknowledge that.

“You’ve never liked me much,” Pietro continues. “I always wondered what it was. I know I’m a jerk, but—” he stops. Erik’s scrutinizing him, for sure, but it doesn’t feel… harmful, for once. “—I think it started just as a method against you. You had so much power over me, over us. You took advantage of that. You held the fact that we owed you our lives over our heads, forever. And sometimes it felt like I was the only one aware of your mistreatment. And that was the only way to fight back. Sometimes, it’s like…”

He rubs his face. This is the kind of thing that took him forever to come to a conclusion. If he doesn’t come out with it now, he never will again. Who knows when’s gonna be the next time Erik is so willing to listen to him, to play good father for once?

“It used to feel like,” feels like, he doesn’t say, “that everything I am was a product of reacting to you. I was an overprotective brother by nature, but also, because I had to defend Wanda from you. I am a jerk because I grew up with you. I don’t know how to be a father because every time you’ve addressed me as your son, it is to tell me I am a disappointment to you. Do you follow? It was so hard to separate who I am from the things you’ve made me. So of course I don’t know how to be a father to Luna. Of course it’s hard to maintain relationships. I have tried to learn out of it, of course, because I can’t live the rest of my life like that. And it’s hard. But I am putting in the work.”

His voice is hoarse, even though he hasn’t yelled or raised it. Erik’s so deadly quiet. Maybe he’ll lash out. Maybe he’ll walk away. But when he looks over at him, he looks heartbroken. Pietro doesn’t know what to do with this. Maybe he’s the one who should run away.

No, no more running. He’ll stay, no matter how uncomfortable this conversation gets.

“I cannot put into words how sorry I am,” Erik starts. “I’ve hurt you the most out of my children. I’ve mistreated you the most. The things I’ve said to you—they are never to be excused. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I didn’t.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you, or if I have the right to try at all,” he continues. “But—if this is the only time I’ll get to say it to you, then I might as well do it. I am proud of you. I have always been so focused on the survival of my kind, on protecting everyone, so whenever I saw you making the same mistakes I have—”

“You’d lash out at me.”

“Yes. It’s inexcusable, but every time I’ve done it, it was out of thinking I knew better. An overwhelming sense of panic. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—” Erik sighs deeply. “I have failed you so much. And I never backtracked. I have always been so stubborn to admit when I am wrong.”

Pietro shakes his head. “As I am.”

“Yes, but you have no fault in this argument,” Erik says. “Your stubbornness didn’t ruin your child’s perception of themselves for such a long time. And Pietro, I really am proud of you. I cannot be sorry enough, but I can tell you this: You grew up to become an incredible man. If I had been what you are at your age, perhaps I would not have ended in such a sorry state. You were too much like me, Pietro, and I have always wanted you to be better than me. To not get hung up on everything that made me lacking. Only that I never recognized it.” Erik stops again, and it looks like he wants to reach out to him. He doesn’t. He hesitates at the last moment. “I love you, did you know? You are my only son. I love you deeply, and I’m sorry this love never found you. I’m sorry for failing you so much.”

Something swells up inside Pietro.

This doesn’t fix anything, nor does it undo it all at once. But it’s weird to breathe in and breathe out and still live in a world where his father admitted he loved him, and that he was sorry. He breathes in. He breathes out.

“I don’t think I can forgive you yet,” Pietro starts.

Erik nods. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to—”

“But I don’t want to run away from this anymore, I think. I’m willing to try,” Pietro might be signing up for the worst decision of his life. But at least he won’t die without knowing what happened. “Luna has always been fond of you. Maybe you should visit us, or maybe we’ll drop by Krakoa.”

An emotion he’s never seen on Erik’s face shows up. All at once, it’s gone, replaced by a soft smile. Still weird. On a whim, he puts an arm around Pietro and brings him in for an awkwardly angled hug.

Pietro doesn’t run.

He lets himself be held, instead.

“Is this a friend of yours?” Erik asks Lorna.

“No, it’s just a person online,” she says, holding up her phone to him.

“Huh. So what’s their name?”

“I don’t know, dad. I’m showing you the TikTok. Just pay attention.”

“Are you seriously trying to get him to laugh at one?” Pietro asks.

“I need my glasses to read,” says Erik, patting his chest, as if they miraculously could be in his breast pocket.

“Oh my God,” says Wanda.

“Father, how old are you?” Pietro pipes up again, curiously.

“I’m not answering any questions like that,” Erik replies. He gets his glasses from the table in front of him, not his breast pocket. Lorna plays the video again. “Me when I… forget to take my meds so I end up experiencing every symptom ever,” he reads.

“Yeah, so, like us,” Lorna tries again.

“I don’t see how this person screaming in silence relates to that.”

“It’s like, the reaction to that?”

“I should be recording this,” Wanda mutters. “It’d go viral. Magneto reacts to TikTok.”

“It’d be so viral,” agrees Pietro.

“I don’t wish to go viral,” Erik says. “Anyway, lovely video, Lorna.”

“I hope the Earth swallows me.”

“That’s not very nice, is it?”

This is the last lunch they have together, in this little beach house.

Unsurprisingly, Erik’s dreading going back.

He didn’t think he’d get to bond with his kids like this—let alone think they’d even come in the first place. But he watches as Lorna and Pietro bicker over their food, Wanda discreetly serving herself more eggs from Pietro’s plate, and there’s fondness growing in his chest. He loves them very much. How horrible it was that it took him this long to realize.

Either way, what matters is that they are here now.

“Children,” he begins, because all of them opened up to him. He wants to do the same for them. “I hope you enjoyed yourselves.”

“Plenty,” Lorna says. “Thanks for inviting us, dad.”

“It was nice,” Pietro agrees. He’s smiling, which he’s still getting used to seeing on Pietro. “I needed that.”

“So did I,” Wanda agrees. But then she fixes on him. “I feel like you have something to say.”

Erik chuckles. Wanda’s always been good at reading him.

“I understand you must have felt bewildered when I first messaged you about this. Truth is, I wasn’t sure about it myself, but something… happened, that made me want to reach out without a doubt.” He takes a small breath, trying to not let the emotions spill over him. “I already talked to Wanda about this, but before you three—I had a daughter. She died when she was four, in a fire caused by humans. My wife at the time, Magda, had fled after that.”

The words hang heavy. The grief strikes Wanda and Pietro so quickly, as if they had also realized—that could have been their older sister. Lorna looks down, quiet, silent.

“If she had lived,” he continues, “she would have been four years older than Wanda and Pietro. I would have experienced a lifetime with her—laughter, tears, and everything in between. I will never get that. All I’ll ever have are my memories of her,” he forces the next words out, “because I have finally laid her to rest. She’s not a mutant, so there is no way for me to bring her back—not even with the wonderful gift Wanda gave to Krakoa. She’s a ghost I will carry with me forever, and it got me thinking… I still have three children. Three children I have failed and let down. Three children who, time after time, I have been horrible to. It felt like a wake-up call. How could I not treasure the three of you?”

Erik finally says, “As I will honor Anya for the rest of my life, I hope I have enough time to try and make it up to you three. If you will let me.”

“Of course,” Wanda says first. She looks a little misty-eyed. Erik belatedly notices his other two children don’t look any better. It’s a wonder how they still held that much empathy for him, but he’s not taking it for granted. “Just call us. We’ll be there.”

“For dinner, or for tea, or for impromptu trips,” Pietro promises.

“We can even bring the rest of the family!” Lorna tries to cheer, with her own watery smile. “Come on, you guys. I have so many nephews and nieces to bond with!”

Wanda launches into a discussion on how her children would probably love to reconnect with them, Pietro goes on about how Luna and Lorna becoming best friends would be the end of him, and Erik fondly smiles.

If in this absurd universe where nothing and everything is possible, and nothing is real but everything is at the same time, he hopes this knowledge finds Anya in any shape, in any form: that she would have been a beloved older sister, and that she would have her hands full with her younger siblings.

She probably would have grown to be Magda’s height, and perhaps she would have kept her loving, cheerful attitude, even to her adulthood. Perhaps she would have been fond of her three siblings. Erik knows, undoubtedly, that she would have loved them. The same way that Erik now knows that he loves them unconditionally, the way his younger self couldn’t, the way his younger self refused to do.

The thought warms him up and carries him through the day, even as they drive to the airport listening to music, even as they say their goodbyes at the airport, and even as he returns to the quiet comfort of the House of M.

He slips back into his cape and his suit and prepares for another day of ruling—happier than he was a week ago.