"Speaking of cats," says Charles, though they have not, in fact, been speaking of cats for twenty-five minutes and several completely unrelated topics of discussion, "you should be aware that if you ever bring an animal home, I'll divorce you." He paused a moment, as if inviting comment, and then: "You'll get full custody, and I'll get the house."
Erik sniffs. Instead of pointing out that they'd have to be married first (which would only lead to yet another iteration of 'Aren't you at least going to let me see my ring?'), or that they laid the idea of pets to rest for good nearly half an hour ago, making this the most obvious fishing he's ever heard, he says, "You haven't even seen the house yet."
"Oh, do I get to see it? That is an improvement, I must say."
Erik laughs, despite himself.
"Drive faster," Charles urges, though when Erik actually does, it's not three minutes before he says, "Slow down."
The drive takes another fifty minutes or so. The house is set back a ways from the road, and there are any number of trees on the property. Even after Erik pulls off the road, there are several minutes of driveway before it becomes visible past that final turn.
As Erik told Charles this morning, it's not a large house. It's quite small, in fact, and that's without comparing it to Charles' ridiculous castle, which for some reason Erik never thought to do previously. Now that he has, all he can think is that they've vacationed at larger cabins.
"I shared the castle with several hundred teenagers, you know. I hardly rattled around all by myself," Charles says. It couldn't be more obvious how deliberately he's choosing his tenses; it should be more annoying than reassuring, but somehow manages to be both in equal measures. "It is small—but there's room enough for two, certainly. It's lovely, Erik. It's perfect."
"You've still barely seen it," Erik says, giving him a flat look. Charles has always had the bad habit of taking one glance at something, deciding it must be wonderful, then refusing to revise his opinion no matter what evidence to the contrary might surface.
Where the Charles he knew forty or fifty years ago would have spent the next hour earnestly informing Erik there's so much more to him than violence and terrorism, and so on, Charles now rolls his eyes and says, "Well, then, you must be dying to give me the tour."
Erik is, actually. He bought this property some five years ago, telling himself he'd use it as another Brotherhood safe house. They'd needed a new one in the Northeast, and yet Erik used his own private funds for the purchase and never got around to telling any of them it existed. Some part of him must have known what he really wanted it for before he ever so much as considered retirement.
In those five years, he never once mentioned to Charles that he had a house within driving distance of the school; in the six weeks he spent renovating, first to make it livable, then accessible, he never so much as called Charles up to mention that he was a mere few hours away by car. Knowing or unknowing, he's meant it for a surprise, all this time. Now that Erik has him here, he's surprised at how anxious he is for Charles to approve of the nest he's made for them.
It's been many years indeed since he's been all that concerned about Charles approving of anything he does, but this is different. This is something else. There's a reason he hasn't given Charles the ring yet, though he meant to do it first thing this morning. It seems a little too unlikely, that Charles should leave everything behind just to come with Erik. It seems even more unlikely that he'll be able to stomach Erik for long. Best to be sure, first.
Charles pats his knee. "Erik," he says, in such an earnest tone that he really could be the Charles of fifty years ago, the one so very invested in saving Erik from himself, "I know who you are. I know what this is. I've been ready for years." He gives Erik's knee a little squeeze, then says, "That said, you need to either propose to me or show me the house. I'm getting impatient."
"You're just now getting impatient, are you?" Erik says dryly. The older Charles gets, the more impatient, bossy and pushy he becomes. It looks good on him, when it's not driving Erik crazy; he wonders which is going to win out, now that they'll be together all the time. "Yes, yes, fine. Let's go in."
As for the ring: It'll keep.