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Erik hates shopping malls.
Charles doesn't blame him. He's not overly fond of them himself. But Erik's the one who insists on inspecting each model of stove in person before they replace theirs, and the mall has three different stores that sell large appliances all in one convenient location. This way, they could get it all done in one morning as opposed to driving all over creation to compare prices and models at several different stores over the course of a few days.
When that argument hadn't worked, the application of his mouth to certain parts of Erik's anatomy had been distracting enough to get him to agree.
"I hate shopping malls," Erik murmurs, pulling his fedora further down over his eyes.
"I know," Charles says. "We'll be done soon, dear."
Something about the way Erik walks, the confidence in his stride, generally sends people scattering out of his way. Though Charles has been trying to wean Erik off of his reliance on being so intimidating, it's rather helpful in a crowded mall. It leaves a nice clear path for his wheelchair, and he makes sure to smile his thanks at everyone, even those still eyeing Erik with trepidation. They make it through two stores this way, with Erik taking dutiful notes on the features of each stove and the available pricing (no matter how many times Charles insists money isn't an issue). Halfway to the third, he stops abruptly.
It's only by the grace of Charles' telepathy that he doesn't crash into Erik's legs. There's just enough of a stab of shock and confusion for Charles to stop himself a split second after Erik does. Erik is staring at the crowd mingling outside of the movie theatre, for god knows what reas--
Oh. Well, odds are he's staring at the boy in the "MAGNETO WAS RIGHT" t-shirt.
"This can't be the first time you've seen one of those," Charles says, tugging on the hem of Erik's jacket.
"The first time I've seen one out in public," Erik murmurs. Charles wheels around him. He can't quite read his expression and Erik's mind is a quagmire of conflicting thoughts. Charles takes his hand and pulls him over to a bench that's still within sight of the theatre. Erik sits and takes off his hat, still staring. "People actually wear those?"
"Mm," Charles says. He has to tread carefully if he wants to avoid the same old arguments. All of the empathy in the world couldn't get him to agree to Erik's tactics. It was terrorism plain and simple, the worst kind of needless destruction, even if his goal was a noble one. That's behind him now, though, and Charles would like it to stay there. "They became very popular with upper middle class liberal college students back when everyone thought you'd died for your beliefs. Mind, they didn't care that it was a mutant thought to have killed you, or the actual ethical and moral implications of what you've done over the years, but everyone loves a martyr. It was suddenly a very popular cause to support. All sorts of rumors and stories built up around you overnight, despite the fact that you'd previously been seen as little more than a villain. It was a whole new mythos where you were a misunderstood revolutionary. Of course, they ignored the terrible things you'd done, just as those who cast you as a villain ignored your goals and your history. It was fascinating." He smiles to eliminate the edge from his words and Erik rolls his eyes. He doesn't mention that he spent most of those six fraught months using Cerebro to search the world for even a wisp of Erik's mind, his chest hollow and aching the whole time.
"I'd heard about them, I just assumed they were worn by other mutants pledging their fidelity," he admits.
"Perhaps some," Charles says. "Generally, though, I think they were mostly favored by hipsters."
Erik glares at him.
"Very noble hipsters, I'm sure," Charles says. "That boy is probably going to see a mutant advocacy movie right now. Not--oh, well. It appears he's going to a European art house film. Well, I'm sure it's only ironically."
"That's enough, Charles," Erik says. He squeezes his hand and sighs. "I suppose that's what I let myself become? An international punchline?"
"No," Charles says. "That was before. Now you've let yourself become my husband, which is a much more forgiving role, I promise." Erik allows a kiss, but still seems generally unsettled. It's Charles' turn to sigh. He generally tries not to discuss politics with Erik. So far, they've avoided retreading the same old arguments, the ones that remained heated right up until their retirement. He continues cautiously and with quiet affection.
"Darling, politics, especially identity politics, are incredibly nuanced," he says. "You know as well as I do that it's more than right and wrong, black and white. We're proof of that, aren't we? On paper, I should agree with your mission and you with mine, but each of us chose tactics that the other couldn't abide. People who understand this know that it's more than just agreeing with your mission or disagreeing with your tactics, that things like history and feasibility and intent factor in. But the average college student is not entirely that nuanced, I'm afraid. They're always looking for a cause. It doesn't matter to them if they interpret that cause correctly."
Erik shakes his head and allows Charles a slight smile.
"So you're saying I should ignore it and not let it bother me?" Erik says.
"I'm saying that if you march over there and give a piece of your mind to a twenty-two year old slacker who's trying to be counter-culture, you'll look like a crazy old man and then you will become an international punchline," Charles says.
"I suppose you're right," Erik says. Across the wing of the mall, outside of the movie theatre, the boy in the Magneto shirt yelps and jumps up in the air. Charles tries to turn his smile into a look of disapproval, but a quick brush of the boy's mind proves there's no lasting damage, just a sharp pain surrounding the piercings he has in particularly sensitive areas. Charles shakes his head.
"You're terrible," he says. "We had a few students who had the shirts. We didn't ban them outright--we generally trust the children to dress themselves appropriately and we try not to infringe upon their first amendment rights too much. However, Logan, ah, tended to discourage anyone from wearing them. He can be quite persuasive."
"Persuasive and intimidating aren't the same thing," Erik says dryly. "Maybe I'll send him one as a gift."
"I repeat," Charles says. "You're terrible. You know, I have one as well."
Erik snorts. "Why am I not surprised?" he asks.
"Hank got it for me as a joke for Christmas one year," Charles says. "We normally exchange in private, but he'd insisted on giving it to me in front of the rest of the staff, entirely, I think, to see the face I made upon opening it. The rest of them didn't quite understand why we were laughing so hard, of course."
"Really?" Erik says. "I thought Summers at least would have a chuckle."
"Well, Scott never knew you and Alex was long gone by that point," Charles says. "He and Darwin left for a mutant detective agency in the city not long after Scott and Jean and Ororo and Bobby became old enough to help with the teaching side of things. Sean was working out of the Massachusetts Academy and...well, Hank was the only one left to remember that time."
And thank god for Hank. There were times when Charles was afraid that it was nothing more than a dream, a twisted hallucination of a bright spot in his life, of knowing what it was like to love and be loved that intensely, of planning for the future and being so confident that things would go his way. Hank was always there to reassure him that it wasn't a mirage--it happened, for better or for worse.
Erik's arm rests over his shoulders, his fingers squeezing Charles' upper arm reassuringly. The arm of Charles' chair lowers so Erik can press against him hip to shoulder. He turns his head and brushes his lips against Charles' temple, but doesn't say anything further.
"It was the best six months of my life," Charles says quietly. "As horrible as it was when the whole thing spiraled out of my control at the end, I had you and Raven and, for the first time in my life, I had a purpose. I know that must be difficult for you to believe--you've hopped from purpose to purpose your whole life. You've always known what you needed to do. But I was just drifting until that moment that Moira came and introduced me to all that was possible, all that I could do. I had you and I had a mission and I didn't need anything else."
They're good memories, even after everything that's come since. Finding more of their kind, making plans, wasting days in hotel rooms with Erik--he would have spent the rest of his life that way, given a chance. He had never been so happy. He doesn't resent that history didn't unfurl that way, but he can still look on those days with joy in his heart, despite knowing the peace didn't last.
"I don't know," Erik says, "these past few months haven't been so bad, either."
Charles closes his eyes and smiles. He leans up against Erik and wraps his arms around him because he can, because Erik is here now, because Erik will be here for the rest of their lives.
"You're right," he says. "They've been rather marvellous, haven't they? I might have to adjust my determination of what, exactly, makes up the best six months of my life."
"Quite," Erik says. He allows another kiss, which Charles knows is an indulgence--Erik doesn't much allow these public displays of affection and certainly not to the extent that he's allowed it so far today. These are for his benefit, and Charles is, as always, grateful. "Now, let's see about this final wretched shop so we can leave this god forsaken place." He taps the arm of Charles' chair and it rights itself as Erik gets to his feet and replaces his hat.
"Of course, dear," Charles says. Erik gives one last look at the young man in the t-shirt before shaking his head clear and striding forward. Charles follows after, not bothering to hide his smile.
"And, perhaps you should ask Hank to send you that t-shirt, if you still have it," Erik says. He doesn't sound nearly as indifferent as he'd like. Charles' smile grows.
"Certainly," Charles says.
"I'd just like to see one," Erik says.
"Oh, naturally," Charles says. "I'd be happy to model it for you, even."
Erik doesn't reply, but he does slow his stride until they're side by side, weaving through the crowd together.