When he awoke on December 13th, it was to relief.
While he had not shifted the week before, he had to watch as Max didn't understand what was going on, as he dared to be afraid of what homo-superior could do, as he fought against the logic that what he saw was true. Max was a scientist, a man who held his doctorate in Electromagnetic Physics, and yet he couldn't comprehend the possibility that there was something else going on? Magneto was worried that he wouldn't shift, that he wouldn't be able to fix the wrong thinking plaguing Max's mind. He had woken up to find that he was back to himself, and to test the theory, he willed various metal objects in the bedroom around his fingertips, as the woman next to him slept peacefully.
Anna. Rogue. She had called him 'husband' last week, and while Rogue and Magneto had long accepted that as knowledge, he knew Anna and Max were a different story. That it causes complications beyond belief that he was almost worried he couldn't fix. How could you, after all, try to hide the knowledge of calling someone else your wife, when you knew for a fact you were not married? How could you hide the knowledge of telling someone you loved them after a long weekend in January, when you knew you didn't know them that well? Magneto had always been a man who was about getting what he wanted: there was no good and no bad, only what he wanted. Yet, he never manipulated Max past January. He had seen the damage he had done, the pain it caused Max, not being able to understand how he had felt so strongly. It was something the man would have to come to terms with on his own.
Waking up now, in a room that he didn't recognize at first, he was glad that Max was finally taking things into his own hands. It took a moment of searching memories, but he could see it now. He had considered leaving, but wanted to fight. She was glad he stayed. She said she wanted to leave, so he had replied, "Then let's leave". He had the world at his fingertips, they could get away if they wanted. So off they went. To spend time alone, to be alone, to fix the awkwardness that had threatened to pull them apart.
He remembered that when he went to bed on Saturday night, it wasn't to fear that things were falling apart. It was to that things felt stronger, that he was going to hold onto her and this as long as she would let him. He was a fighter, and with happiness finally with him, he'd fight every step of the way to keep it, even if that meant facing things that may not be something he completely comprehended. He woke up Sunday with a stronger sense of his relationship, and a relief that he was himself, he was Magneto, he was Max, he was both.
As he willed the small metal objects away, he slowly got out of the bed and walked into the kitchen, getting a cup of coffee for himself and one for her, his wife, lying in the large bed in the Cayman Island bedroom. He couldn't have picked a better location himself, and smirked. Perhaps he was rubbing off a bit on his counterpart after all. There were a few more things to fix though, including that line of thinknig that had gotten him so confused the week before. Magneto never thought he'd have to be one of those people, to write a letter to fix where his other part had gone wrong, but he reluctantly found himself putting a pen to paper. As the letter finished and the coffee got cold, he dumped the mugs and re-filled them, and headed into the bedroom.
He found her sitting up against the headboard, as he entered with the two mugs in his hands, and as he handed one of the mugs to her, he set his down. There was a moment when he didn't say anything, as he thought of what to say, of how to approach it, and she looked at him curiously, as she tried to blink away the sleepiness she still felt from waking up, and he couldn't help but note just how beautiful and peaceful she looked. Getting away from Boston was good for them. It had always been good for them to get away, it seemed they were always stronger when they were together.
A year ago, he would have never guessed that he would be in this place, here and now. That he had someone to rely on, to share himself with. Someone he could trust, as much as he trusted himself. Others viewed him as selfish, as a villain, as a man who did not compromise. She saw him for something else. She saw him as someone who fought for what he believed in, and what he felt was right - even if that had consequences at times. She saw him for who he was, not for what others tried to make him out to be.
In a large way, he knew now it was truly them against the world, that others wouldn't approve, but he didn't give a shit. People were entitled to their opinions, just as he would always be entitled to his. People were also entitled to their own happiness. She was his. She had always been his.
It was why they had gotten married in the first place.
Finally, after a moment of silence, he sat at the edge of the bed next to her. He placed his hand on her thigh, his other hand gently caressing her cheek tenderly, lovingly. Slowly, he broke into a smirk. "Well, Wife, it feels as though I have a mighty large mess to clean up."
Her reaction to his words, her excitement, her grin, her joy to see that it was him made it all worth it. "Did you just call me wife?"
The grin was contagious, and soon his grin was matching her own.
It felt good to be back.