“Waffle House.” He murmured.
“Mhmm.”
He actually contemplated the idea, inclining his head with the grace of an old lion. Rogue could tell Magneto was amused by the crease of a smirk in his handsomely lined mouth.
It filled her with pride; there was very little these days to be amused by between the death and devastation that surrounded them always. Like the smoking craters by her feet, courtesy of the supervillain of the week who had decided to hold the CDC—and crucially, the rare viruses within its fortressed walls—hostage.
Frankly, it got tedious after a while. One week it was an exotic virus, the next it was aliens; she was just relieved the supervillain wasn't her lover this time. His old calling card of Magneto was still cursed on a regular basis even by the denizens of Xavier's mansion, and ostensibly his own people. Her lips thinned, dismayed all over again at how often he had to fight so bitterly for scraps of trust, but her heart lightened when his heavy reassuring hand steadied her shoulder.
“There’s one over on Cheshire.” Rogue said lightly, settling her mind by straightening the collar of his trenchcoat. She was fussin’ like a matron these days. “Easy flight, northwestish. Classic lil’ place, cute for a date night.”
“This'll be new." Erik agreed, somehow instantly gracious with a hand extended to take her own in the parking lot.
—
There were brief stares, of course.
Even out of armor and in the black trenchcoat, Erik had the presence of a general. But this sprawl of Atlanta had known far strangerness, let alone this liminal space bathed in faint yellow from the gargantuan street-sized logo, a modern obelisk of a kind. Here was where strangeness was more a comfort to lost souls like them—moths to a flame or at least the wafting smell of sizzling bacon. If anything, Erik stared longer at the black-rimmed menu above, all but memorizing the savory options like he was a little boy again deciding which ice cream flavors to choose a century ago.
“Can't go wrong with hashbrowns.” Rogue conspirably whispered, nuzzling his broad shoulder adoringly, much like the old tomcat that she had adopted once. “Waffles too. Logan would love to hear it.”
His muscular arm circled around her waist like a gentleman; not too forward, but enough her heart fluttered with the disarming romance.
“Secrets from a regular?" he whispered back, bending down with a smirk as those silver-white strands of his mane fell lazily across his brow, and she risked a discrete gesture to brush them back.
"A girl can’t tell all of her secrets, now."
—
"How d'ya think it is?"
The words came out all in a rush, but he would understand; he always did with this odd little kinship between them. Rogue's heart fluttered with fondness as she let her chin rest over tented fingertips, watching him eat a hashbrown for the first time.
“The fearsome amount of calories for an old man aside..." He gave her that winning grin, the same one that reminded her he could play the suave villain just as well as his current role of returned mentor. “Exquisite.”
(She always had a weakness for the outcasts, the villains. Earned charm tasted all the sweeter mixed with the bitterness of ruthlessness.)
Bittersweet, much like the slowly cooling black coffee between her hands. They had spent the last half hour over rapidly cleaned plates, and his reassuring broadness was framed against the vinyl red of the little chairs, almost comically so.
“Almost makes…” For the briefest moment, a sad wistful smile flickered over his patrician features, but it abruptly vanished when the pager by his side beeped almost blasphemously. Many of the other mutants had adapted to technology more quickly but he was one of the last holdouts; endearingly being the stubborn old man.
Less endearingly, his workaholic tendencies were rearing their ugly head as he glanced at the pager again as if to memorize something.
"Scott will need us soon."
"S'a date night, Erik."
Gently, she thumbed his veined hand across the linoleum table, and after a moment he caressed hers back with the edge of his fingertip. It was a start. "Now. What were you going to say?"
"You know how certain I am, Rogue. About everything." Briefly, the world weighed visibly on his lined face, and all she wanted in that moment was to share in that lonely heaviness with him. "You alone make me question my path, sometimes."
Silence stretched.
And yet—they were not afraid of silence. Of everything she loved about him, that shared trait of guarding each other’s quietude was one she held in the highest honor.
At last, when there was something she could say with honesty and love hand in hand, she murmured.
"The world is holdin’ all of us, love. Sometimes we need a reminder."
In that fractured moment, she could hear his heartbeat.
"Sometimes we do." He agreed with that low handsome voice, and time sped up once more.
The waitress came by with her matching round and steaming coffeepot in hand.
"Y'all all good?"
“Thank you, ma'am.” Erik had mastered the art of paternal charm, and it privately gave her a rush of girlish happiness to hear him turn it flawlessly on others like a statesman.
“Anytime, handsome. You lemme know if you and your sweet pea need anythin'.”
As they stood moments later, he raised an eyebrow and Rogue couldn't help but give a little giggle knowing where his thoughts were.
“S’an endearment. Like darlin’.”
"I'll have to remember that. This has been an education, in more ways than one.”
“How so?”
She was about to shoulder aside the heavy front door when his hand caught it lightly, then trailed his fingertips across her shoulder before leaning in. Whispering into the shell of her ear like it was a precious moment to be stolen.
“Knowing you.”
This time, his smile was true and just for her.