Chapter Text
When Erik returns to the Maximoff household to collect Scott he finds the front door locked and the house empty. There's a note on the kitchen table, hastily scribbled. It says only, “GONE TO HOSPITAL” in Scott's childish scrawl, so Erik knows not to immediately suspect foul play. He thinks it likely that Peter's mother suffered some kind medical emergency. Nevertheless he sweeps the house and yard for intruders, for signs of a struggle or foul play. He notes that Peter's mother's bed is stripped and the soiled linens are in a heap on the floor. There are a few cups on the kitchen counter and one of the drawers is open, revealing a stash of clean, folded dish cloths. So there is every indication that Scott and the rest of them left quickly, but not so quickly that they forgot to lock up.
Erik senses the shape of a vehicle approaching, but when he looks out the front window he doesn't recognize the car pulling into the driveway. A stranger gets out, a human, middle-aged, gray haired, heavier than Erik but still strong for his age. Erik opens the front door before he can knock, and for a moment they size each other up, and it seems that the stranger is determining how much of a threat he is. Recognition dawns in the human's eyes. It's a subtle shift, as if something has clicks into place and he knows how he needs to respond. He sticks out a hand, “Frank Maximoff.”
Peter's step-father, or former step-father.
“Erik Lehnsherr.”
They share a very firm, almost competitive handshake.
“So you don't always go by 'Magneto',” Frank says.
“Only when it suits me.”
“Are we going to stand on the porch all day?”
Erik appraises him with a long glance, and Frank stands up the the scrutiny without breaking eye contact. Erik could rip him apart in in instant but Frank isn't going to let that scare him off his ex-wife's lawn. Erik respects that. He stands aside.
XXX
This next scene takes place after Peter, Lindy, and Scott return from the hospital.
Scott and Erik go to the den to make a phone call while Frank is speaking with an obviously-ill Peter. We pick up there.
XXX
Before Erik left the mansion he memorized the phone numbers of every bolt hole and safe house that Charles had. He finds a phone in the den and keeps dialing until he finds where Hank McCoy is hiding. While Hank is being fetched to pick up the line Erik hands the phone to Scott. Erik and Hank rarely see eye to eye, and Scott is in charge, after all, but Scott seems confused when Erik hands him the receiver. Apparently he hasn't been able to keep up with Erik's line of reasoning.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Just tell him to come,” Erik says. Then he tunes out Scott and Hank's conversation, feigning interest in the spines of the books and magazines that line the built-in shelves. The bottom rows are crowded with old issues of National Geographic and Time Magazine. Further up there is a set of encyclopedias next to four or five photo albums of different shapes and sizes. Erik looks for titles that he recognizes and sees a dusty copy of Moby Dick that has clearly never been opened. It sits alongside a thoroughly abused edition of Gone With the Wind.
Erik turns around when he hears the handset settle back into the cradle. “He's on his way.”
“Good,” says Erik.
“He thinks he can be here by midnight or so.”
“It will have to do.”
Peter isn't in the living room when he and Scott emerge, but Frank is sitting on the couch, looking agitated, running his hands over the legs of his pants.
“Where's Peter?”
“I sent him to bed.”
“And he went?”
“I don't need you to tell me that's a bad sign.”
Erik puts aside the pretense that Scott is in charge and says over his shoulder, “Check on him.”
Scott goes.
Frank stands abruptly and goes to the kitchen. The phone books are stored in a nook in the corner. He slaps the Yellow Pages onto the counter and starts to thumb through them. “I'm getting him a doctor. There has to be someone who will make a house call.”
There's purposeful tension in the set of Frank's shoulder and the crisp, efficient way he pages through the book. He's a man who prefers action to patience.
“If you're looking for an advertisement for a doctor who specializes in mutant physiology I don't think you'll find it,” Erik says.
Frank stops flipping pages. “I know Peter's a mutant. He's sick. He needs help.”
“He'll have it. We have someone coming who knows more about Peter's physiology than anyone else alive.”
Frank's shoulders slump and he takes a deep breath. “He's a doctor?”
“He's more scientist than doctor, but he's very good. He's been monitoring Peter's health for the past few weeks.”
“Okay,” Frank blows out a breath. “He just... Peter's always been such a healthy kid. If I'd known he was having trouble I would have come sooner.”
“I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment but I don't think it would have helped. Peter can be a very stubborn individual.”
“Yeah, he can be a pain in the ass,” Frank says shakily. “But he's a good egg.”
“Yes,” Erik agrees.
Frank sighs heavily.
Scott emerges from the basement. He says, half amazed and half relieved, “He's asleep.”
“That fast?” Erik asks.
“Yeah, that fast. He's out. Dead to the world.”
“I suppose that's for the best then,” Erik says, “Although someone should keep an eye on him until Hank arrives, and that won't be until evening.”
Scott says, “Right, well, I guess that would be me.”
Frank looks from Scott to Erik, as if he is trying to understand the dynamic between the two of them. The dynamic is that there is no dynamic. Scott is a child in whom Charles places an irrational amount of trust and Erik is here because that trust does not imply confidence in Scott's fledgling leadership skills.
Scott seems to notice the look on Frank's face. It is gloriously awkward when he says, “The professor told us to keep an eye on Peter.”
“The Professor. Professor Xavier? Peter's employer?”
“Yeah, it probably wasn't on the news but there have been mutant attacks- that is, mutants have been attacked.”
“And you think Peter's in danger?”
“There hasn't been any specific threat against him... specifically...”
Scott looks to Erik for help but Erik is quite happy to stand placidly by and let Scott's mouth destroy him.
Scott heaves a sigh. Erik steps in with, “We're here as a precaution. Peter is in a vulnerable state, and might be seen as an easy target. We believe the threat has been neutralized, but we'll be keeping an eye on things until all is certain. Do forgive the intrusion.”
Frank shrugs. “This hasn't been my house since the divorce. It's Peter's decision whether or not you stay or go.”
“Then until Peter is in a fit state to express his wishes, we will remain.”
Remain is what they do, and while Scott grows bored and tired sitting with Peter, Lindy makes a trip to the funeral home with a dress and shoes for her late mother and takes her brother's black suit to the dry cleaners. She worries that Peter isn't awake to have it tailored but Frank says just to have them let out the waist as much as they can, which will only be at most a couple of inches. Peter can wear a belt if they're too loose. While she's gone Erik and Frank sort through stacks of bills and paperwork, earmarking things for Peter and Lindy to sign, and making phone call after phone call until the close of the business day, when they can do no more. Peter still has not woken by evening. Scott insists that he hasn't so much as twitched in his sleep, but he's still breathing.
They order Chinese takeout.
When Lindy returns empty-handed and haggard at about six o'clock Frank gathers her into his arms and tells her to make an early night of it. Her lip is trembling still but her father seems to have lent her some strength. She picks at a container of noodles, clumsy with her chopsticks and probably uncomfortable with Erik's presence, then she mounts the stairs to her old room.
Frank finds a bottle of twelve year old scotch in a cabinet above the refrigerator. He takes down two tumblers, drops one ice cube in each and pours them both a double.
“Mary preferred vodka tonics, but she kept a bottle of the good stuff for special occasions,” Frank explains. He hands the second tumbler to Erik. “To Mary.”
Erik raises his glass. The scotch burns with a pleasant familiarity.
Unprompted Frank says, “Peter likes to think that he's the reason Mary and I divorced. That's not true. We each had a strong personality and there wasn't room enough for both of them in a marriage.”
“Hmm,” says Erik.
“I made some mistakes with Peter, I don't mind admitting that. I was strict with him, and I think that just made him more rebellious. Don't think I didn't find out about that business with the Pentagon. But after all of the trouble he got into he still managed to turn his life around. He managed to become somebody I'm proud to know.”
“Charles certainly sees a great deal of potential in him.” Of course, Charles saw a great deal of potential in everyone, including Erik himself. Charles is a magnanimous soul.
Frank gives a slight chuckle and a shake of his head. “Look at the two of us. I would have laid odds this day would never happen, but here we are. Mary would be horrified.”
“And you?” Erik says.
Frank takes a sip of his whiskey. “I don't always approve of your methods, but I can't deny that you have a point. Mary never saw what I saw. I was in Poland at the end of the war. I saw one of the camps, and the people in it, what was left of them. I don't want to imagine Peter in a place like that.”
“We have that in common.”
“I was there when Peter's mutation manifested. I understand that's usually how it happens, suddenly, like a switch being flipped. I still remember it, clear as crystal: It was a Saturday afternoon. Peter was twelve. Mary had gone to the grocery store and taken Lindy with her. Peter and I were in the back yard. I was trying to show him how to change the belt on the lawnmower but he wasn't paying attention and I was getting angry at him. One second I'm wagging my finger in his face and the next -and I'll never forget this- there was the sound of screeching tires and Mary screaming Lindy's name and Peter just vanished. Gone. I thought I'd had a stroke or something. I ran out into the front yard, and I saw Mary next to the station wagon with her hands over her mouth, and there were skid marks on the asphalt and Peter was across the street, holding Lindy, safe and sound. Mary had been unloading the groceries from the back of the car and when she wasn't looking, Lindy wandered into the street, right in front of a VW bus. So, I don't know about all of the mutants out there, or even some of them, but without Peter, I wouldn't have a daughter anymore.”
Erik can't help but reflect briefly on the day when his own powers had manifested, and how his, even then formidable, power had been.
“It will take more than a single act to change the way the world sees mutants,” Erik reminds him. “As long as humanity fears mutants, there will be a need for people like me.”
“I'm not afraid of you. And I'm not afraid of Peter or the kid with the glasses, what I'm afraid of it what we -and I mean humans and mutants- are going to do to each other.”
“An appropriate fear to have.”
Frank raises his glass. “To our darkest fears. May they prove to be totally unfounded.”
They drink, and Erik kindly refrains from revealing that his darkest fears have already come true.
“So, is there anything you want to know?” Frank asks.
“About?”
“Peter, what he was like growing up. Mary's gone, but if you want to ask, then ask.”
“Why would I do that?” Erik frowns. “I'm quite certain we know enough about one another to get by.”
Frank regards him for a moment, expressionless. Then he says, “Tell me again why you're here?”
Erik doesn't entirely trust this man. He could kill him at any time with a hundred different objects scattered throughout the room, and yet Frank doesn't fear him.
Without revealing the details of the mutant kidnappings and Peter's involvement in their rescue, Erik reiterates how he and Scott are here to keep an eye on things until Peter is better equipped to deal with a threat.
Frank aims a finger at him. “Yes, but why you specifically?”
Erik is growing a bit tired of Frank's questions. He says, “Charles Xavier is an old friend. I'm here as a favor to him while the rest of Peter's peers are otherwise occupied.”
Frank stares at him, unblinking. He says, without breaking eye contact, “Holy shit.” Then without another word he very calmly tosses his drink back, gets up, and leaves the room.
Frank is back one minute later, clutching his empty glass in one hand and a book in the other. He looks down at the the book in his hand, and Erik can see that it's a photo album he's holding, an old one, with cracks in the powder-blue vinyl cover.
“This isn't my business,” Frank begins. “Peter isn't my son and Mary hasn't been my wife for a long time. I don't have a horse in this race. But if I were sitting where you're sitting right now, I would want to know.”
Frank drops the album in front of Erik.
Erik carefully sets his drink on a coaster. He's unsure what to make of this display, but he can't help feeling a modicum of dread as he opens the album to the first page. On it he sees three pictures of a girl and what appear to be her parents. The pictures are in black and white, so Erik supposes that these are photos from Mary's childhood.
“Is there something specific that you want me to see?” Erik asks, turning the page. The girl is older now. There are more pictures of her with her parents, and a school photograph, her alongside her classmates. Another page and the girl is older and her father no longer appears beside her and her mother in any of the photos.
“Towards the end you'll find pictures of Peter's father,” Frank says. “There's a good chance you'll recognize him.”
Erik wonders if this is some game or distraction, but as he watches Frank pour himself another drink and take a seat on the couch, facing away from him as if to give him some privacy.
Page after page Erik watches the girl become a young woman, sees her school uniform swapped out for the apron and cap of a nursing student. The pictures turn from black-and-white to color, and the girl is hardly a girl at all anymore, but a slender and attractive young woman with light brown hair and green eyes. Erik can see a bit of Peter in the height of her cheekbones and the set of her eyes. He is near the end of the book now, but has yet to recognize any of the people in these pictures and he's beginning to think that Frank is either mistaken or that this is a very unfunny joke when he reaches a set of photos two pages from the end and sees his own eyes staring back at him.
The possibility that the photos have been doctored crosses his mind briefly before his eyes fall on the tiny gold cross hanging around Mary's neck in the photograph. He doesn't recognize Mary, not as she really was, but as a collection of memories: of brown hair and, soft edges, as the warm press of flesh against him, as the resonating of the tiny metal cross around her neck, ringing against he senses like the far off chime of a bell. It was real gold, delicate and precious. She had kept it on, even when she'd taken everything else off.
On the couch, Frank notices that Erik stopped turning pages. He says, “Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
“She said you were the only one. I suppose she could have been lying, or mistaken, but Mary's never been the dramatic type.”
“She wasn't lying,” Erik says. His voice is thick. There is too much to feel and Erik doesn't know how to process this revelation.
He has a son.
He has a son.
He's had a son for a very long time, before Magda, before Nina, before he met Charles and before he took his revenge on Shaw, before he became Magneto.
“She wasn't supposed to keep him,” Frank says. “In those days girls in Mary's situation usually didn't. But Peter was born small and pale with gray hair. They told Mary that no decent family would take him, that his hair color was likely an indication of serious genetic defects. They said he would probably only live a few weeks anyway, so they sent her home with Peter and told her to keep him comfortable until he passed. Honestly I think they expected her to just let him die. No one would have asked any questions. But she didn't let him die. She kept him and she raised him and as he grew up, you never saw a healthier kid. Mary loved that boy.”
Erik turns the last page in the album and is greeted by a picture of Mary sitting in a rocking chair, holding a tiny bundle in her arms. Below it is a picture of Peter as a baby, with his shock of silver hair. He's sitting up and grinning toothlessly at something off-camera, probably a rattle or something shiny meant to get his attention. Someone has dressed the poor child in a short pants suit complete with a jacket and a tiny blue bow tie that cinches around his neck beneath his double chin.
He looks so utterly adorable and completely ridiculous and Erik lets out a noise that is half laugh and half sob but it's all joy for this unlikely gift that Mary has given him.
Erik draws in a shaky breath. Frank is still on the sofa, still turned away.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome, but I don't know that I've helped anyone. Mary didn't want you to know. Peter's known for about ten years. I thought he'd have told you by now but clearly he hadn't. Maybe he was going to in his own time. I can't say. Maybe it wasn't my place to interfere, but if Peter didn't want you in his life, you wouldn't be in this house right now.”
More alternate scenes to come.
Thank you for reading. Feedback is welcome.