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It had been three weeks since Peter had told Erik that he was his son. It had been two weeks and six days since Erik had left the mansion. Charles assured Peter that Erik didn’t intend to be gone forever, the man just needed a little space to clear his head. That didn’t particularly put Peter at ease, especially when every second that passed seemed like an hour to him.
Every hour or so, in between the X-Men training sessions, college courses he was being forced to take, PE classes he was teaching, and the few hours of sleep he could talk his body into, Peter would take a quick lap around the surrounding roads. He told himself they were perimeter checks. After all, they had been hearing chatter from certain undesirable sources recently. So, Peter was technically just doing his job as an X-Man, and totally not frantically searching for his estranged father everyday.
It turned out that Peter’s method was pointless because that very night, two weeks, six days, and eight hours since Erik had left the mansion, he returned undetected by his speedster son. Peter found him early the next morning, standing in front of the open refrigerator in what the kids liked to call the "adult kitchen."
Peter came to an abrupt stop in the doorway when he noticed the unmistakable outline of his father against the harsh glow of the fridge’s fluorescent light. Peter hadn’t expected to see his father back again so soon (or ever, to be honest), but now that he was here, Peter was determined to make the most of his second chance. Peter, realizing that he hadn’t yet dropped out of his superspeed, did so, allowing Erik to fully recognize the metal buttons and zippers that had just entered the room.
The ever constant downturn of Erik’s lips only got deeper as he turned to face the doorway. For a few seconds the pair could only stare at one another from opposite sides of the kitchen’s island, with a turmoil of separate emotions warring just behind each of their carefully arranged expressions.
Peter was, unsurprisingly, the first to break the spell. "Hi!" He waved awkwardly and then immediately cringed at himself. "Oh, that was weird, wasn’t it? I mean you find your sort-of dad standing in your kitchen and you wave hello. That’s super weird, right?"
Erik opens his mouth slightly and then closes it again.
Peter tugs on the zipper to his jacket anxiously and looks around.
"Oh!" he says, rather loudly for a dark kitchen at 3 am. "I know the perfect midnight snack if that’s what you’re looking for."
Suddenly a collection of ingredients appeared on the island, marshmallow fluff, peanut butter, and loaf bread landing alongside a butter knife and two plates.
"Fluffernutter sandwiches!" Peter exclaimed, holding the knife in one hand with a too wide smile. When Erik didn’t move Peter slowly asked, "Do you want one?
As if being snapped out of a daze Erik responded, "Why not?" and sat down at one of the island’s bar stools.
Grinning, more genuinely this time, Peter speedily put together three sandwiches, one for Erik and two for himself. After handing Erik his plate Peter sat down with his own plate across from Erik’s seat. The two spent a minute or so eating in silence while Peter’s foot tapped away at quite literally a hundred miles a second until Erik breaks it.
"This is quite a difficult sandwich to eat." A short pause, and then Peter let out a strangled laugh.
"Yeah, they are. Mom used to make them for me because she said it was the only thing I took a semi-normal amount of time to eat. Ya know, Because of the super speed." Peter laughed at himself.
Erik didn’t laugh, but cleared his throat instead. "Was Magda, your mother, supportive of your powers?"
Peter stared at Magneto’s stern face for a second, somewhat blindsided by the change in topic. Eventually, he responded, "Well, I mean, she thought they were a bit annoying, I’m sure. I can’t tell you the amount of things I broke when I first got my powers. And it’s not like my hair suddenly turning silver didn’t attract attention. That was especially bad for us, you know, since there weren’t a lot of other people "like us" in the area already."
"But did she ever... mistreat you because of them?"
"What? No, of course not!" Peter huffed. "Mom loves me, and even though she has her own issues, she defended me and my weirdness just as fiercely as she defended our yearly choice to put up a menorah instead of a Christmas tree."
Erik seemed to deflate a little at that reassurance, happy that his actions when married to Magda hadn’t soured her against all mutants.
"That’s good."
The two fell quiet again, each pretending to pick at the remains of their sandwiches.
"So do you think you’ll be here?" Peter blurted out, and then almost immediately regretted it.
Erik’s brow furrowed. "Be here for what?"
Peter bit his lip nervously. "For Hanukkah, this Winter."
"That’s at least six months away, Peter."
"Yeah. It is."
In the relative seclusion of his own mind, Erik Lehnsherr couldn’t help but to compare his grown son’s gaze to that of a golden retriever.
"We’ll see."
***
A month and a half later Erik was still at the mansion, even though about half of the student population had gone home for Summer break. He didn’t know why he had decided to stay. Peter Maximoff was a grown man, he didn’t need his estranged father hanging around to make nice. Still, through a combination of Peter’s puppy eyes, Charles’ annoying mental comments, and his own frustrating sentimentality, the great Magneto had committed to staying.
Peter had taken Erik’s intention to stay even better than Erik himself had. The young man spent every waking moment that he wasn’t busy with something else tracking down his father. Some days, Peter would come up to him and talk a million miles a minute, or convince him to play yet another round of chess that Erik would inevitably win. But some days it was as if Peter lost the confidence to approach him, instead settling himself down somewhere just out of Erik’s eyesight (but not out of reach of his powers) and simply watching him.
Erik had initially thought of this practice as odd, and slightly disturbing, but after some insight from the slightly more emotionally competent Charles Xaiver, Erik realized Peter was just making sure he wasn’t going to up and disappear.
That day was the fourth day in a row that Peter hadn’t approached Erik, and somehow he found himself missing the boy’s rapid-fire conversation. Resigning himself to a conversation loaded with far too many hidden emotions, Erik put his half-drunk cup of tea in the kitchen sink and left to go find his forlorn son.
He found Peter a few rooms over, in what had been deemed the game room, playing a game of ping-pong with himself. Although Erik had watched Peter play himself in many a game or sport, there was something more depressing about this particular solo game. Perhaps it was the obvious lack of gawking students, or maybe it was the lack of a grin on his face, but whatever the reason for Peter’s bad mood, Erik resolved to try and fix it.
Clearing his throat, Erik said, "Hello Peter."
He must have startled the young man, because the next thing he knew Peter was sprawled out on the ground looking up at him.
"Erik!" Peter jumped to his feet. "What are you doing here?"
"I was looking for you. It feels as if you’ve been avoiding me the past few days."
Peter’s ears turned bright red. "I wasn’t avoiding you! I was just, sort of, giving you space."
Erik lifted an eyebrow. That had never seemed to concern Peter before.
"And why would I need space from you, exactly?"
"It just… occurred to me that I was maybe being a bit overwhelming, and you might want me to leave you alone."
So someone had told him that he needed to leave Erik alone. That wouldn’t do.
"Well, that assumption was wrong. You know what they say about assuming things? It’s best not to do so."
Peter blinked slowly. "So you don’t want me to leave you alone?"
Erik smiled, in what he prayed was a reassuring way, and responded, "No, Peter. In fact, I was hoping you’d want to play a game of checkers. Maybe you can finally beat me at something."
Peter smiled, something a little softer than his usual grin. "Sure. Although you know that if we played any actual games, I’d definitely beat you."
***
Winter rolled around surprisingly fast for the father-son pair, and before they knew it, they were lighting the final candle of the holiday together, just as they had every night before that.
Erik had kept his promise. He had stayed for Hanukkah, and gotten to know his son in the months past. Peter was a bright, kind, outgoing, and all too trusting young man, and Erik’s only regret was not seeing him grow up.
Erik had expected Peter to spend the night awake, waiting to see if Erik would leave or stay, but the speedster had instead passed out on one of the sitting room’s plush couches. Erik thought that was a sign that maybe he wasn’t the worst father ever.
As the flames flickered both on the candles and in the mansion’s oversized fireplace, Erik decided that no matter where he went or what happened between then and the next holiday, he would be spending it side-by-side with his son.