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"Where are we going?" Charles asked as Erik lifted him from his power chair and settled him in the manual one.
"It's a surprise."
"Not anywhere with people." Real fear flashed in Charles' cornflower-blue eyes. "I'm not ready for that."
Erik bent and kissed him, gentle and reassuring. "I know. Not until you tell me you're ready." Charles was still rebuilding his shields, learning to manage his expanded powers. "Now come on, let's go."
He pushed Charles through the seemingly endless corridors of the mansion until they reached the garage. Erik had already scouted out the available cars and chosen a 1960's Mustang convertible painted a glossy metallic burgundy whose solid Detroit steel sang to his metal-sense.
He got Charles set up in the passenger seat and the wheelchair stowed in the back seat beside a picnic basket and a striped blanket, then he got behind the wheel and they were off.
It was a perfect early-autumn day, warm but with just a hint of crispness to the air. As they sped down the winding country lanes, Charles leaned into the breeze that ruffled his shaggy dark curls. His blue eyes shone bright and clear, and his crimson lips parted in a broad smile.
They drove until they came to a patch of woods, and Erik pulled off onto the side of the road.
He shut off the engine and got out of the car, pulling the pieces of Charles' chair out of the back with a wave of his hand, assembling them beside Charles' door. Charles grinned, always enjoying when Erik displayed his powers.
Erik got Charles out of the car and into his chair, then he floated the chair just above the uneven ground and back into the trees. He carried the rolled blanket under one arm but used his powers on the metal basket handles.
His ears guided him to the spot he sought, a small clearing beside a bubbling stream, and he spread out the blanket at the base of an old maple tree, sweeping aside the first fallen leaves that crackled and rustled softly in seeming protest.
He got Charles set up with his back supported against the tree then sat beside him and began unpacking the basket.
First, a bottle of wine, a white suggested by Irene. He uncorked it, then poured a cup for them to share and held it out to Charles, who grasped it between his braced hands and took a sip, then a longer drink.
Erik took the cup and tasted the wine. It was crisp and a little tart and a perfect choice for the food he'd packed. He drank a little more, then set the cup down to finish unpacking the basket.
A tub of chicken salad, his ma's recipe with a couple of tweaks of his own, then some gooey Brie, Emmental sliced and cut into squares, some thin-sliced beef salami, three kinds of crackers, grapes, blueberries, some last-of-the-season cherries, and a foil packet of Irene's brownies.
"This is a feast," Charles said, beaming.
"I like making food." Not that there had been much prep work outside of the chicken salad.
"You're spoiling me."
"You deserve good things."
Charles' fair skin pinkened and he glanced away. He'd spent more than a decade retreating from the world, unable to deal with the aftermath of the accident that had paralyzed him, and he still sometimes had trouble believing he could find happiness, even in small things.
Erik opened the container of chicken salad, spooned some on a cracker, and fed it to Charles.
Charles moaned his delight.
They got down to the serious business of eating, conversation reduced to Charles directing Erik as to what he wanted next. He ate everything with delight but took particular pleasure in the chicken salad, the cherries, and the brownies.
A soft breeze had picked up, and they ate to the soundtrack of the susurrus of bubbling water and rustling leaves. A few of the maple leaves drifted down, spinning and whirling in the air, and Charles grinned as he watched them. One landed in his lap, and he laughed and trapped it between his hands, holding it up in triumph.
Erik took it and held it up to Charles' cheek so he could feel it. It was leathery, drying but not yet dried out, and Charles closed his eyes, savoring the sensation.
They ate their fill and washed it down with wine, taking their time, enjoying the moment. Then Erik took Charles into his arms, maneuvering them so his back was against the tree and Charles was cradled on his lap.
They made out for a while, slow, lazy kisses, some that trailed over each other's skin, then, regretfully, they let themselves separate, and Erik sat Charles back against the tree so he could pack up.
When he took the now-much-emptier basket back to the car, he found a scattering of maple leaves across the seats. He cleared most of them away, but he tucked one onto the corner of the dashboard.
Some would call him a sentimental fool. He couldn't disagree.