Chapter Text
Erik knew he shouldn’t be here. Charles had made that clear when he left. The options he was given were to either stay or leave. Though it felt more like he could either change every core belief he had and become who Charles wanted him to be, or leave.
And so, Erik left. As Charles bled from the bullet wound in his back that Erik put there onto the sand underneath him.
In his defense, he never knew about the baby he was leaving behind when he went. But he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. If he had stayed, he would have been doing it for his son and not for Charles.
Or maybe it would have been for both that he was staying. Would his son alone have been enough to keep him? Or would it feel like he wasn’t enough the same way that Charles seemed to not be enough?
Alas, all Erik knew now was that Charles—and the love he had for him—alone hadn’t been enough to make him stay and, for that, he hated himself a little more. It seemed as though he would always choose self-sabotage over happiness.
This was all he had now. These moments he stole in the middle of the night.
With his helmet in place, he could arrive after dark, use his powers to open the window to the nursery, and slip in with no one in the house none the wiser.
He sat in the rocking chair by the crib with the small little boy in his arm, looking down at his sleeping face. He looked so much like Charles, except, perhaps, the hair. Gently, Erik moved a hand over said soft white hair.
These moments were the highlights of his life the past few days, since he learned of the little boy’s arrival in the world. Part of him wished to come back in the day, see his son in the light, wide awake, know more of his life, what he and Charles did together, to experience all the firsts of the infant's new life but he didn’t know if he would be welcomed or not.
In fact, he was rather certain Charles would turn him away at the door and tell him to never return. The thought of being sent away and raising the guard of those who stayed with Charles after Cuba was what kept him from trying. He could live with these few moments stolen with the only blood family he has left. But what he could never handle was having it ripped away from him and not getting to see his son ever again. That was something he was certain he would fight for.
Part of him wondered how Charles never noticed that their son didn’t cry in the middle of the night, seemingly not needing to be fed or changed, or that he didn’t just wake up and not want to be alone. But Erik didn’t question it too much.
Erik could and would take care of Pietro through the night so Charles could sleep.
He would silently float them through the house—best to avoid the sound of footsteps with people like Havok in the house—into the kitchen and learn how to mix a bottle for an infant. He had even taught himself how to change diapers and calm a fussy baby.
Pietro seemed to especially enjoy the sound of Erik singing to him, he’d learned.
Seeing blue eyes open in the dim light coming from the moon, Erik smiled down at the little boy in his arms. “Hallo, mein Sohn,” He whispered, “How’s Papa’s boy doing?”
Little fists moved through the air, a soft sound came from him and Erik pressed a kiss to his head. He held the small body against his chest, humming softly as he raised himself from the rocking chair. He continued to hum until they were out of the room and risked someone else in the mansion hearing on their way to the kitchen.
The first time he had done it, Erik had expected a reaction from the boy. Flying would get his attention, right? But it hadn’t. Erik reasoned with himself that a baby only a couple weeks old probably wasn’t aware he was floating, but Erik couldn’t wait until he was at an age where he would notice. The idea of the boy smiling, giggling, and holding on warmed Erik’s heart.
But then he felt it freeze over. He wouldn’t get those moments. By then, the boy would be older. Maybe big enough to tell his daddy about the man that breaks into the house through the window every night to spend time with him.
And of course, Charles would know it was Erik immediately.
Erik wasn’t sure how long he would get these moments, but he was going to enjoy every last second that he could get.
He warmed the formula silently and then positioned it by the little boy's mouth. As he drank, Erik moved them back through the house and into the nursery.
If someone ever was up and moving about in the middle of the night, Erik was certain he could rely on his powers and hide himself and his son from sight. And if they wandered into the nursery while Erik had him in the kitchen…well, that’s why he spent as little time out of the room as possible.
Once the bottle was drained, Erik sat it down. Then, to settle Pietro, he walked slowly around the room, as quietly as possible, rubbing the little boy's back and whispering to him in German. It didn’t take long before sleepy little eyes slipped closed and Erik laid him back into the crib and he sat back on the chair next to it, just watching his son for a while longer.
When he saw the sky start to lighten, he stood, pressed a gentle kiss on his son’s head, and gathered the bottle.
“I’ll see you again tonight, Liebe,” He whispered to Pietro and floated his way through the house to hide the bottle evidence that he was ever there. From there, he was out the closest window with it closing silently behind him.
No one had to know. No one but him and Pietro, that is.