A gentle snort at Steve’s proclamation of success, amused both at the decision to announce it, and the idea that, after all the two of them have done throughout their lives, they are now at the point where today’s activities rank as felonies instead of just a normal Tuesday afternoon. They are getting old.
However, that amusement shifts to concern at the sensation of Steve’s hand lingering on his shoulder, and the sight of him shielding his eyes against the very mediocre sunlight. Was this fight too much for him? He is older than Erik, after all, and the mutant has no idea how long the other man’s once-frozen genes will be able to keep up with his own mutant ones. (Being honest, he has no idea how long his mutant genes will be able to keep up either.)
A frown creases his forehead. “Is it wise to drive in your condition?” Steve will deny it, of course, but hopefully the ex-super soldier isn’t stupid enough to endanger others just because he’s stubborn. Erik reaches up to grasp Steve’s forearm, feeling how unsteady he is, how warm his skin is even through a lawyer of fabric. This feels like more than just old age. “Sit down a moment,” – so saying, he drags over a metal barrel with his mutation, and moulds it into a chair, basic, but sturdy – “we can move your car later.”
