"I don’t like him," Erik announces as soon as they get to the bedroom, just in case Charles missed any of his opinions when he was broadcasting them at him before.
Charles sighs. “He seems perfectly nice. You’re overreacting.”
"Overreacting? You can’t be serious. Did you see the way he was looking at us? He’s obviously homophobic. You know, I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it, you’re usually good at subtext."
"Erik, please, he’s not a bit homophobic, he has two fathers himself."
Erik can’t see how that’s relevant, and keeps going. “Well, he’s ableist then. Did you see the way he kept glancing at you? Do you really want to have to deal with that all the time?”
Charles sighs again, and rolls his eyes, which is completely unnecessary when all Erik is trying to do is look out for him. You’d think he didn’t care that their daughter is all set to marry a total creep unless they do something to stop it. “He’s not ableist, Erik, just unsure of how to act. It’s normal, he’ll get over it.”
"Yeah, well, then he’s after your money," Erik says, which, you know, even Charles can’t argue with that, it’s not like his family money is a secret from anyone who’s ever picked up a newspaper.
"He is not after our money,” Charles says, like he could possibly know, and, “Yes, I would, and you know it,” and okay, telepathy, whatever, but -
~~~~~
“So what do you think of this Alex guy?” Erik asks.
David makes a face. “He messed up my hair and called me ‘sport.’ He’s obviously a total schmuck.”
“Thank you. You know, you’ve always been my favorite.” Erik pulls out his wallet. He has a five and a ten.
“People used to call him ‘Lexi’ when he was a kid. He hated it.”
Erik hands both bills over without a word.
~~~~~
The hell of it is that getting arrested used to mean something. Sitting in a jail cell used to feel like a win, ‘Oh, you have to shut me up by putting me behind bars, I must be doing something right, HA.’ Having to have Charles walk in to bail him out with his disappointed face on used to be something Erik could deal with, back when it was all for the cause.
But that was a long time ago, and even Erik can’t pretend that there’s any greater purpose to this.
Erik feels Charles’ wheelchair before he hears the wheels hissing toward him on the concrete floor. He doesn’t look up until Charles stops in front of the cell.
"Hello, Erik," Charles says. He’s smiling. Why is he smiling?
"I’m so glad you think this is funny."
Charles laughs. It’s not an amused laugh. “Funny? Oh yes, it’s funny, it’s hilarious, Erik, really. I couldn’t be more amused about having to come down here to bail you out of jail for trying to steal an ATM machine.”
"It was the U-scan. And I wasn’t stealing it, I was —"
"Shut up," Charles says.
Erik does, though he’s not sure if it’s out of shock that Charles would say that to him, or if it’s that Charles isn’t letting him talk…and if it’s the latter, well, Charles can just get a mindfull then, can’t he, he wasn’t stealing the damned thing and no one will listen to his explanation. Why doesn’t Charles just unlock him already so they can get out of here. Well, if Charles won’t, Erik will just grab the key out of Charles’ hand and get himself out —
And he’s just started to tug it towards himself when suddenly, though he can still feel every other piece of metal in here, the key is like a black hole to him, and isn’t that just great, Charles must be enjoying this.
"Let me know when you’re done, and then we’ll talk," Charles says. "By which I mean I will talk, while you, for once in your life, will listen.”
Erik adds this, the humiliation, to the list of things he’s fuming about, and when he finally runs out of steam, he opens his mouth, which apparently he’s allowed to do now, and says, “What.”
He hopes Charles isn’t going to give him (another) speech about how happy he should be about this whole marriage thing. He keeps bringing that into everything, even stuff like this that has absolutely nothing to do with it.
"I absolutely beg to differ," Charles says. "It has everything to do with it. For God’s sake, Erik, the way you’re reacting to all this — Lorna’s getting married. She’s getting married to a boy she loves, who loves her. It’s not about you, it’s not to spite you, it doesn’t have a thing to do with you. I know everything else in the world revolves around you, but this doesn’t — and you need to get that into your head, you need to internalize it before you break Lorna’s heart. You’re very nearly there, and I won’t have it.”
"I —"
"Shut up," Charles says again. "And if you want to sleep at home tonight, repeat after me —"
Erik glances around the jail cell, and he’s not entirely sure this cot wouldn’t be preferable, if this is the way Charles is going to be about it. Making him repeat things. God. What is he, five? Is Charles his mother now?
"Mm-hmmm. Think that again and I might just let you. Now, repeat after me. I, Erik Magnus Lehnsherr…"
Erik grumbles Charles’ speech after him right until they get up to “…promise to stop orbiting coins around my fingers while glaring at Alex’s head.”
"I don’t orbit coins around my fingers," Erik scoffs.
"Uh-huh. You’re doing it right now."
Erik looks down and sees that an eyelet of his shoe has detached itself at some point, and is currently making circles around his hand. He closes his fist around it and mumbles, “promise to stop orbiting coins around my fingers while glaring at Alex’s head.”
~~~~~
Erik finds the one person in the house who still likes him sitting on the couch with her Nintendo DS.
"What are you playing?" he asks, sitting down next to her.
"Mario Kart," Anya says.
"Can I play?"
"Okay! But you can’t be Bowser."
"And why is that?"
"You know why," Anya says, and glares at him in that way that’s always a little scary - because damned if she doesn’t look a little more like his mom every time she looks at him that way. "You’re mean when you’re Bowser."
This is true, but Erik can’t help it. Whenever he plays Bowser, he just has to do his best to squish her whenever he gets a Thunderbolt, and run her off cliffs in general, drop bananas right in her way, and just give her a real hard time - because hell, if he’s going to be Bowser, he’s going to be Bowser right.
"What about Wario, can I be him?" he asks because that’s the next best thing.
After some consideration, Anya says, “You can be the princess.”
"Oh, so I get to be Princess Peach, huh? You know, I think I’d look really pretty in a pink dress," Erik says. Then, a couple laps into their first race, he says, "You’re not ever going to get married, are you?"
"No," Anya says, "boys are gross."
"Good, you try to remember that." A minute later he has another thought: "What about a girl, would you marry a girl?"
"…Huh?"
"Never mind."
~~~~~
"It's nothing much, really," Erik says. He moves the package at the top of the pile so it won't topple off, then puts his hands in his pocket. He doesn't really know why he thought this was such a great idea. Charles keeps reminding him that Lorna is an adult now; he obviously should have gotten her something more grownup. Makeup, or something. Not that he knows anything about makeup.
Lorna opens the first package, sneaking him a worried little glance, like she thinks he might have gotten her something crazy. Erik's not really sure what would count as a crazy dad gift, but he's sure glad he didn't get her a [blender].
"Oh, it's Rudolph," she says when the pair of slippers is unwrapped.
"There are eight things," Erik says. "They were going to be your Hanukkah presents this year, but I thought your Gran might have an issue with it."
"Don't worry, Daddy; it can be our secret," Lorna says. She grins at him, that same grin he remembers from when she was a little girl and he let her stay up way past her bedtime to watch scary movies.
"Well, good. You know if you tell her, I'll be hearing about it for the rest of my life."
"And I'd be hearing about it for the rest of mine, right?"
"Absolutely."
The other six things (the slippers count as two things) include a Rudolph bathrobe, a Rudolph T-shirt, a pair of Rudolph socks (also two things), a set of antlers (one thing), and a red nose.
When she's done unwrapping everything, she hugs him tightly. "Thank you, Daddy. I love it all."
Erik pats her on the back and wonders what happened to his little girl, his beautiful little girl who used to run through the house singing "RUDOLPH the red-nosed REINDEER" at the top of her lungs. He remembers when Charles first let her watch that movie - he'd been totally against it on principle, but eventually had to admit that it was a pretty decent story for a little girl with green hair (just so long as you ignore the parts where Santa and the other reindeer don't accept Rudolph until they realize he's useful to them).
She's got a lot of nerve, growing up on him like this. What is that all about?
~~~~~
The morning Charles is due to get home from his conference, Erik takes off work early. He figures it’ll be a nice surprise, they can go out, get lunch someplace quiet before the kids get home from school. It’s been awhile since they’ve done anything for just the two of them.
He finds Charles in the kitchen, getting ready to cook. So much for going out for lunch, but that’s fine; Charles is a surprisingly good cook for a guy who had barely been able to boil water when they first moved in together.
He leans against the doorway, just watching Charles putter around. He has a black T-shirt on, which Erik always appreciates since Charles doesn’t go casual nearly often enough for his purposes. He almost always wears something that involves a tie, and as great as he looks dressed up, he looks so much better at times like this. He has the best arms, too; Erik could watch him reaching for stuff all day.
"I certainly could boil water then, I’ll have you know,” Charles says mildly, after being watched for several minutes. “As to the rest, cooking is chemistry, plain and simple. It’s easy enough if you follow the recipe.”
Charles is big on following recipes, but he never improvises or takes chances. Meanwhile, Erik never uses recipes to begin with, relying completely on what he feels like doing when it’s his turn to cook. The result is that Charles can make any fancy-schmancy dish you could think of, while Erik can make a damn good omelette out of any three things in the fridge.
Charles glances at him and rolls his eyes. “You do know the only reason you can do that is because I keep the fridge stocked with quality ingredients that I need, right?”
"Sure," Erik says, too distracted to worry about arguing over it the way he usually would. Seeing Charles in that T-shirt has reminded him that they haven’t had sex in two weeks. They usually do it way more often, but Charles has been out of town for the last few days, and for the week and a half before that, Erik just hadn’t been feeling it. He’d just about started to wonder if something was wrong, but obviously it was just some sort of temporary glitch with the old libido, because man are his hormones raging right now. He hasn’t been this turned on in…he can’t remember. “You look good,” he says, leaning even harder against the doorway and smirking in that way that always gets Charles’ motor going.
Charles shakes his head and refuses to look over, no doubt realizing that looking would be his downfall. “Give me an hour to finish this, and then we can fool around,” he says.
"It can’t wait that long," Erik says, and crooks a finger at Charles’ wheelchair to tug it toward the doorway. Charles sighs like he’s put-upon — but when Erik spins the wheelchair around, he looks him up and down appreciatively, and when his wheelchair stops in front of the doorway he helps Erik get settled on his lap.
"Our children will starve, and you’ll be responsible. I hope you can live with that for the rest of your life," Charles says, but he doesn’t sound too concerned about it, what with Erik passionately kissing his neck and all.
"They don’t really need to eat every day, do they?" Erik asks, rubbing his hands up and down Charles’ biceps. "God, you have the greatest arms."
About half an hour later they realize they forgot Charles’ Viagra, but it’s not a big deal; it’s been forever since they’ve had the time and energy for more than five minutes of foreplay at night before bed, so they may as well make the most of it now.
~~~~~
Dr. Muñoz grins at them. Erik hadn’t realized before now that his imminent death would actually make him gleeful. What kind of doctor is he, anyway? What happened to first do no harm and all that other crap?
"How long do I have?" Erik says. "Out with it already. I can take it, whatever it is."
"You don’t have cancer and you’re not going to die," Dr. Muñoz says, which is a pretty good lead-in, considering how much better Erik feels right after he says it. But then he grins even wider and adds, "But your symptoms may get a little worse before they get better."
"Stop talking around it and just tell me. I told you I can take it," Erik says, irritated that Charles isn’t holding his hand as tightly as he was a minute ago (what, so Charles doesn’t have to be concerned for him now that he’s not dying?) and so Erik has pins and needles in his fingers now.
"You’re going to have a baby."
"…Excuse me, what?”
"You’re pregnant, Erik. Congratulations."
"Look, I don’t know where you’re getting that from, but you’re wrong," Erik says. "I can’t be pregnant.” He looks to Charles for some support here. “Charles, tell him he’s wrong.”
But Charles is practically grinning, that lopsided thing he does when he’s trying to hide a smile but can’t because he’s Charles. “Well,” he says, and then, “darling,” and he’s obviously not going to be any help at all, so Erik’s just going to have to deal with this on his own.
"Look, you know my medical history," Erik says. "I haven’t gotten pregnant since Anya. We do it at least four times a week, if it was going to happen it would have been years ago. You’re wrong, and your tests are wrong, and you know what, you probably got mine mixed up with someone else’s or something, you should get on that just in case I am dying and you only have forty-eight hours to save me."
Dr. Muñoz sighs. “There’s a lot we still don’t know about male pregnancy. I think you two know that as well as I do by now. I can assure you: the test results are definitely yours, and you’re definitely pregnant. We ran the tests twice, just to be sure.”
"There’s no way I’m pregnant," Erik says, but now he’s thinking back to the weeks of vomiting, always before noon; the cramping, shortness of breath…he’d been so sure it was cancer or something, but looking back, there’s nothing he’s had to deal with recently that hasn’t happened to him before. He looks at Charles again in a plea for help. "Charles, tell him."
"I have no idea how this could have happened," Charles says, red-faced and still half-grinning. He tips Dr. Muñoz a wink and then turns to Erik and says, "Are you sure it’s mine?"
Erik stops breathing for a minute, and next thing he knows he’s on his feet. “What do you mean, am I sure it’s yours? What is wrong with you? Of course it’s yours! Why would you say something like that? What, are you running around on me? Is that why you think I’d run around on you? What the hell?”
Charles has stopped smiling. “It was a joke,” he says. “In very poor taste, I admit; it’s just that I’m so relieved you’re not —” He swallows, hard. “I’m so sorry, darling, would you please sit down?”
Like hell. “A joke, huh? Well, I don’t think that’s very funny.” Erik whirls toward Dr. Muñoz. “What about you, do you think that’s funny?”
But all Dr. Muñoz has to say about it is, “I think it’s a good thing I replaced my other desk with a wooden one after Anya.”
"Well, isn’t that just great for you," Erik says.
*
Getting an ultrasound is just about the only cool thing about being pregnant, so that part goes pretty well right up until:
"Looks like you’re having twins."
~~~~~
By the time they get out to the car, Charles has gone from basically glowing to neutral, quiet. Erik hasn’t seen him like this since he told him he was pregnant with Lorna, all those years ago.
"Well? Aren’t you happy?" he demands.
"Am I allowed to be?"
Oh, is that all he’s being quiet about? Didn’t they already do this twenty-six years ago?
Erik rolls his eyes. “As long as you change at least three-fourths of the diapers, you can be as happy as you want.”
Charles grins, the tension in the car dissipating as his shoulders relax. “Oh, so you’re just grousing? That’s a relief.”
"No, I am not just grousing. Have you been listening to a word I said? We’re way too old to have any more kids."
Charles grins harder. “Yes, dear.”
Satisfied that Charles isn’t about to give his second-ever ‘Whatever you decide, Erik, I’m here for you,’ speech, Erik continues expressing his opinion the rest of the way home.
"You know," he says as they pull into the driveway fifteen minutes later, "by the time they graduate, we’ll both be in wheelchairs.” He looks over to see Charles roll his eyes and shake his head. “I’m serious! I swear my hip’s been acting up lately. Just wait until all that realigning crap starts happening in my third trimester. It’ll be way worse then.”
"Mm-hmm," Charles says. He turns the ignition off, then reaches over to pat Erik on the stomach. His hand lingers there, the way it always does whenever Erik is pregnant; he never can seem to get enough touching in. It’s amusing in the first trimester, really hot in the second trimester when Erik is horny all the time, and either comforting or annoying in the third trimester, depending on his mood.
"There’s nothing to feel yet," Erik points out. "Just a lot of Anya fat and a little David fat." He managed to lose all his Lorna fat, but then, being pregnant in his early twenties was a lot different than being pregnant in his thirties. Easier to bounce back when you’re young.
He is never going to recover from this pregnancy.
~~~~~
"Sorry, I don’t mean to hog them," Charles says after a few minutes. "We should take turns…there are two of them after all, we could swap them back and forth."
But he doesn’t look like he wants to give either of them up, and that’s just fine with Erik. This is his favorite part of the whole deal: in a few minutes, the rest of the family will start coming in to meet the new babies, but for right now it’s just the four of them, just Charles sitting beside him and holding them, and nothing could be better than that.
"No, you should keep them, you’re good at that holding babies thing," Erik says. "You know what, we should have another one. By the time we do, you’ll be totally bald…you’ll match, it’ll be great."
Charles laughs softly. “Do you know you always say that?”
"No I don’t. You hadn’t even started balding before Anya, and your hairline had barely started receding when we had her. Trust me, I pay attention to this stuff."
Wanda and Pietro both yawn at the exact same time. Erik wonders if it’s a twin thing or if he’s already boring them to death.
"I mean, you always talk about having more babies right after you give birth. We’ve had this conversation four times now."
"What? We have not."
"Oh, we definitely have." Charles grins at him. "Every single time, I swear. I’m not pulling your leg."
Erik scoffs. “Oh really? So what did I say when we had Lorna?”
"Oh, the exact same thing, but you were pretty loopy at the time."