Disclaimer: This is a fan-fic, nothing more or less. It deals with Magneto and Quicksilver, but has no real place in Marvel time. This story is copywrite of me, however. Ask before archiving, please.
Behind Closed Doors
It was just the kind of meeting that caused a sane person to count the corners in the room and double check the number of people attending. As immature as his cabinet was acting, Magneto was sure they all needed a long time out.
When the count came up as one person more than the number of corners, he started to imagine which one of the bickering babies disguised as grown-ups he would fling out the window. Time after time, he imagined the sight and the impressive sounding smack of flesh hitting hard cement. It was almost enough to make the meeting bearable.
Finally, just as the temptation became the irresistible apple in the garden of Eden, his son banged the gavel. With a rueful frown, he offered to send each and every one of the cabinet members a copy of ‘The Berenstien Bears Get Along' or ‘Barney Learns to Share' to study before the next meeting. Father and son exchanged a small smile as the realized that, for once, they agreed.
Magneto stood up and stretched. Strolling briskly, never stopping to acknowledge the respect he was shown, he made his way to his sanctuary. He needed his stress relief, his creative outlet. Snapping the canvas into the frame, he started the preparation.
His obsession with needlework had started out as a challenge back when he was in Israel. Could he pick up a metallic object, pull it up to maximum height, and insert it into a hole located less than half a millimeter away, a hole that was only slightly bigger than the needle itself? Once he taught himself that trick, he had gotten more and more creative, daring himself to do more colors, more complex embroidery, in less time and better than the piece before.
It was a guilty, behind closed doors treat he allowed himself only when he felt the most stressed or the most bored. During his time with the New Mutants, he had finished a tapestry. His time on Avalon, he had managed to make seat-covers for every chair in his chambers, an embroidered picture of his beloved wife, and a tablecloth just like his grandmother used to make. This project was perhaps one of the most difficult ones he had attempted, an quilt for Luna, with each of the blocks charted by himself as he went along.
Maybe he was crazy to do this, he thought as he looked down at the block he was working on and back to the picture of the Pokeman. Luna would soon out-grow her fixation on these creatures. But, dammit, it felt good to do something grandfatherly for the child he rarely saw, especially since it would also tick-off his son.
He smiled as he watched twenty small needles flying across a small piece of fabric. This was the life.