Disclaimer: Neocolai does not own X-Men or anything related to the franchise.

And now, the moment you have been waiting for...

When Charles called him in for an emergency meeting, Erik anticipated another relay of 'This student has this mutation and you are the only one competent enough to teach him or her'. (Really, Charles seemed to expect a different answer every time. The professor just couldn't accept that 'No' meant 'Not going to happen in your lifetime'.)

Erik didn't expect to see a certain silver speedster slouched in the chair by Charles' desk. (Not that he hadn't gotten used to the kid being around – but sometime he'd like a moment in the same vicinity without wounded brown eyes shooting his way.)

"Problem?" Erik asked, glancing from the boy to Charles. Peter focused more intently on a plastic car that he'd probably pulled out of a cereal box.

"Peter has something to tell you," Charles said portentously.

Folding his arms, Erik stared at the kid and waited. He expected a clear answer in thirty seconds. Three months of silent haranguing was enough.

Dark eyes wavered towards him as the car blurred between nervous fingers. Convulsively Peter swallowed and forced out, "My mom's name was Magda."

Erik exhaled tersely. That was all the kid had to say after –

Oh.

Oh.

A heavy paperweight on Charles' desk cracked in half, and the grandfather clock clanged out of tune.

Oh.

Peter's eyes widened and before Erik could inhale he was gone.

"Charles," Erik stuttered.

"He's been meaning to tell you since the Apocalypse," Charles said gently. "I would have told you, but he implicitly asked me not to intrude."

"Magda?" Erik breathed. So long ago… Before the president, before DC, before –

Before En Sabah Nur broke his son's leg and he did nothing.

Shaking, Erik fell back into a chair and raked his hands through his hair. All this time. All this time.

"I would… tell you more," Charles said uncertainly, "But that isn't my story to disclose." He cringed, waiting for Erik to gather himself.

"It's not too late."

Bounding to his feet, Erik swept the desk's contents aside and stared down at the crippled mutant. "What do you mean, it's not too late? Don't you dare say that to me, Charles! Was it too late when they murdered my Nina? Was it too late when they almost killed him in a cage? What if I had waited a little longer and En Sabah Nur had completed his task? Tell me, Charles, would that have been too late?"

"Erik, he can probably hear you."

The soft answer jarred his tirade. A shuddering gasp before the partially open door wavered shattered his control. He staggered into the chair, nails digging into his scalp, clinging to the shreds of stability he had left.

'You never had a chance to save your family before, but you do now….'

'I'm here for my family, too….'

What if…. What if….

"Erik." Charles' brush in his mind was as gentle as the prodded memories that followed. Adoration as Peter watched him rebuild the academy. Sarcasm and affection as he called him 'Dad' for the first time. Mischief bridled under respect as he attacked Kurt with a twinkie box but stayed in bed as he was told. Faith merging with homesickness when it was Magneto who tore open the cage door. Confidence that a father would appreciate his son's stupid art.

"I criticized that card," Erik admitted. He wished he had stowed it away; the first in a new assortment displaying a child's gratitude.

"There's still a chance. He's waiting for your response."

Nodding, Erik forced rationality into control. "Where is he?"

Charles quirked an amused smile. "Mm, he has a favorite haunt…."

Charles notion of "helping" seemed to imply 'your wayward son is in the mansion but that's all you're going to hear from me.' Erik was forced to search on his own, certain that Peter was switching rooms as soon as he entered, until the telepath finally took pity and directed him to the public study. It was an elegant and clean room (one Erik could imagine taking refuge in a time or two himself), quiet, and suspiciously empty of booklovers and chess players. Charles must have instructed his students to find other means of distraction for the afternoon.

He found Peter leaning against the far island, avidly watching a trio of fantail guppies flit around their tank. Idly he wondered if the kid would like a goldfish for his birthday. A case of silly string was more likely. There were a lot of birthdays to catch up on. No telling where to start when a twenty-some, twinkie-loving speedster who probably couldn't be bothered with a car was involved.

"Peter?" Erik spoke hesitantly, his voice catching mid-syllable. An hour ago, two sounds strung together had implied one more student in Charles' school. Now, responsibility and a heavy, yearning weight in his chest rested on one pesky speedster.

Fathering Nina had seemed so natural. How was he supposed to address a son he had walked away from; overlooked; disregarded; and finally left in the hands of the world's most powerful mutant?

Joining Quicksilver in front of the fish tank, Erik folded his hands across the island and watched a snail slink across the pebbles. The world would always feel left behind by Peter.

He had already missed so many years.

"So… the Father's Day card…."

Peter flushed and squeezed his eyes shut, tensing as though he was about to flee again. Erik clapped a hand on his shoulder before he could disappear.

Don't run off again. Not before I have a chance to say it.

"I wanted to... I thought that..." Failing to formulate the words, he said haphazardly, "Guess I'm a pretty poor excuse for a father."

Erik forced a grim smile, silently asking Peter to at least look at him. He didn't need forgiveness. Time couldn't heal everything. "I'm sorry."

Brown eyes finally rose, and he saw Nina holding up a broken bird's nest and asking him to fix her world.

"S'okay," Peter whispered. He cleared his throat, leaning into the hand holding him still. "I mean… You're here now, right?"

Clumsily Erik squeezed his shoulder. What was he supposed to do with a full-grown, mutant son? He wasn't so sure about this "dad stuff" anymore.

For once, Charles wasn't responding with a tacky, heartfelt line.

Huffing softly, Erik cast the boy a resigned look. "You'll have to take it slow with me. I'm an old man; I'm not running any races."

He and Nina used to practice together; she taught the birds to fly through floating metal hoops, and through her eyes he saw his mutation as something wondrous.

Quicksilver's mutation would simply be exhausting.

Peter snorted and tapped the aquarium glass, scattering the guppies. "It's not too late to get into shape. The professor has a pretty sweet obstacle course."

Erik rolled his eyes and looped an arm over the kid's shoulder. Peter settled as though this was his natural place in life, and heaven forbid the one who would take it away from him.

"I'm not taking a dang obstacle course just to prove myself against a speedster," Erik snarked.

"But you'll stay," Peter said quietly.

Erik didn't answer. He squeezed tighter, letting the closeness speak for him, and closed his eyes when Peter nestled in. This boy – his son – accepted him so readily. Forgiveness was given without doubt.

Maybe Charles was right. He had been given a second chance.

Perhaps he could be a tolerable father after all.