Work Text:
It's a Saturday afternoon in mid-September when Charles first brings it up.
"You know," he says while they're sitting around the kitchen table reading the paper, "You should take Anya apple picking."
"Don't you mean 'we?'" Erik responds. The silence that follows is enough to make him re-examine his own apple picking memories a little more closely. Uneven ground littered with apples, tree roots, holes, and narrow passage between rows of orchard trees. "Oh," he says.
"Yes," Charles says, giving Erik a look over his iPad. "Didn't it ever occur to you that there's a reason we haven't gone apple picking in ten years?"
"Well, those first two years you were in and out of hospitals and then we were in Oxford for two years and by the time we were here in New York I figured we were old and lazy enough that we could just buy our apples from the grocery store like normal people," Erik says.
Charles rolls his eyes.
"It was never about the apples, Erik," Charles says, which Erik has to admit is accurate--while they did go apple picking every year in college and the two years after, before Charles' accident, the apples themselves were the least important part. They would fill a bag they held about thirty apples that they picked from the trees, yes, but a third them ended up in the garbage some time after Christmas, long past their expiry date. Rather, it was a nice date--driving out to the orchard from Cambridge over the back roads, munching on hot cider doughnuts, wandering through the trees in the orchard, scrambling up the trees to grab apples from the very top branches. Apple picking was one of their very first dates-that-weren't-dates their freshman year of undergrad; they went with half a dozen mutual friends and snuck off to make out in one of the roped off rows of trees near the back of the orchard months before they officially decided to go out. It's a nice memory and it was a nice tradition, but so was staying up studying until three am and having sex in the shower followed by pancakes at the diner; he just assumed they'd grown up and moved on.
They have, but maybe not for the reasons he thought.
"It wasn't," Erik agrees. Then, "But--I don't know how I feel about--I mean, just me and the baby?"
"I had a lot of fun going out there with Raven as a child and some of my first memories of you are in an apple orchard," Charles says. "I want Anya to have memories like that too. We don't both have to do everything with her all the time, you know. We agreed a long time ago that it was best to be up front about my limitations. There are things I can't do and this is one of them, but it's one I'd like our daughter to experience."
Erik wants to argue with that, but he doesn't have a logical rebuttal. But I love you and I want you to be there too, may be a sweet sentiment and it's certainly one that Erik would have found difficult to put into words ten, eight, five years ago, but, ultimately, it doesn't change the fact that the tight, hilly, obstacle-laden apple orchard that houses some of their fondest college memories would be impossible for Charles to navigate in his wheelchair.
"Think about it," Charles says, leaning over to kiss the corner of Erik's mouth. "Anyway, someone's about to come in looking for smiles, so we can talk about this later."
Erik nods, spearing an orange with a paring knife on the counter behind him and floating them over to the table just as Anya scampers inside.
"Dada, can I have orange smileys?" she asks and Erik gets to slicing, putting apple-picking out of his mind.
***
For the moment.
He finds his mind drifting back to those autumn mornings spent wandering through the apple orchard with Charles, the long drives through the rustic back roads of New England, the way the air smelled, the way Charles tasted after a morning munching on apples.
It pops into his head on and off over the next few weeks, as he's sitting at his desk at work, as he's picking Anya up from kindergarten, as he's lounging on the couch with Charles after Anya's in bed. Finally, one boring Thursday morning at work, he's seized by an idea. He minimizes his Tetris game and pulls up google and spends the next four hours buried in research.
He goes home that afternoon smiling.
***
"Where are we going?" Anya asks as Erik checks the mirrors and pulls out of the driveway.
"That's a good question, darling," Charles says. He looks over at Erik, but Erik keeps his eyes on the road.
"We're going on a little adventure, peanut," he says, and when he feels Charles slipping into his mind seeking answers, he gently shuts the door and gives Charles a pointed look. "It's a surprise," he adds to Anya, his eyes still on Charles.
"I like surprises!" Anya says.
"Mm," Charles murmurs, still eyeing Erik, but he doesn't say anything else and he doesn't go snooping any further into Erik's thoughts for the rest of the drive. Erik can feel his curiosity growing, though, especially as Erik navigates through the winding back roads, finally slowing to a stop at their destination.
"Erik," Charles says quietly. The parking lot is packed with families, but there's a handicapped spot right in front of the purchase window, next to the brightly painted sign for the Applewood Family Orchard.
"So, I looked around online, and it's designed for families," Erik says. "The aisles are wide for strollers, the trees are smaller, there are clear pathways...."
"Erik!" Charles says again, and reaches across the space between their seats to take gentle hold of his jaw and pull him forward for a kiss.
Erik closes his eyes and lets Charles' love and appreciation wash over him, at least until Anya calls from the back seat, "Daddy! Are we going to get apples?"
Charles laughs when he pulls away. He pushes Erik's hair behind his ear and glances back to Anya.
"We are, darling!" Charles says. "Dada surprised us! Isn't that kind of him?"
"I like apples," Anya says.
"We're going to pick them right off the trees, peanut," Erik says. "Daddy and I used to pick apples together when we were kids, and now we're gonna do it with you."
"Right off the trees?" Anya asks.
"Right off the trees," Charles says. "You and me and Dada, all together."
It might not be exactly like their memories--Erik can see the trees from here and they look like they probably come up to his chest, for one thing--but that's the point, isn't it? To make new ones?
It's very much the point, Charles whispers in his mind. Come on, now. Let's get started.
Erik is more than happy to oblige.