Chapter Text
He was on a submarine. There was some bright light above him, making the details of his surroundings fuzzy. In the dim light, he saw sensors and keyboards, blinking in response to whatever they monitored. Men sat facing them, their features in shadow. He realized he was standing on a small platform with a metal railing wrapped around the front of it, and he questioned himself why he was in the captain’s position in a submarine. Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned to see a bearded man wearing a captain’s uniform.
“What… Sean Connery?”
The submarine shook, throwing Erik off-balance and knocking him forward into the rails, knocking the wind out of him. The small metal cabin took on a harsh red tint as the alarm sounded loudly in his ears, and then he felt himself falling as if he was rising from the bottom of a deep swimming pool…
Erik sighed and rolled over, extending his arm and running his hand across the surface of his nightstand until he found the source of the jarring noise. He fumbled with the thin box of his phone, dropping it twice before finally bringing the screen to his face, squinting against the bright light it gave off as he slid his thumb across the screen repeatedly. The noise silenced, and he selected the clock icon on the screen, set a timer for ten minutes, then threw the phone down on the nightstand again and rolled back over. Why had he been dreaming about submarines? He could even remember the last time he watched The Hunt for Red October… He hated that movie. Sean Connery and his fucking ‘sh sh’ speech impediment, ruined a lot of perfectly good films for him…
Just as he was beginning to drift back into a light sleep, he thought he shouldn’t, since he wasn’t sure how much of the extra ten minutes he had given himself had passed. A lot, probably.
I’d better check.
He rolled over and picked up the phone again, and scowled when he saw that only three minutes had passed. Had he not rolled over and looked, he could have slept a good deal. Six minutes left. What was the fucking point?
Erik reached over and ripped the charge cord out of his phone. He clutched it in his fist as he climbed out of bed, leaving it unmade no point it’s only going to get messy again notlike I’ve got any one to lie in it and stumbled towards the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him, shivering as his feet touched the cold tile. He set his phone down on the edge of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror, furiously wiping dried drool from the corner of his mouth with his thumb and then smoothing back his dirty hair away from his face. He put a hand to the side of his neck and tilted it from side to side, grunting as it popped. He stretched and watched his muscles flex not a narcissist, looked for the usual imperfections. As he put his hands on the sink and leaned forward, he noticed the areas around his eyes were dark with sleep deprivation, which he thought was odd. He’d had a solid seven hours the last three nights. Maybe he had one of those sleeping disorders and didn’t know it. Maybe he had cancer. He decided that it was just bad sleep, because specialists were expensive, damnit.
This thought got him started on money, a concept that buzzed around in his brain like an angry wasp not enough money had enough money if only if only as he stripped down and reached into the shower to turn on the water. Remembering that he no longer lived alone, he reached over and locked the bathroom door before pushing his underwear down past his hips and threw it into the hamper after his pajamas. He pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the narrow stall, the financial worries immediately evaporating from his brain as the hot water hit his skin and relaxed his stiff muscles.
“Ah,” he breathed, closing his eyes and tilting his face up towards the hot water. He picked up the bar of soap from the shelf beside him, and lazily dragged it across his chest and shoulders as he thought about nothing in particular. As he shampooed his hair, he found himself staring at the wall and then dozing a few times, and thought that simply sitting down on the floor and sleeping beneath the hot water wouldn’t be so terrible. But then he reminded himself that he was a motherfucking adult, and that meant he had to go to work.
He finished rinsing off and reluctantly turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and toweling off. He wrapped it around his waist before stepping out of the steamy bathroom, suppressing a shiver as the cool air hit his skin. As he opened his closet and chose a pair of slacks and a shirt from the meticulous arrangement of clothes on hangers, he heard the strange screeching from downstairs. Then, like being hit in the head with a ball, he remembered: he had responsibilities now. Two and a half feet tall ones, with the most annoying habits and traits Erik ever thought possible to exist in intelligent beings.
Maybe intelligent was the wrong word.
As he put on his clothes, he heard the voice of the local news anchor, applause, a few laugh tracks, and then finally, a lot of annoyingly simplistic songs. Pietro and Wanda didn’t know how to do much, like retrieve their own food or bathe or anything particularly useful in life, but what they did know how to do consisted completely of whining and working a television with remarkable skill.
Erik dressed himself, leaving his tie loose around his shoulders as he went on a five-minute search for his phone before he remembered that he had left it in the bathroom. With the extra three minutes of sleep, this left him nearly ten minutes late for his usual morning schedule, which left him feeling rushed and in a foul mood. He rushed out of his room, messily tying his tie as he descended the stairs. He strode into the livingroom with his fingers still tangled in the knot, opening his mouth to instruct his children to get their backpacks when he saw that they were still in their pajamas. Another setback, now they were all going to be late.
“What do you think you’re doing?! Go get dressed!” He snapped at the two figures lying on their stomachs in front of the television. Wanda looked up at him with big, soulful eyes before looking to her brother, who shook his head. Wanda glanced at Erik only once more before slowly placing her eyes back on the colorful characters prancing across the screen. Erik gritted his teeth together, and felt rage rising from deep in his chest, hard and fast. What sort of game was this? He slammed his hand on the doorframe and gripped the wood so tightly that it creaked in protest, which certainly caught the children’s attention.
“That. Was. Not. A. Suggestion.” He growled, glaring down at them. Wanda immediately scrambled to her feet and scurried past him, nightgown fluttering around her knees. Pietro hesitantly met his father’s gaze, and held it for a good ten seconds before Erik shouted, “Go! NOW!” The boy grumbled and got to his feet, walking slowly and deliberately past his father and up the stairs. Erik heard him muttering something about his mother as he passed, and immediately felt guilty for his behavior even though anger still surged through his veins and made his muscles tighten across his shoulders.
For a brief moment, Erik felt a pang of sadness in the pit of his stomach. His missed his former wife dearly, and at the same time cursed her for leaving him with these two children. Never mind that they were his children, he just hated that they were his responsibility. Erik had an intense hatred for children from the moment he was old enough to no longer be considered one himself, and simply being handed two of them that he’d never met before while simultaneously being notified that the woman that was once his wife was missing and good as dead- Well, it had been a little much. He hadn’t been the best option for a parent in the first place, and here he was, doing it by himself and harboring some bitterness and resentment towards his flesh and blood for he didn’t know why.
Probably because they’d been thrust upon him at the worst possible time. They took up all of his time, and they were a hassle. Disobedient, back-talking, stubborn. Well, Pietro was most of those things. Wanda seemed to just follow her brother’s lead, to a certain point, as with the scene in the living room. Most of all, they costed money. Money for food, money for clothes, money for the extra gasoline it took to take them to school, money for the extra water and electricity they used because apparently children just loved to leave lights on and faucets running. Erik was paid salary, and he could hardly take up a second job. The one he had took up almost as much time outside the office as his children did.
He’d been faced with a hard decision, and had recently given up all attempted budget cuts and decided to just rent out the room above the garage. It was small, but had a bedroom, bathroom, and an open area with a kitchenette and enough room for a sofa. He hated the idea of living in such close proximity with strangers almost as much as he had hated the idea of sharing his usually meticulously clean house with two children, but such was his need for cash. He’d published an ad in the newspaper and online a week ago, and still had no response. He needed one soon, though… That five hundred dollars a month would make all the difference. Things would calm down a bit, he thought, if he could just have that money.
The guilt faded back into tense impatience and irritation, and Erik collected his laptop and work files from the study, stuffing them into his computer bag and then running into the kitchen, pouring yesterday’s coffee into a travel mug and stuffing a cold bagel into his mouth. He took his keys from the hook beside the door and walked into the garage, unlocking his car, throwing his laptop bag into the passenger seat and dropping his thermos of cold coffee into the holder beside the seat. He glanced at his watch and felt his stomach sink at the time- He only had fifteen minutes until Wanda and Pietro were supposed to be at school. He returned to the house, ready to run upstairs and drag his children into the car, when he realized that it might look bad on him as a parent if the twins showed up hungry. Neglectful bad. As much as he liked the idea of his kids being taken away, never to be dealt with again, he took another few seconds to really think about it and felt bad again. He thought he should make up for this morning, maybe after he picked them up from school that afternoon. As bitter as he was about them coming into his life, he didn’t want his children to hate him.
Eating his bagel at small intervals, Erik filled two plastic bags with cereal and retrieved two juice boxes from the fridge, setting them down on the counter before he went into the living room to retrieve the twins’ backpacks. The bags had had been carelessly thrown over the back of the couch the previous Friday afternoon, and Erik brought them back into the kitchen and placed them next to the meager breakfasts. He had to wait only a few seconds before the thundering of feet on the stairs met his ears, and soon the two were dashing into the kitchen. Erik moved to tenderly help them put on their backpacks, though he knew they were capable of doing it themselves and Pietro reminded him of that.
“I don’t want this for breakfast.” Pietro piped up as Erik handed them the plastic bags and boxes, and Erik felt his shoulders tense again. He was overreacting, he tried to tell himself, but goddamn if this kid would just stop running his mouth
“When you start waking up earlier and getting dressed instead of watching television, we’ll discuss better meal choices in the morning.” Erik responded with an eat shit and die smile, rushing the two towards the garage.
Got my phone got my keys laptop in the car kids in car turn the lights off no not enough time but run up the bill timetimetime quick!
He slammed the car door shut just as Pietro pulled hit foot up into the backseat, then turned on his heel and ran through the house like a madman, flipping off switches and checking faucets. He had just clambered into the car and turned the key in the ignition when his fucking phone rang. He lifted his hips from the seat to retrieve it from his back pocket, not even glancing at the number before sliding his thumb across the screen and lifting it to his ear.
“This is Erik Lensherr.” He said as calmly as he could, though his voice still had an edge to it.
“Who is it? Who’s calling you?” Was the immediate loud inquiry from the back seat, and Erik threw a dirty look over his shoulder before stomping on the gas pedal, keeping the steering wheel steady with his elbows as he tugged at his now locked seatbelt.
“Hello?” He demanded of the unknown caller, letting the seatbelt slide beneath his arm as he slammed his hand on the steering wheel when he almost hit the trashcans at the end of the driveway.
“Watch out for those trashcans.” Pietro piped up, and Erik thought how he’d like to jump into the backseat and strangle the boy with the straps of his backpack.
“Yes, hello. I was calling about renting the room you advertised in the paper?” The voice said. It was a man’s voice, calm and polite and kind. Erik might have taken the answer to his prayers a little better at any other time, but as per usual, it came at the absolute worst. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he tried to wrestle his seatbelt across his chest, maneuvering through the neighborhood with only one very distracted hand.
“Uh, yeah- Yeah. The room. Five hundred a month, get a space in the driveway, and get to use the washing machine and dryer in the garage. Oh, there’s stairs to get to it, behind the house- I mean, in case you’ve got bad legs or something.” Erik explained. In his head, this fateful conversation had gone much smoother.
“Sounds perfect. I’m actually only in town for a limited time, I’m here for a lecture series… I’m a professor, you see.”
“Mmhm.” Erik wasn’t really paying attention to the caller so much as the red Mustang that stopped at the yellow light Erik would have happily run through. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel and let out a short breath.
“Is this a bad time?” The man asked, though he didn’t sound offended- Rather, he sounded quite amused.
“Yeah, actually, it is. I mean, it’s not your fault, just-“
“One of those mornings?”
“Yes.” Erik relaxed. Normally, he hated it when people interrupted him to finish his sentence, but… The light turned green, and Erik surged forward. “I can- I can call you back in an hour. From my office.”
“That sounds fantastic. I’ll talk to you then-”
“Okay. Um- Wait- Your name and number?”
There was a chuckle from the other end of the line, and Erik couldn’t help but wonder if he was being laughed at. He felt his shoulders begin to tense. “Let me get a pen- Fuckdamnit-“ The car swerved in its lane as Erik reached over to the passenger seat, sliding his hand into the front pocket of his laptop bag and groping around blindly for a pen. “Okay, go.” Erik steered with his elbows and left knee as he wrote the number down on his palm, glancing up at the road between each digit to make sure he wasn’t about to run head first into an eighteen wheeler or anything.
“And, uh, what’s your name, again?”
“Charles. Charles Xavier.”