#professional courses

     Erik can’t believe it. It’s been three years already, and he still can’t believe it.

     He has a daughter.

     He has a three year old daughter with the man he loves more than anything else in this world. He has other children, it’s not his first time siring a kid, but it was different this time. He was not a good father to his older children. He knew that. He was not under the delusion that he was anything other than an absent and distant father at worst, or a lackluster one at best. But he didn’t want to be that anymore. Not with Emilia. He was older now, and he wanted to do all he could to give his last, youngest child the best life he could.

     If Charles was his sun, then Emilia was every star around him. She reminded him so much of his husband. Within every smile of hers, she saw an echo of Charles’s. She was still learning how to speak, but with what little vocabulary she had, she sounded so much like Charles in the little way she said things. And she was so kind. Erik has never heard a bad thing from her preschool teachers. In fact, he had only heard the opposite. His daughter was known for sharing toys and snacks with the other students, to the point where he and Charles have begun packing double the cheese sticks and fruit snacks in her lunch box, just so she and whoever she shared with had enough.

     He credits all of their daughter’s good traits to Charles. He doesn’t believe that it can come from himself. What good does he have to give to someone? He has caused so much death, so much destruction, so much fear. He has been looked at as more of a monster than a man, and for good reason. He doesn’t blame anyone who thinks that of him. He knows what he’s done. He’s made as much peace with it as he can. And he doesn’t hate that Emilia acts like Charles and doesn’t act like him. It’s a delight, actually, to have two of them in the house.

     …But it does get to him, from time to time. He doesn’t even know how he would feel if Emilia did do something like he would. Part of him wants to think that he would be filled with joy, seeing a small bit of himself in his daughter. The rest of him believes that he would be sent into despair about it. What if he made some grand mistake, and she picked up one of his worse traits? What if he raised a girl who grew up just as angry and bitter as him? What if he took someone good and kind and ruined that part of her, like he’s ruined and destroyed so much else in this world and in this life?

     He’s pulled out of his spiraling thoughts about his potential failure as a parent by Emilia yawning against his chest. He’s carrying her to her bed, ready to get her tucked in for the night. It isn’t the latest, he still had another few, albeit calm and slow, hours awake left in him, but Emilia was only three. She took naps and went to bed early, and was oddly well behaved for a toddler when it came to going to bed. Again, something he attributed to Charles, who went to bed on time every night, if only because he had a school to run every morning.

     Erik hums a little song for her as he carefully shoulders her bedroom door open so as to not jostle her. She’s had a long, tiring day. It’s a weekend, and she didn’t have preschool, so of course Erik was more than happy to spend the whole day with her. She decided that she wanted to play in the garden, which was messy, but at the very least it was educational. She liked learning about flowers, and Erik liked teaching her. Maybe she would grow up to become a botanist. Erik could only hope she did something nice and peaceful like that.

     Who was he kidding? Of course she would. She was going to do something like that, it was just in her nature.

     Erik gently lowers Emilia down onto her bed, patiently waiting for her to let go of his shirt so he could move back a little. Once he was free of her little hands clinging to him, he pulled her blanket up to tuck her in. She curls up a little, getting into one of those weird sleeping positions that young children tend to fall asleep in for whatever reason. Erik watches her for a moment, just to make sure she was comfortable and settled in well. Then he bent to give her a kiss on the forehead.

     “I love you, Emi.” He quietly says to his daughter. “Sleep well.”

     “Love you too, Papa.” She says back with a yawn, closing her eyes.

     Erik leaves her room once he was sure she was falling asleep. He pulls her door mostly closed, but leaves it just slightly cracked, just in case, just so he could hear her if she needed anything. He stops outside of her room. He was going to just walk to his and Charles’s room. He knew that Charles was waiting up for him, waiting for him to come to bed so that they could do their nightly reading together. 

     But he needs a minute. He knows he needs a minute, because his eyes are watering. He doesn’t cry, not easily. He hasn’t truly cried since he found out he was going to be a father again, and before that, he hadn’t cried for years. He wasn’t going to cry now. He knows he isn’t going to cry, because he doesn’t feel the strange pressure behind his eyes that he normally feels when he’s about to sob. But he does tear up.

     It’s just four words. Emilia has said them millions of times to him, and he hasn’t been hit by them like this before, but something tonight feels… different. Maybe it’s because he’s been thinking about what he’s done in the past, maybe it’s because he thinks that Emilia is too good of a gift to his life, or maybe it’s some mix of the two. 

     He’s done so many horrible things in his life. He’s caused so many pointless deaths in the name of his cause. He’s destroyed so much, so many things and places he never needed to cause to crumble. He’s been a symbol of fear and chaos for generations, keeping up this persona for so, so, so long that it is what the majority of people know him as. He’s tried to change people’s minds on him. He’s tried to show them that he’s changed, that he’s understood why he cannot and should not do what he has done in the past, and that he will never do them again. Some people have come to forgive him, or at the very least accept him, but not everyone has. Some people still look at him with the same disgust, mistrust, and fear they always have. So many people still look at him like he’s the old Magneto.

     …Is that how Emilia is going to look at him one day?

     He can’t keep what he’s down from his daughter forever. Erik knows this. He knows this far too well. It’s kept him up late far too often, thinking late into the night and even early into the morning. One of these days, either from him, or Charles, or god forbid, someone one else, she was going to find out about all of the ugly things he’s done. He wants to be the one to tell her himself. He feels that it is the only right way to do it. He should admit the truth to her once she’s old enough to know it. He shouldn’t force her to hear it from someone else.

     But he can’t help but think about all of the awful ways the scenario could play out, once he finally gets to that point in time. Would she look at him in disgust, viewing him as someone and something that was rotten right down to the core of his being? Would she fear him, looking at him like he was something dangerous that would lash out at her with devastating force? Would she hate him, thinking his actions are so awful that they negate anything good that he’s ever tried to do or done for her? Or would it be some mix of the three? 

     It doesn’t matter what reaction she has specifically. Erik knows this as well. He’s come to accept and understand that the specific negative emotion she feels towards him wouldn’t matter. What would matter is that she would not look at him the same way. She wouldn’t look at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky just for her. She wouldn’t look at him like he would move mountains just to make her smile—which he would, even if he didn’t have his powers, because he would find a way to do it, just for her.

     She wouldn’t look at him with love anymore. That’s the root of his distress at the thought of her knowing what he’s done. Erik couldn’t handle the one wholly, truly good thing he’s ever put into this world looking at him like he was a monster. Maybe he deserved it after everything he’s done, but he knows he couldn’t handle it.

     He composes himself. Or, at the very least, he composes himself as best as he can. He’s good at being stony faced when he needs to be, but that will not help him here. He knows that. Charles is a telepath, he could know if he wanted to. Even if he didn’t peer into Erik’s mind to look, which he often didn’t, he would still know. He knew how to read people. He knew how to read Erik, more importantly. Sometimes that was a curse. Sometimes that was a blessing. He’s thinking it may lead to the former this time.

     Erik wipes the tears away from his waterline. He deems himself as good as he can be afterwards. He walks down the short hallway to his and Charles’s shared room. He can see soft yellow light from under their cracked door. Charles must have pulled it slightly closed when he headed to bed, as to not disturb Emilia. Erik pushes it open, enters and then pulls the door closed again.

     Charles is laying in bed. He got changed beforehand, obviously, with him wearing his sleep t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s propped himself up on some pillows, leaning against the headboard. He’s sitting up, a book in his lap, reading with his bedside lap on. It’s a nice scene. A nice, domestic scene. It helps that Erik finds Charles, to be blunt, ridiculously attractive when reading, with the way he hums slightly and the way his eyebrows twitch every once in a while. The fact that Charles is comfortable and reading in his bed would send him into a tizzy if he were a younger man, and if he hadn’t gotten used to seeing him do this over their years dating and then being married.

     He is reminded, everyday, why he put a ring on that man’s finger. He does not regret the time it took to meld and shape the ring himself. He would put all of that effort in again in a heartbeat.

     “I take it Emilia fell asleep easily?” Charles asks, not quite looking up from his book yet. He has that look on his face that tells Erik he is deep in the middle of one of the good parts. 

     “She always does.” Erik replies. “She is a remarkably good toddler.”

     He climbs into bed beside his husband. He’s been dressed for bed for an hour or two now. He tends to get dressed in lounge clothes quite a bit before he actually goes to bed. Charles is the one out of the two of them that doesn’t get changed until much, much later in the evening. He can’t blame the man for it, it was his preference and his choice and he can make it as he pleases, but Erik also couldn’t say that he doesn’t poke light-hearted fun at his husband’s habit every once in a while.

     Charles finishes up his page and turns it, and then he looks up at Erik. And Erik knows, just by the small downward twitch of his lips, that Charles knows he’s been upset and been on the verge of tears. He doesn’t want Charles to mention it, and he doesn’t want him to search his mind to find out what has him like that. To his credit, Charles doesn’t do either. Erik knows he doesn’t go poking around in his thoughts, because he doesn’t feel the familiar tingle he gets in the back of his skull that he’s grown to associate with Charles being in his mind.

     “She gets that from you, you know.” Charles says quietly. 

     “…what do you mean?”

     “I mean you fall asleep fairly easily and peacefully yourself.” Charles chuckles. “I know it can’t have come from me. My parents told me I never wanted to settle down for even a nap at her age. But you, love, have the tendency to fall asleep almost immediately after laying down.”

     “I never noticed.” Erik mutters.

     “How could you?” Charles smiles at him warmly. “You would have to have noticed your own behavior while asleep. I can’t say that there are many people in the world who can do that.”

     “It’s… nice to know that she takes after me in at least one regard.” Erik admits sheepishly.

     “She takes after you in more regards than that.”

     Erik is stunned into silence. He doesn’t understand what Charles means by that. In Erik’s mind, Emilia is the furthest thing from being like him. He would have noticed by now if she was. A preschool teacher would have called about her having some kind of behavioral problem by now if she was like him. She would have been acting out at home if she was like him. He would have known.

     “What are you talking about? She takes after you in most things. I can’t really think of anything that she does like I do.”

     “…her teacher called the other day.” Charles says after a moment. “She said that Emilia stood up for another kid in class. Apparently, a boy she sits next to was bullying another kid, and she gave him a talking to that I don’t think he’ll ever forget.”

     “And that makes her like you. You were always the talker out of the two of us.”

     “And you were always the one who wasn’t afraid to get confrontational with people who want to push others around.” Xavier counters. “And she has your eyes too. And your ears.”

     “How can you tell she has my ears? Her ears are so small that they just look like… well, like any other toddler’s ears.”

     “They look like yours.” Charles leans over and presses a kiss to Erik’s lips. “And they act like yours too. She can hear the implication in things when others can’t. She knows if someone is lying to her, and if someone is promising something that they never intend to fulfill. Just like you, Erik.”

     “I doubt that a toddler can have that level of suspicion.” Erik hums.

     “It’s true. She has this almost uncanny sense for when someone is trying to trick her into doing something. And she doesn’t like it when people do so.”

     “…so she inherited my skepticism and my pessimism.”

     “No. She inherited your strength of will and your moral compass.” Charles rebuttals. “I like that she did. I like seeing you in her. She’s so much like you, and I don’t know how you don’t see it.”

     “Because I see your behaviors in her. She’s so much like you, Charles.” Erik explains.

     “And she’s so much like you as well, Erik.”

     Charles’s hands find Erik’s waist and hips. He gently pulls Erik closer, trying to pull him onto his lap. Erik is coaxed closer, until he’s hovering over his husband’s lap. He’s straddling Charles’s lap, one thigh on either side of his, his knees bracketing Charles’s hips. Erik kept himself propped up and balanced with his hands, one hand resting on the headboard of their bed, the other grasping the sheets in front of one of his knees. 

     “She’s like both of us. But that would be because both of us made her, wouldn’t it?” Charles asks rhetorically. “I contributed to her creation and upbringing, just as you did. In my mind, dearest, you’ve done more than I have.”

     “And I oppose that thought. You’ve done just as much for our daughter as I have.”

     “And I knew you would disagree with me.” Charles chuckles. “But that’s why I said ‘in my mind’, since my opinions cannot be factually proven. But while we may have, in reality, given the same amount to Emilia… I still think you’ve done more.”

     “…Why?” Erik asks, mumbling the words. He’s so close to Charles that the sound carries the same as if he spoke them aloud from across the room.

     Charles presses another kiss to Erik’s mouth. This one is longer than the first. It’s not softer, but it’s not harsher. It's deeper, with just a slight opening of the mouth. It doesn't go too far. It doesn’t leave the territory of sweet and innocent, not quite. But it does go just far enough that Erik can almost feel his head spin. It’s not quite lightheadedness that he feels, but he can’t find the words to describe it in any other way. Even after years, Charles still takes his words—and breath—away,

     “Because if not for you, then I would not have a child. You carried her, I only helped you make her.”

     Erik feels the flush running down his face and up his chest. He knows his face is turning red and pink, and he knows that Charles can see it. His husband smiles in a way that does not feel like the polite, innocent, respectful smile he gives everyone else. It is not the smile of a cheerful, hopeful man who tries to always look at the positive. It is the smile of the cat who got the cream, something more devious than it is sweet.

     “If you keep looking at me like that, I fear I’ll end up carrying another of your children.” Erik mumbles out.

     “…would that be such a bad thing?” Charles mumbles back after a moment, his thumb stroked one of Erik’s hip bones through his sleep pants.

     “…do you want another child?” Erik asks, still thinking about himself.

     “I think I would, yes. Emilia is a lot to handle at times, but she is never more than we can care for. I wouldn’t mind having a second little one running around. Would you want another child?”

     And Erik thinks on it. He’s still scared of messing things up with Emilia. He’s still scared about what will happen when she finds out who he really is. He’s not certain he can handle having that fear for two children. But… he’s given good qualities to Emilia, more than he thought he had, at least according to Charles. And she loves him with all of her little heart, and she tells him as much every day. Maybe she wouldn’t react poorly to finding out what he’s done, or at least not as poorly as he worries she will, and maybe if they had another child, that child wouldn’t react horrifically either. And Erik starts to think that maybe it would be nice to give Emilia a little sibling. 

     “I think I would, yes.” Erik says quietly.

     Charles kisses him again. This time is it the hungry, deep kiss that he has been building up to and wanting for a while now. Erik has to tilt his head to lean into it, his mouth opening at the slightest prod from Charles’ tongue. His hands pull Erik’s hips down heavier against his own, his fingers digging into his husband’s ass slightly. His grip is not harsh, but it is firm enough that his fingers press into Erik’s flesh. They part after a moment, their foreheads pressing against each other.