The house is an hour's drive from the city, just fifteen minutes away from Charles' school on this slow afternoon with little traffic. When Erik pulls into the driveway at Charles' instruction, he can't help but stare.
"What is it?" Charles asks. He's fidgeting with his wedding band, turning it on his finger. It's distracting, though not in a bad way. Erik doubts he'll ever be able to stop focusing on that ring to some extent, whenever Charles is within his range; it's good to think that perhaps Charles won't be able to, either.
"When you said you had a house," Erik says, "I was expecting something rather larger."
After all, the last time Charles came to him and said, 'I have a house,' what he meant was, 'I have an enormous mansion which sits on my family estate, and I own half of the town down the road as well.' But the house they're parked in front of now appears to be nothing more than a normal house—ordinary, even mundane. Two stories (there's an elevator toward the back, which Erik sniffs out easily) and an adjoining garage, and that's it.
"I told you it wasn't some grand mansion," Charles says, but he's not fidgeting anymore, and when Erik glances at him, he's smiling softly—not at the house, but at Erik. Erik's been on the receiving end of that smile more often in the last few hours than he was over the past fifty years. He's finding he likes it. "I told you all about it. Weren't you listening?"
Erik stopped listening right at 'I have a house.' That was all he needed to know when Charles had spoken earlier today, his meaning as clear as the hope on his face.
"Well, did you at least hear the part about the apple trees in the backyard?"
"No."
"There's a garden beside the kitchen, too," Charles says. "I hope you like strawberries and tomatoes, because we're about to have an abundance of both."
"I detest tomatoes," Erik says.
"What, really?"
"Yes."
"How did I never know that?" Charles appears delighted, which seems incongruous. Charles Xavier, delighted at his own ignorance? Never. Than again, Charles Xavier, delighted to have learned something new—that's a possibility. "Well, then, we'll just have to plant something else next year, won't we?"
"I suppose," Erik says. Though he's never been a mind reader, Charles' face has never been a difficult study, and Erik knows they're both feeling the same awe that they'll be here, together, a year from now, and the year after that, and every year remaining to them. "I do approve of strawberries."
"Excellent," Charles says. He unbuckles his seat belt, opens the door, reaches back for his chair. "Well, come on. I want to give you the tour. It'll be much shorter this time, especially if I don't have to repeat myself too often." He gives Erik a sly look, which is enough for him to assume he's never going to hear the end of this. "We can start with the apple trees, if you'd like."
"I would," Erik says. He doesn't care if Charles repeats himself all day. It's not as if they need to be in any hurry.