Chapter 4
The passing of time was lost on Erik as he sat there in tranquil silence, listening to the music with a fast tempo coming from the headphones while silently counting the beats. It was surely deep in the night but he didn’t feel like leaving, not so soon. He mentally told himself that maybe Peter wished him to stay a bit longer, all for the sake of his company. Although in fact, quite the opposite, it was he, a broken man who just found his only family back a mere moments earlier, who was in the real need for the company.
He listened to the intense music without taking heed of what the singer was actually singing and only when the singer stopped to get the breath back after a drawn-out roar would Erik prick his ears. The song came to an end, and for him it only meant one thing – time to leave. For the past fifteen minutes or so he kept telling himself, for numerous times actually, that he couldn’t stay here the whole night, that Peter was not a five-year-old and hence there was no reason for him to stay here all night long to help him brave the darkness like he once did with Nina.
One more song. Just one more, and after that it’s time to say goodnight. That was what he kept reminding himself. He repeated telling himself this for so many times that it almost sounded like the rules of the game that everybody ought to bear in mind. Only that he kept bending these rules. One more song, and then there was another one more, in endless sequence. Like a stretching road. You knew ultimately it would end somewhere but you had no idea when.
Somewhere. But Erik refrained from thinking where it exactly was as he intently studied his son’s face. Half of Peter’s features were shadowed by the magazine he was currently holding above his face, yet Erik still managed to make out his prominent nose and thin lips. He wondered why he hadn’t ever noticed these before, considering how alarmingly they resembled his. Peering at his son, he felt like looking into his younger self. Both solitary and likewise defiant. Softer though, which you could tell from the way his lips curved and also, his bright eyes. Dark as charcoal but always wildly glinting, which looked nothing like Erik’s.
Inherited from his mother, thought Erik. And he was glad Peter had them.
The racket at the far end of the passageway interrupted Erik’s thoughts. He didn’t have to be telepathic to know where those excited muffled whispers came from. He was just a bit in awe that these kids had such overwhelming energy and patience to follow the episode even to the dead of the night. They had rarely manifested those when they were in combat training with him. The young X-men were pretty much a helluva chaotic mess behind those fancy doors to the Danger Room, whose name suited them well considering how dangerous they could become when their powers went out of control.
But that was never the case with Peter. If the everyday training in the Danger Room was a huge participatory exam, Erik would definitely give him top marks. Admittedly, it was not exactly fair since his previous experiences would surely work to his advantage and help him gain an upper hand among these teenagers who had just had a taste of their powers. But Erik was not that kind of lecturers from the Victorian age, who was picky and horrendously stingy with praise. He was unsure of how many times he paid the kid a compliment at the end of the training, though he was certain that it must be quite often, simply because he deserved those. In short, Peter was an amazing student by his standard. Quite unlike what he usually manifested, when in the training he was poised, confident and full of incentive to progress.
Now Erik knew where his incentive came from. He was relieved in the knowledge that Peter listed it high on the agenda but at the same time felt a twinge of bitterness at the realization that his son had gone to such great length to impress him. Things could have been a lot easier if he had paid a bit more attention to him.
‘Um, listen, about that card–’ Erik’s head jerked up in Peter’s direction as his voice brought his attention back, ‘Trust me I meant absolutely no harm. Not that I was trying to irritate you or something. I just thought it might be a genius idea. A good start to confess everything.’ Peter pouted, ‘If you took it well after hearing me out then it would be rad… and if things went the other way round I could simply laugh and say it was all for the spirit of the April Fool’s. Sounds great, huh? At least I thought so. But later Jean reminded me that neither would happen and it was most likely that you would throw me to the outer space before I had chance to explain myself so…’
The young man’s intense blabbering faded to a murmur on seeing the blank expression frozen on Erik’s face. Biting his lips with bated breath, Peter regarded his features discreetly for every subtle nuance and let out the breath he wasn’t even aware that he was holding when his father broke into a helpless chuckle.
‘Now you know I don’t have the brain for genius ideas.’ Peter added.
Erik shook his head, ‘Jean is right. You are getting things too complicated.’
‘Complicated?’ Peter repeated, a trace of childish defiance glinting in his dark eyes, ‘Maybe. But that also meant I did a lot of thinking. So, I’d rather take that as an acknowledgement for the hard thinking I invested in this.’
The resigned smile found its way back on Erik’s face. He had been reunited with his son for no more than two hours and the kid was already giving him headaches. Erik had a hunch that the same thing would reenact again and again in the years to come and perpetuate itself nonstop. Like the multiplication of cells, programmed to be in a constant movement without a break, at least not in the forseeable future.
Some price to pay, Erik said to himself. Even so, he was willing to give out everything he had, all for the company of a family. There were things you couldn’t put a value on. Something priceless. And that thing was right beside him. Together they were home.
‘And if I were with you, I'd be home and dry…’ Erik heard an echo flowing out from the headphones into his ears. He flicked a quick glance down at the screen to see two bold letters form the title – ‘If’.
‘It’s a beautiful song.’ Erik gave vent to a dreamy whisper, staring unseeing at the screen.
‘Well, since I was born with the great discernment in music I could well assure you that every single one in there is of good quality. They are all beautiful songs. Epic, actually.’ Peter boasted, cocking his eyebrows in a supercilious fashion, which reminded Erik of Nina. The child always acted haughty whenever she got the better of an argument. Erik thought maybe they were more alike than he had supposed.
‘That’s a sublime gift.’ said Erik genuinely, ‘Inherited from your mom, I guess? Because I definitely don’t have those.’
Peter was cracked up with a broad grin, ‘She does have a good taste in music.’ He agreed, ‘But she’s more or less into the classical genre so… nothing like me.’ said him briskly.
While whistling in tune with the song, Peter had a quick flip through the last several pages of magazine before chucking it aside and warily flicking his gaze back on the hunched man sitting next to him. He wondered how many of those melodies actually registered in his brain. If he was going to be honest, he’d point out that Erik was no different from that kind of dad portrayed in the 80s sitcoms – coming from the Stone Age but busting a gut to comprehend what was trending nowadays to get into the swing of things so that he could at least have something to say with his teenage children during the dinner talk.
This was purely insane, thought Peter. Erik, Magneto, the president killer, dad, whatever he was called, had many identities. For each identity there was a different image of him. Varying, though all fitting him well. But a classic comical daddy image from the 80s sitcoms? Definitely not fitting.
Like a note going off-key. And Erik himself was the inharmonious high-pitch note in the full-on heavy metal music, the scratchy roar at the end of the song. Stand-out and funky, and mostly, chaotic. Erik was a man of chaos. But in Peter’s eyes that was just another word for ‘cool’. He had a cool dad. And his dad was right by his side, listening to the songs he had been listening for years and, making comments and cracking lame, corny jokes about his music taste. For a split second Peter felt as though Christmas was coming early this year, that Santa had been keeping his gifts for twenty consecutive years, all for this big surprise.
Still worth it, eh? Though he truly wished it could be delivered earlier. But better late than never, right?
Contemplating, Peter shot a fleeting glimpse out in the distance to see the ink-black heavens bearing down on them. It was a bit late, honestly. Though it didn’t affect Peter that much, cause unlike anyone else, he didn’t actually need to sleep eight hours to recharge. One hour and a half might do. But with Erik it was a different story. He was as predictable as every living guy in terms of the inevitable requirement for sleep. His dazed eyes and drooping eyelids had made it clear enough.
‘Haven’t done with all those beautiful songs?’ said Peter out of the blue, which gave Erik quite a start. He mechanically blinked back at Peter and literally remained in a state of blank amazement for a whole couple of seconds before that faraway look slowly wore off.
‘You want it back?’
‘Nah, just figured it might be a bit late now. I’ve really got to sleep.’ Peter faked a big yawn, ‘Considering we have training tomorrow…A good night’s sleep is a good start for that, right? And you could use some as well.’
‘Oh, right, the training. I almost forgot.’ Erik sighed, running his hand over his face, ‘Well then… I better just leave it here…’ he reluctantly put down the headphone and darted a sideways glance at his wrist watch, ‘you are right, it’s awfully late. Time to sleep, really…’
‘Yep.’ Peter agreed, ‘Either sleep here or in the Danger Room. But I’d choose the former. Better keep yourself awake when you are fighting those giant robots cause that surely is not the proper time to throw yourself into the sweet dreams.’
Erik nodded. He quickly wound the headphone cord into neat loops wrapping around the Walkman and handed it over to Peter. But the boy didn’t take it.
‘You can keep it for a while. Temporarily.’ He added, ‘And it’s rent free.’
Grinning from ear to ear, Erik accepted it and quite spontaneously, he held out his hand and gave the boy’s shoulder a tentative pat before rising to his feet. He slowly walked to the doorway and, when reaching for the doorknob, he came to a sudden halt with his hand frozen in mid-air, as something inexplicably bubbled to the surface. Swiveling around, he was met with a nerve-taut Peter, hot under the collar and quickly averting his eyes elsewhere as though he had been caught red-handed when shoplifting, which was to Erik’s much bewilderment.
‘Are you alright?’ he surveyed his son with deep concern. Peter grimaced.
‘Same question to you. Or you left anything here? Your cape? Helmet? Dress sense or–’
Erik heaved a sigh, and stopped Peter before he came up with anything that could possibly get him into trouble. He began as soon as Peter’s voice died down.
‘You watered it, didn’t you?’ he asked, yet Peter only reciprocated with a puzzled look. Ergo, he continued, ‘The plant I keep on the ledge. Every morning I wake up to find the soil completely saturated. At first I thought it was alcohol. You were drunk and accidentally spilt some drops, probably. But it just came to me that that’s beyond the bounds of possibility. Scott made me realize this.’
‘Well, I’ve got to keep your plant alive.’ said Peter matter-of-factly. ‘You never water it. And as far as I can remember, plant needs watering, right? I’ve learnt that in the biology class.’
Erik could only laugh in return. ‘Snake plant doesn’t need to be watered daily. Once every ten days might do. Overwatering will damage its roots.’
‘Oh, I have no idea about that.’ Peter admitted, his face going crimson with embarrassment. ‘I hope it hasn’t done too much damage though.’
‘Don’t worry. It’ll revive.’
‘Hope so. And one more thing–’ Peter paused to cast a look that was somewhere between amused and childishly haughty at Erik, ‘I don’t take alcohol. It never works on me so I don’t really get that kind of feelings you guys normally have when you drink. I guess that’s why I never take it. Not stimulating at all. Tastes like water.’
‘Side effects brought by your powers, I assume?’ Erik hazarded a guess, ‘But it’s not all negative…’ Seriously, what was the good of it, the alcohol? To spice things up a little bit? Or more commonly perceived, to paralyze the feelings? Might do you the world of good when you downed the first cup but what was next? Just endless, persistent feelings of nothingness, and migraine, probably. After that everything remained the same; the lost remained lost and the deceased remained dead and gone and the void was still empty.
Erik took a big intake of breath to dismiss the thoughts. Head up, he was bemused to find that he was faced with an equally-nonplussed Peter and it was after a while that he realized he had voiced his thoughts out loud. They lapsed into brooding awkward silence again, until Erik stepped up first to shatter that silent bubble.
‘Just musing.’ He explained, a wry smile flickering across his wrinkled face, ‘Well then, I better leave. Goodnight, Peter. And don’t be late for the training.’
‘I’m never late for anything.’ Peter retorted, ‘I’m the most punctual.’
‘Good to know that.’ Erik grinned broadly. ‘Anything else?’ he persisted when, in the dim light, he saw Peter pursed his lips, seemingly in anticipation of expressing himself. But after a second of hesitation he merely shook his head and, swallowing, he went on, ‘nothing.’
Erik gave him a nod before he pulled the door open. Whilst he strode over the doorway, a whisper, timid yet clearly audible, reached him in time before he shut the door and closeted it away on the other side. It said ‘Goodnight.’
Smiling, Erik gingerly closed the door while wishing his son a night of sweet dreams.