Fic: Father
E-mail: violet147@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Nothing much, really, that needs a warning. Except I don't own anything related to Marvel. Just saying.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairing: Implied variants of Mystique, Pyro, Rogue, and Magneto.
Summary: Erik tries to figure out what sets him apart from everyone.


Erik is not a sentimental man by any means. Any penchant for sentiment died the day Magneto was born, the day his parents marched to their deaths and he was left to watch. He was only twelve then, and little boys are allowed to be sentimental at times, especially times like those. Yet Erik was no longer a little boy, hasn’t been one for a long time. Now he has the gray hair to prove it, has the wrinkles and the fading scars to go along with the tribulations of being an old man.

Yet he is no ordinary old man, not by any means at all. He has known this for a long time, but has never been able to put a finger on it, not exactly. Many would say, hello, it’s the ability to control magnetism, but that’s not it. Sure, it’s extraordinary, even by mutant standards. He is truly a god amongst insects, truly the modern day Zeus, yet that is not what sets him apart from the rest. Charles is a god, too, amongst insects, but not like Erik, and it’s not their difference concerning the human population that sets them apart either.

It is only when he looks around, at the Brotherhood, that he realizes exactly what it is that sets him apart from everyone, even Charles.

Mystique. Such a beautiful, beautiful woman. She had been but a girl when he met her, a scared, frightened, ugly girl. It was a chance meeting; he had happened to catch, out of the corner of his eye, a short, pregnant girl turn into a Chinese man. She/he walked in the store, and five minutes later walked out with bread. He had been fascinated with her and vowed to keep an eye on her.

Raven Darkholme, the mutant amongst mutant, a monster amongst people. That was what she had been when he found her. Scared and alone, having just given birth to a child more monstrous than she, having just abandoned that child, mourning and missing what she could never be for the boy, mourning for what she could never be for the world. It had taken a lot of convincing on his part to get her to come with him, but eventually she did reach up and take his hand.

“Show me who you are,” he had told her, and she was nothing short of exquisite, the colors swirling and mixing as if she were a great canvas. “They will cower before your beauty,” he had said, reaching up and caressing the scale on her cheek. “They shall love you and despair.”

Quickly she grew into the goddess Erik had known she would become, and now she is Mystique, dark, exotic, beautiful, dangerous, a true mystique. He had seen the transformation, and his heart swelled with love as he looked upon at her and the confidence in her step. She had been so afraid once; now she is invincible.

And there was Pyro. Sweet, sweet boy, such a darling, darling boy. He had been on the edge of man and child when Erik met him, an angry, confused, curious boy. It was not so much chance this time, but with one look, one look into those blue-green eyes, and Erik had seen his prince, his heir, his legacy all in one. He had been fascinated with Pyro and vowed to keep an eye on him.

St. John Allerdyce, the traitor amongst traitors, a monster amongst his own kind. That was what he had been when Erik found him. Outraged and alone, having only done what he had felt was right, having just been abandoned by those he had loved, mourning and missing what he refused to be for them, mourning and missing for the world who would take him as he is. It hadn’t taken any convincing on Erik’s part to get him to come, and he had reached up and took his hand.

“Show me what you want,” Erik had told him, and he was simply breathtaking, playing with the fire like Mozart did his piano. “They will bow before your strength,” he had said, reaching up and running a thumb along John’s bottom lip. “They shall love you and believe.”

Slowly he grew up to sit on the throne Erik had known was his, and now he is Pyro, powerful, charming, beautiful, dangerous, the only true flame. Erik had waited for the transformation, and his heart swelled with pride as he looked upon Pyro and the confidence in his eyes. He had been so angry once; now he is inflammable.

Now there is Rogue. Such a complex, complex girl. She had been much like Mystique when they first met, a terrified, lonely, sad girl. It had not been chance at all, their meeting; he had needed her to save them all, to ensure that they would take their rightful place in the world. He had been fascinated with her, and the others in her head, and vowed to keep an eye on her.

Marie D’Ancanto, the beauty amongst beauties, a monster amongst the ones she loved. That was what she had been when she found him. Insane and alone, having just absorbed too much, too soon of another mutant suffering from madness, having to abandon the morals and values that just can’t fit ALL the voices inside her head, mourning and missing what she could never be again, mourning and missing the absence of the world. It had taken a lot of convincing on the voices’ part, but finally, years later, she did reach out and take his hand.

“Show me why you’re here,” he had told her, and she was absolutely, one hundred percent sure as she touched him with her bare hand. “They will beg before your touch,” he had said, reaching down and running his fingers through the white streak. “They shall love you and crave.”

She has yet to grow into the pillar of strength he knows she will become, but she will be Rogue, strong, stable, beautiful, dangerous, a true, whole person. He will see the transformation, and his heart will swell with relief as he looks upon her and the confidence in her hands. She is still so adrift, but soon, she will be touchable.

The three of them, so powerful, so lovely, and they are not just a group of mutants gone bad. They are brother and sister, friend and teacher, lover and ally. Their bonds are deep, their love for one another deeper. Their touches mean everything, their moans are symphonies, and although they came for different reasons, Mystique for acceptance, Pyro for power, and Rogue for control, they are here because they chose him, to guide them, to teach them, to give them what the world cannot, to love them as they are. They are his. They are his Brotherhood. They are his children.

As he watches them sleep, Mystique cradling the “kids” in her arms, Pyro and Rogue holding hands on top of Mystique’s stomach, he thinks of how far each of them have come, and while he knows they all had the strength to do it alone, he realizes that he’s glad they didn’t.

This, he finally decides, is what sets him apart from everyone else. This is why he is truly a god amongst insects.

He is a father.


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