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avengerscompound · 4 years

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She Sets the City on Fire - The Idea of You

She Sets the City on Fire: A Bruce Banner Fanfic

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Square: @brucebannerbingo - C4 Clint Barton/Hawkeye

Rating: E

Warning: Age Gap, Recreational drug use (ecstasy), smut (MMF, light ds, oral sex, vaginal fingering, anal sex, vaginal sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, sex while high, squirting)

Word Count: 5923

Pairing: Bruce Banner x OFC (Summer) (Bruce Banner x Clint Barton x OFC)

Summary: Bruce is drawn to Summer. She’s everything he wished he could be. Carefree, exciting, and she knows exactly who she is. There are so many reasons a relationship with her wouldn’t work. So why can’t he stop thinking about her?

A/N: On the first chapter. Also POV change up.

12. The Idea of You

Clint wandered through the crowd, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He wore a suit that was on loan from Burberry. Which was just as well because as nice as it was with its shimmering purple blend of mohair and canvas, he felt uncomfortable in it. Even with the assurance from Tony’s stylist that he looked ‘absolutely edible, darling’.

He stopped every now and again to admire the photography. All the photos of people in various states of undress, often glistening thanks to the mist they’d been sprayed with or the oil they’d had rubbed into their skin. There’s even one of him here somewhere, though he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to see it. It had taken a lot of talking to get him to agree to sit for it and he’d felt ridiculous the whole time. The other photos were nice though. Very nice. None were what you’d call pornographic, but they sat right on that line between art and porn and he was enjoying taking them in.

He walked up to a photo standing on the far wall. Three bodies wrapped together. Two men, wrapped around a woman. Where one person started and the other ended was unclear. Clint ran his thumb up and down his cock as he looked at it, just letting it stiffen that little bit to add urgency to the desire he felt as he looked at it. He studied each figure closely. Everyone was posed in such a way that it could easily be displayed in mainstream media. It was perfectly decent, except somehow it was also completely indecent. Each body was pressed so closely to the others and wrapped around them so graphically. He studied each and every line as he absentmindedly stroked his thumb up and down his length.

The figure on the left had dark hair and was clean-shaven. His jaw was set and his eyes dark. It almost looked like he was ready to fight which contrasted to the fact he was in such an intimate position. His expression was angry and hungry. Clint’s eyes moved to the figure in the middle. She was looking to the right, her mouth parted slightly. Her mouth was almost the most pornographic part of the photo. Her lips were painted a deep red and filtered in the way that it stood out against the heavily shadowed black and white of the rest of the photo. Her lips were plump and there were droplets of moisture beading on the bottom one. Clint could imagine them wrapped around his cock. The look in those eyes of hers said she’d welcome it too. Those eyes were needy and full of lust. Her lashes were so long and thick they cast their own shadow.

Clint’s eyes moved to the next figure. And … it was Tony. He cursed himself for being such a deviate that he’d thought it was okay to just stroke his cock to a picture of his friend in the middle of a fucking charity event.

He moved away from the photo and headed down to where a large group of people was milling around drinking. His intention was to get a beer and try and forget that he was apparently a massive pervert. As he approached the bar he caught sight of Bruce and his girlfriend locked around each other. He’d known Bruce had been seeing her for a little under a year now but he had only met her once, and fuck if she wasn’t completely stunning. He’d been a little envious of Bruce ever since. It didn’t help now that Bruce was here with her and Clint was completely alone.

Bruce had his hand pushed into her fiery red hair. Hair that fell down her back in wide curls that probably took forever to perfect but just looked so naturally perfect. Bruce’s other hand was on her waist, his fingers ever so slightly digging into the bare skin visible thanks to the almost indecent cut of her iridescent dress. His face was held close to hers and he was speaking to her, but whatever he was saying was dotted with small kisses just under her ear.

Her hands were gripping the lapels of Bruce’s dark gray jacket and she laughed suddenly, throwing her head back. It was such a comfortable, natural movement and it made her just that little bit more desirable to Clint. That painful twinge of envy dug that little bit deeper. Not that he begrudged Bruce having Summer in his life. Bruce had earned that kind of happiness more than just about anyone else Clint knew. Clint just wanted that too. Not her exactly. Just that in general.

Clint turned and stalked away. He didn’t want to be around them right now reminding him of the things he didn’t have. Besides, a dangerous little thought had crept into his mind. He thought he might find somewhere quiet and indulge in the fact that he was now a lonely deviate.

He wandered down the hall trying to find somewhere private, but not too private. He eventually settled on a small alcove that led to the janitorial closet. It was dark and there was a light sculpture blocking it from immediate view.

He started to think about the woman from the photo. The red of her lips. The little beads of moisture on them. He pictured himself tasting those lips. Tracing his tongue over them. He leaned back on the wall and his head fell back, and slowly, just testing the idea out, he began to move his hand up and down his cock through his pocket.

He pictured what it would be like to have that mouth wrapped around his cock.�� How her tongue would feel rolling over his length as she gazed up at him past her long lashes.

What he was doing wasn't enough. He turned, leaning his head on his arm as he bent over a little facing the wall. He unzipped his fly, pulled his cock free from his pants, and spat on his palm. She stroked it over the head of his dick, lubricating it so it allowed his hand to move easily over his hardness. He slowly stroked his hand up and down his length as he thought about her mouth. His rhythm picked up as his breath shallowed. Precome leaked from the head of his cock and it began to throb gently in his hand. He rolled his palm over it adding the pre-ejaculate to his saliva, increasing the lubrication and allowing his fist to move quickly up and down.

“Clint?”

Clint startled and quickly tucked his cock back away. Bruce’s tone was startled and slightly confused, but there was nothing accusatory about it. “Shit, Bruce - I - I was just…”

Bruce made a choked sound and Summer began to giggle. “It’s okay. We saw.”

Clint looked them both over. Or more accurately he looked her over. She looked even more stunning up closer. Her pale blue eyes were so bright and her lips were painted the same dark red as the woman from the photo. His eyes moved down her body, taking in the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. Part of him wanted to just pull out his cock and finish what he’d already started.

She bit her lip and leaned up and whispered something into Bruce’s ear. A pink flush crept up the back of his neck and he gave a small nod. “Summer would like to know if she can finish you off.”

Clint choked on air and blinked at them. “What?” Summer moved up in front of him and raised her eyebrows as she hooked her hands into his belt. “Y - yes. Okay. Please.”

Without saying a word, Summer sank to her knees and unfastened Clint’s pants. She pulled out his cock and ran the point of her tongue up his length and swirled it over the head.

“You’ve met Summer, right?” Bruce asked as he watched them both.

Clint went to speak but the sound was strangled off as Summer took his cock into her mouth. He looked down at her. The dark red of her lips contrasted so strongly against his pale skin and she was watching him, looking him directly in the eye as she moved her mouth up and down his shaft.

Bruce cleared his throat and Clint’s eyes snapped back up to him. He had never been so confused and so turned on at once which was saying something because he was usually some mixture of both.

“I’m not sure if Tony or Nat told you, but Summer and I are in an open relationship. And you know me, Summer is a lot wilder than I am. She’s been getting me to relax and open up to new experiences,” Bruce explained as Summer bobbed her head up and down on his cock. Clint was having trouble focusing and he didn’t really know what Bruce was trying to say to him. Bruce moved, so he was blocking the space between the light sculpture and the wall and two people walked past. He smiled at them and when they were gone again he relaxed. “Where was I?” Bruce asked. “Oh, right. I feel like… well, a different person. I’m more in sync with Hulk. I feel safer trying new things out. I had thought that the fact Summer saw other people would be hard to deal with but actually, it’s almost like it takes the pressure off me to … well, perform I suppose. And then I feel safer … performing? Does that make sense, Clint?”

Clint groaned. Summer was rolling her tongue over his shaft and sucking hard each time she pulled back and it was pulling Clint apart. His breath had become ragged and his cock was pulsing in her mouth. He couldn’t stop opening and closing his hands in her hair.

“She likes to talk about having a threesome or more with other Avengers. It made me uncomfortable at first. Like I was a stepping stone to get to the rest of you. Or I wasn’t enough. But she talks about all kinds of things she wants to do. Not just that. And Clint, the list is extensive,” Bruce continued. “We’ve done a lot of them now. I didn’t think I was going to be able to originally. I thought at best I’d be this vanilla guy she went back to sometimes while she was out sewing her wild oats. But I’ve done them and I liked them. We’ve slept with other women together. We’ve had sex in public places. That’s what we were coming in here to do right now, actually. We weren’t trying to catch you. She’s tied me up. I’ve tied her up. This though, this was right up the top of her list but I had no idea how to ask any of you to do it. I mean I knew there might be some of you who would at least consider it, but … I’m me. I couldn’t ask. But here you are.”

Clint was only half listening and he couldn't quite figure out the point of Bruce’s story. He had started to move against Summer, pushing his cock just that little bit deeper down her throat. She had started working one hand up and down his perineum as she gripped his ass with the other hand. She sucked, hollowing her cheeks as she pulled back. Clint groaned and gripped the back of her head and jerked forward, coming straight down her throat. She swallowed it all, lapping her tongue up his dick like she was licking it clean.

She released him and held out her hand. Clint took it and helped her to her feet. She smiled and bit her bottom lip, her eyes twinkling wickedly before returning to Bruce’s side. Bruce put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissing her fiercely. Clint wondered if he was trying to remind him that Summer was his.

Clint tucked his cock away and zipped himself up, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it.

“So, would you be interested?” Bruce asked as he finally broke apart from Summer.

“Interested in what?” Clint asked, completely perplexed.

Summer approached him and ran her fingers up the lapels of his jacket. “Come home with us.”

It was like the whole building fell silent. That the only people there were him, Bruce, and Summer. His eyes traveled up and down Summer’s body again and lingered on her mouth. “Okay.”

She smiled and took his hand. Clint followed the two of them out of the gallery. The Avengers had a small fleet of limos waiting for them and the small group climbed into the back of one and sat pressed together on the back seat.

Summer whispered something into Bruce’s ear again and he looked at her seriously. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Please, Bruce?” She begged.

“Which one do you want?” He asked, fishing into his pocket and pulling out a small baggie of pills.

She giggled and nosed at his cheek. “The unicorn.”

He took a small pink unicorn-shaped pill from the bag and put it on his tongue. The corners of Summer’s mouth quirked up and Bruce pulled her into a kiss, pushing the pill into her mouth with his tongue. As the kissed Summer took hold of Clint’s hand and placed it on her knee, guiding it up under the slit in her dress.

“Is that E?” Clint asked, not quite believing what he was seeing. Of all his teammates he’d be less shocked to see Steve using Ecstasy than Bruce.

“It is,” Bruce answered pulling back from Summer. Summer leaned her head back on Bruce’s arm and started to play with his hair. She’d twirl it around her finger and pull the twisted sections down over Bruce’s brow.

“Can I try it?” Clint asked.

“Are you sure?” Bruce answered seriously. “You can if you want, but I know Summer and her limits. I don’t know yours.”

“I don’t have many,” Clint said. “I’d like to try it.”

Summer took the baggie off Bruce and began to sift through the ills. “You can have this yellow teddy bear and…” she squeaked and pulled out another. “There’s a purple target. It must have been made for you.” She placed them onto her tongue and Clint dived on her. Their tongues clashed and he hooked hers into his mouth snatching the tablets from her. As they kissed his hands moved further up her leg. She shifted her legs apart and linked her ankle under Bruce’s.

Bruce kissed Summer’s throat and his hands roamed over her chest. He pushed one hand into the neckline of her dress, groping her breast. She moaned and pushed into Bruce’s palm as her lips continued to move with Clint’s. Bruce grabbed the fabric on her neckline and yanked it down, tearing the fabric. He leaned in and pulled a nipple into his mouth and she arched up moaning loudly into Clint’s mouth.

Summer began to card her fingers through both Bruce and Clint’s hair. Her hips raised up against Clint’s hand and Clint began to rub her clit through the sheer lace of her panties.

Summer broke away from Clint’s mouth and kissed along his jawline. When she reached his ear, she swirled her tongue over his earlobe and sucked on it.

“I really liked sucking on your dick, Clint,” she whispered into his ear as she moved her hand down to his lap and traced her fingers over his limp cock. “Did you like that too? Is it something you’d ever thought about me doing?”

Clint closed his eyes and hummed in agreement as he thought about her mouth wrapped around his dick. He shifted her panties to the side and pushed his middle finger into her cunt right up to his knuckle. She was wet and running hot and she clenched her pelvic floor around his finger, moaning softly against his ear.

“That feels so good, Clint,” she whispered. “When we get back to Bruce’s place, I’m going to let you do so many things to me. You and Bruce can have me pretty much any way you like. I love Bruce, you know? He might be the one. But even still, I like to think about all the ways three people can fuck each other and I’m glad you’re going to be the third this time. Maybe we can start with you watching Bruce and me? He knows what I like. I like so many things you might not even expect.”

Clint was now completely hard under her hand. She outlined his cock with the soft fabric of his trousers and she ran her hand - palm flat - up and down the bulge. Clint groaned loudly and let his head drop back on the seat.

Bruce moved from Summer’s breast to her throat and he sucked on her neck, biting gently on her skin. Each time he bit down, Summer would suck in air through her teeth.

“Fuck yes, Bruce. Mark me,” she moaned, her body clenching. The muscles in her cunt squeezed tight around Clint’s finger. “Mark me so that when I next show up in the tabloids they call me a slut.”

The car pulled up in the underground garage at the Avengers’ Tower and the ecstasy started kicking in. Clint felt light and his pulse was racing. Summer had to hold her dress in place as they got out of the car and headed up in the elevator or she would expose her breast to the world. She clung to Bruce on the ride up to Bruce’s floor, rubbing her cheek on his arm.

When they got to Bruce’s floor, Clint caught her by her hips and spun her to face him. She let her ruined dress go and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her breast fell free and clint palmed it as she ran her hands into his hair, bunching it in her hands.

Bruce watched them as they just held each other, looking into each other’s eyes as they swayed back and forth, their hips pressed tightly together.

“Summer,” Bruce said gently. “Nearly there.”

She turned and laughed, covering herself again and she reached out and took his hand.

They made it to the apartment and Summer skipped through the door, letting her dress go and began unzipping it as she made her way to the stereo. Clint stood in the doorway watching her as she let the dress fall to the ground and just stood at the stereo flicking through her playlists on her phone while she danced to music that wasn’t even playing yet. He began to run his fingers up and down the soft fabric of his jacket.

Bruce walked up behind Summer and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed the side of her neck and whispered in her ear. Clint couldn’t hear what Bruce was saying but Summer makes no attempt to keep her own voice down. “Yes… I will be good… I am… Please, Bruce…” Bruce’s hand moved down her body and even though Clint couldn’t see what they were doing, he was pretty sure Bruce had started fingering her because she suddenly let out a low moan.

Bruce let her go and turned around putting his finger in his mouth. “Clint? Are you going to come inside?”

Clint shook himself and turned and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Can I get you a drink?” Bruce asked as a slow deep baseline started throbbing through the speakers.

“Yeah, uh, a beer if you have it,” Clint answered. A dreamy, hypnotic melody had joined the baseline and Summer approached Clint, swaying her hips to the music. Her hair had fallen over her breasts, and the pale pink buds of her nipples would disappear and reappear as her hair shifted with the movement of her body.

She took Clint’s hands and he could feel his pulse quicken. She led him to the couch and when they reached it, she slowly slid the jacket from Clint’s shoulder and down his arms. Her hands carefully caressed his muscular arms. When his jacket was off, she carefully folded it lengthways and rubbed her face on it, taking a deep breath in as she did. She draped it over the arm of the chair and pushed him so he was sitting and climbed into his lap.

Her hands went to his cheek and she stroked them down his neck and over his chest. “I’m kind of in love with you right now,” she said in a soft, far off voice. “But that’s not right. I’m in love with him. That feels different. I’m in love with the idea of you. Here you are but you’re not real. Do you know what I mean?”

She started to loosen Clint’s tie. Clint swallowed and his hands moved to her back. “I know what you mean,” he breathed as he thought about his jealousy over Bruce being with her despite not even knowing her. “I am in love with the idea of you too.”

Bruce came over and handed Clint his beer into his hand as he pressed a bottle of water into the middle of Summer’s back. She shivered and turned to take it. Bruce held it out to her, but when she went to close her fingers around the bottle he pulled it away again. “Don’t drink this too fast,” he said, placing it back in her palm. She unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. “Summer!” Bruce scolded, sitting down on the couch opposite them. She put the lid on the water and put it on the side table before returning her attention back to Clint. She leaned in as she and nuzzled at his neck, drawing circles on his skin with the point of her tongue as she loosened his tie.

Clint looked over to Bruce. He was sitting, watching them closely as he leaned back on the couch, his hand stroking up and down his cock through his pants. He’d taken his jacket off and his tie was hanging loose hanging around his neck while the top two buttons on his shirt were undone.

Summer took Clint’s left hand and unclipped the cufflinks. She repeated the process on the right wrist and put the jewelry on the side table next to her bottle of water. He put his beer with her water and cradled her cheek in his hand, guiding her down into a kiss. She hummed, but it didn’t sound sexual. Rather she sounded deliriously happy. Her hands traveled over his chest, flicking at his nipples and she rocked her hips against him.

“Summer. Come here,” Bruce ordered. Clint looked up in surprise. He had never heard Bruce sound so dark and demanding. The only time he could ever think it came close was when he’d threatened to kill Wanda way back when, but this - this was completely different.

Summer got up and approached Bruce. He guided her to sit in his lap, facing Bruce and moved her hair to the side so he could suck on her neck and nip at her earlobes. Summer smiled at Clint and for a moment he felt like he lost herself in those eyes. The image of her gazing up at him while his dick was in her mouth flicked through his mind and he shivered in his seat.

“Did you want him to watch?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, please,” Summer hummed as she started playing with her breasts, her nails flicking over her hardening nipples. Clint noticed for the first time that her nails were painted the same deep red as her lips. It was darker than the red of her hair and stood out in contrast to her pale skin and light pink nipples.

“What do you want, Summer?” Bruce asked gently.

“I want you to be rough,” she replied, her tongue tracing over her upper lip.

Bruce’s hand went to her throat and his finger tightened around it. His other hand bunched in her hair and he yanked her head back. “Like this? Is this what you want?”

“Yes, like that,” she mewled. Her breathing had shallowed and was coming in slightly ragged. Clint was mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest.

Bruce shoved her off his lap and pushed her face down into the couch, pulling bother her hands behind her and holding them at the small of her back. She groaned and looked over at Clint, biting her lip. Clint unfastened his belt and unzipped his fly, pulling his cock out and stroking it as he watched Bruce and Summer.

Bruce yanked Summer’s underwear down and Clint watched as Bruce fucked her with his hand. Clint tried to match the speed of his strokes with the movement of Bruce’s hand at Summer’s cunt, but the frantic speed at which Bruce moved proved to be too much.

Summer started to pant and her eyes seemed to glaze over as the sounds she made became louder and less coherent. Clint decided he wanted to move. Needed to. He had to watch more closely. There was a brief passing thought that maybe that this that’s not something you should do. It passed quickly. His inhibitions were gone, replaced with lust and a deep feeling of euphoria.

He moved behind Bruce and watched as his friend used his finger light lightning within her. Two fingers moved rapidly in and out of her cunt, before stopping and dragging along her internal walls. His thumb rolled over her clit, paused briefly to press down before swiping it quickly back and forth. Clint stroked his cock and started to moan softly, creating an undertone to the graphic sounds Summer was making.

“Oh god, yes, please, Bruce,” Summer pleaded.

“Summer,” Bruce said sternly. “You had better not come on me and ruin this suit.”

“Please, Bruce,” she cried with an edge of panic to her voice. “I won’t be able to help it.”

“I don’t own it, Summer,” he growled.

“Please. Bruce! Oh god!”

Bruce let her hands go and spanked her ass. “Alright, come for me.”

Summer’s body seemed to seize up. Every muscle tensed and she cried out, coming explosively. Clint has never seen anyone squirt quite like that before. She gushed, her fluids coating the pale grey fabric of Bruce’s suit.

“You ruined my suit, Summer,” Bruce said playfully. “I’m gonna have to pay for it now.”

Summer broke down into giggles and rolled onto her back. “I’ll buy it for you.”

Bruce moved past Clint and put his hand on Clint’s shoulder. The scent of her fluids on his hand called strongly to Clint and he took Bruce’s hand and put the index and middle fingers in his mouth and sucked on them.

Bruce smiled softly and caresses Clint’s cheek. “You can taste her from the source if you like,” he said gently. Clint let Bruce's fingers go and for a brief moment he wonders if he should be embarrassed by what he just did, but it passed quickly.

Summer watched them with her legs spread, fingering her clit. “Clint, you should kiss Bruce,” she said. She sounded like an excited child on Christmas and Clint just wanted to give her all the gifts she was so desperate to have. He looked up at Bruce hopeful that he’ll comply.

Bruce leaned into Clint and they kissed. Clint’s hand went to Bruce's jaw and stroked over his stubble. Bruce wasn’t the first man Clint had kissed, his experience was vast and varied but he’d never once imagined that he’d be kissing Bruce Banner.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Summer moaned. The men broke their kiss and Clint turned back to her. She was watching them with such an expression of pure love and joy that passed from her into him.

“I love you so much, Bruce,” she hummed.

“I love you too, Summer,” he replied. “Clint if you and Summer want…”

Clint didn’t even wait for Bruce to finish talking. He scrambled forward, pushing his pants down as he went. He dived straight for her pussy. There was no slow trail of kisses up towards his intended destination. He wanted to taste her and that’s what he was going to do. He flattened his tongue and lapped up from her entrance to her clit. She grabbed hold of his hair and held him in place as he drank from her and he used his tongue to explore every part of her cunt.

Bruce disappeared for a little while and when he returned he’d stripped himself of all his clothing except his boxers and he had a handful of condoms that he placed on the coffee table. He crouched down in front of Summer and Clint gazed up at them, watching them kiss as he used his lips to draw Summer’s clit into his mouth.

Summer groaned and let her head fall back, but she kept holding on to Bruce’s hair. “Think you might like to suck my dick?” Bruce asked.

Summer shook her head. “I want you to fuck Clint.”

“What?” Bruce asked, sounding perplexed.

“Fuck, Clint. While he’s fucking me. I want that,” she said.

“I’m not going to fuck Clint,” Bruce said. He sounded sweet and patient. Like he was used to her making unusual demands while she was high.

Clint moved, crawling up over Summer. He pressed his cock against her pussy and buried his face in her neck, nuzzling at her. She giggled and squirmed under him.

“You’d let Bruce fuck you, wouldn’t you?” She asked.

“Mm-hmm… that would be really nice being in the middle,” Clint mumbled into her skin as he ground down into her.

“Woah, hang on. Let’s just back up here one second,” Bruce said. “Clint is that what you really want? It’s not just the drugs talking?”

“He said yes, Brucie,” Summer pleaded. “Please. For me.”

“Summer, there’s consent and there’s consent,” Bruce said. “And I’ve never even been with a man before, so I need to make sure he’s not just saying yes because you’re talking him into it.”

Clint sat up and looked at him, smiling softly. The colors felt brighter and he reached over and ran his hand through Bruce’s thick chest hair. It felt so soft under his fingers and he wanted to rub his face on it. “Bruce, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve had plenty of sex with men. I’ve given it and I’ve taken it. I don’t really have a type.”

Bruce sighed and nodded. “Come on then, let’s take it to the bedroom.”

They walked into the bedroom hand in hand and Summer sat Clint on the end of the bed. She took one of the condom’s Bruce had arranged n the bedside table and rolled it over Clint’s cock. Straddling his lap she lowered herself down onto his dick slowly, her eyes closed and a look of pure pleasure on her face. When she is seated with his whole length buried deep inside her she opens her eyes and starts to rock against him. She slowly rolled her hips and raised and lowered herself in his lap. Her body radiated heat and as she moved sweat beaded over her skin. Clint marveled at the control she seemed to have of her pelvic floor. She would go from feeling soft and comfortable around his cock to feeling like she just might break it in two. She squeezed and relaxed her walls like she was trying to milk him.

She leaned in and kissed him, her tongue tracing over the corner of his lips just before she does. The kiss is broken quickly and she gestures for Bruce. He came willingly, their mouths moving together like they have that particular dance perfected between them.

Clint groaned. He was close and tempted to just finish inside her, but the love he feels for both of them is heightened and he wants them both but more than that, he wants to make Summer happy. He picked her up and moved her onto the bed and she lay back with her legs spread.

“Clint, you don't have to do this,” Bruce said gently as Clint positioned himself between Summer’s legs. “She gets these ideas…”

“I want to,” Clint replied, sinking back into Summer. “I love you both.”

Bruce rolled in a condom and lubed up his cock. Clint pulled his legs up under him and spread them a little as he continued to thrust into Summer. Bruce moved behind him and drizzled the lube straight onto Clint’s asshole, he pressed the head of his cock against it and Clint groaned as his ring muscle gave and let Bruce in.

Bruce’s cock sunk deep into him, stretching and filling his ass as he rutted shallowly into Summer, her cunt squeezing and massaging his cock. When the head of Bruce’s cock pressed on his prostate he groaned loudly. “Oh fuck, right there, Bruce.”

Clint looked down at Summer. The expression on her face was one of pure bliss. She watched both him and Bruce closely as she panted under them. Her legs wrapped around Clint’s waist and Bruce ran his hands down her calves. Clint buried his face into her neck to muffle the sound of his approaching orgasm.

Bruce ran his hands up Summer’s legs and over Clint’s back. With the drugs and the way Summer’s cunt squeezed his cock and Bruce fucked him slow and deep and their bodies moving together and how his pulse raced and her skin tasted so salty and yet sweat - it was all too much. Clint bore down on Bruce’s cock and jerked hard into Summer, coming with a loudly.

Bruce pulled out and threw his condom away. “Summer, open your mouth.”

Clint rolled off her and she moved to the end of the bed opening her mouth wide and poking her tongue out. Clint moved up beside her and looked up at Bruce. “I want it too,” Clint said, almost begging Bruce in those four small words.

Bruce groaned and pumped his shaft furiously. Clint looked up at him and watched the way the tendons in his neck pulled tight as he got closer and closer to his release. Bruce grunted and came in hot ropes, from Summer’s mouth to Clint’s, painting the both of them with his seed.

They both swallowed what they could and turned, kissing each other deeply and licking Bruce’s mess from each other’s lips.

Bruce sat down at the end of the bed and Summer pulled away from Clint and climbed up into Bruce’s lap and he wrapped his arms around her and cradled her to his chest and used a kleenex to wipe her face.

Clint got up and started cleaning himself up and looked around for his clothes. “Clint, come back to bed. You should stay so you're not alone when you crash. Especially after all this,” Bruce said, patting the bed.

Clint crawled back into the bed and lay down. “I’m not gonna freak out about it. It was good.”

“Just in case,” Bruce said. “We’ll be here to catch you.”

Clint snuggled up next to them and relaxed. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs or them or just everything, but at this very moment, he felt at peace in the world.

// NEXT

#brucebannerbingo2019 #bruce banner #bruce banner x oc #hulk #hulk fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #she sets the city on fire #the idea of you

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jamesedwinstark · 3 years

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Ok James torture post 2. This is a different story altogether, basically a "villains win" au.

Again, it's NOT canon! Just a nightmare :)

Also tw for rape and torture, of course.

Loki's threads were coming loose. She watched, the picture of disinterest, as Sin executed another row of SHIELD agents. It was as if she was seeing it all happen through a veil, repetition having turned victory into a chore.

It had only ever started as something to do. She'd gone back to fucking Victor mostly out of boredom, had joined his little cabal to annoy Thor and cause some trouble. It was supposed to be fun. It wasn't until they'd bound themselves together with ancient blood magic that Loki realized she was in too deep with no way out, but by that time it was too late to turn back without appearing weak. It wasn't without reservation that she'd tied her fate irrevocably to the most vile people on the planet. Now she really was trapped; the spell had made her dependent on the rest of the cabal for her very survival. It had also made all of them too powerful to stop.

It was just a bit of fun. They weren't supposed to be actually winning.

"I think this sends a clear enough message, what do you think?" Sin asked, turning to Loki with a wicked grin.

Loki looked over the pile of corpses in front of her. These people were supposed to be decent at their jobs. They were supposed to stop people like her. That's the way the story was supposed to go, the way it always had gone. This narrative was... unfamiliar. Wrong. It left a bitter, almost metallic taste in Loki's mouth.

"You remain as subtle as ever." Loki replied.

"Subtlety has no place in war." Sin countered, "Besides, there's no reason for you to be a killjoy. You could try to have a little fun once in a while."

Loki pouted, "I'm tired. This is boring." That was the end of the conversation.

The flight back to Castle Doom was uncomfortable. Loki was sore all over; it seemed that she ached all the time now.

A voice that sounded a little too much like her father muttered in the back of her mind. It's guilt, Loki. Look at what you've done.

He was right. The cramping had started not long after they'd captured one of the Avengers. If it had been anyone else, Loki wouldn't have cared at all, but of course it had to be James.

They'd tortured him for days, trying to get information out of him. Loki had found any excuse to get out of the castle while it happened. Even now, the memory of his screams echoing through the halls made Loki's stomach turn. From what she heard, by the end of it he was weeping openly and begging for his father like a child. They all thought that was very funny.

After that, she'd tried to help him. She’d wanted to help him. She'd had him brought to her room, let him sleep in her bed instead of the floor of Victor’s dungeon, gave him food that was actually edible, let him bathe and wash the dried blood off himself. She took care of him, and asked very little in return. It wasn't so bad, was it? It wasn't anything they hadn't done before.

Another voice, this time her mother's, answered you know that isn't true.

When he was clean Loki had wrapped a warm, fluffy towel around James’ naked body, tilted his chin up gently to look at her.

I’ll take care of you, sweet boy. I'll protect you. I'm not like them.

He’d looked so tired, and small, and Loki had been reminded of how young he really was.

I'm not like them. I love you. You still love me, don't you?

He’d said yes, and it wasn't a lie.

And... you are grateful… that I'm helping you?

James’ gaze had always been scorching, uncomfortable. He never looked at anyone; he looked through them, inside them. He burned holes into you with his eyes. After a drawn out silence. She'd cupped his face in her hands.

I love you. You said you love me. I just need you to show me…

He’d said yes, and he’d meant no. They both knew he’d meant no. Neither of them did anything about it, though. Loki took what she wanted and James was taken back to his cell. That was weeks and weeks ago now, and she hadn't seen him since. She hadn't been able to look at him.

Loki buried her face in her shoulder and bit down on her quivering lip. Sin could not be allowed to see her cry.

It had never really been about helping James, had it? She'd just wanted herself back, the parts of herself that James loved, the parts that were not tied to anything evil. He was pure, and loving him made her clean. The aches and cramps had started soon after she'd used James to clean herself.

Victor was waiting for them when they landed. He and Sin discussed the mission, which had been an unparalleled success by their estimations, while Loki zoned in and out. All she really wanted was a nap and a pile of bacon. Then Sin left and Victor laid a very cold hand against her cheek and she thought that, since he was in the mood, she may as well get a depressing orgasm as well.

Loki did an excellent job feigning interest while Victor worked in her. He could get temperamental when she didn't fawn and and moan to his satisfaction, and she just didn't feel like dealing with his moods. She wanted to get off so she could go to sleep. There were a lot of things to be said about Victor Von Doom, few of them pleasant, but he knew what he was doing in bed. Loki always came hard when they used each other.

(There was something endearing about inexperience, though. The eagerness and overconfidence of it, and Loki found herself thinking of warmer, gentler hands on her body than Victor’s while she orgasmed. Victor felt so distant, always, even when he was inside her. He didn't seem to feel anything, certainly wouldn't have shared those feelings with her if he did. Loki wondered if she was ever going to feel intimacy ever again.)

“You know that I usually appreciate the way you shape yourself, Loki.” Victor said when they were done, “But I can't help wondering who you’re trying to impress with this.”

Loki winced when he touched her breast.

“Who do I have to impress but you, my love?” Loki asked, but honestly she didn't know what he was talking about. Her breasts were exactly the same as the ones she always made for herself.

Victor's eyes narrowed behind his mask.

“It occurs to me that keeping the boy in the dungeon is a waste of resources. We have allies now who might make use of him, and there are soldiers on our side who need...entertainment.” He said, “After all, why should you be the only one who gets to play with him?”

Of course Victor was going to find out about that. This made twice now that James had fucked someone Victor felt he had a claim on. Loki swallowed bile.

“...Oh.”

When she got back to her room, Loki spent a solid half hour lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. It was getting late, but Victor’s staff would cater to her every need whenever she wanted. She activated the intercom to order herself room service.

“Good evening ma’am, would you like the usual?” A heavily Latverian-accented voice asked.

‘The usual’ was bacon with a side of sausage, and lots of it.

“Yes, thank you.” Loki said absently, and then. “Wait, and also, I want oysters. I want as many oysters as you have. And… steaks. Bring me steaks.”

“Of course, how would you like them?”

For a moment, Loki could believe what she was about to say, but she found herself unable to imagine putting anything in her mouth except… “I want them raw.”

Something was wrong with her body. Something was very wrong with her body.

Loki stood up and staggered to the bathroom, heart racing. These last few weeks had seen her sore and exhausted almost constantly, and thinking back she realized her last period hadn't been much more than a few spots of blood, as if her body was shutting down. Gods, the cabal were all so powerful now, but where was that power coming from? Perhaps the rest of the cabal were siphoning Loki's life force, and that was the source of their newfound strength. Had she been tricked? Had she been tricked?

It took a while after she reached the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. She hadn't been able to since… but this was a matter of life or death, so she forced herself to look at her own reflection.

It was... different, but she didn't look unhealthy. If anything, she looked a little less pale than usual, and she realized now what Victor had meant about her breasts. They'd gotten huge, but Loki hadn't intended to do that. Why had she unconsciously increased her cup size? She'd thought that she'd finalized the design of her female form centuries ago.

Cold sweat broke out across Loki's forehead. What if she wasn't the one changing her body? What if her body was just changing of its own accord? Bodies did that sometimes. Women's bodies did that especially, and Loki had a woman's body. She'd created it to be functional in every way, down to the smallest detail.

Her hand fluttered over her abdomen. Those details didn't seem so small anymore.

Slumping to the floor, Loki forced herself to breathe. She couldn't be sure yet, but the evidence, the cramps and the cravings, pointed strongly in one particular direction. She wasn't dying, she was-

“Pregnant.” She said, quietly, just to see how it felt. It felt true. Shit.

Statistically, the child was very likely Victor’s. He apparently liked to fuck when he was winning, and he'd been winning very often, and Loki was there and convenient all the time. In all probability, Loki was carrying a little Von Doom, and their child would be marvelous and terrible to behold. Victor would raise them in his own image, and Loki would teach them all that she knew, and they would inherit the earth and rule it like a born monarch. There was no point considering any other possibility.

That Loki might have a smiling, sensitive child with soft brown eyes was too unlikely to even think about.

Cursing, she knocked her head lightly against the wall. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd say the child was James’ no matter what. When it came to which of them would be a better father, which she wanted raising her baby, there was no contest, and it wasn't as if one needed blood to be a family after all. Victor would want tests done, though, and if the child was his he would want to have it. It would be his most prized possession, a great achievement for him, though he certainly wouldn't ever call it his greatest achievement, because he'd have to share the credit.

And if the child was James’... Victor wouldn't want them, and Loki wouldn't have to watch her baby being turned into a monster like Hela, or like what she herself had become.

James would have to forgive her.

It was pointless to consider it, but she was considering it anyway. Having James’ child bound them together in the oldest blood magic there was, and wouldn't it make him happy besides? The child would be something they could both cling to, wrap the frayed edges of their psyches around. This was a gift. This was like finding an abandoned child on the edge of a frozen battlefield; a blessing after experiencing the horrors of war.

Perhaps she understood Odin a little better now. Maybe she had helped him heal from the war, let him become the wise and fair man that most of Asgard believed him to have been. That was a nice thought, to imagine she might have made someone better. This child could do the same for her. She could be better. Gently, she laid a hand over her abdomen and imagined she could feel something moving. What would a good mother do?

Activating the intercom again, she said, “Have the Stark boy sent up to my room.”

This time she would do things right. James could rest and she could tell him about the baby. She could give him that joy, and that would be enough. He didn't have to do anything in return, they could just be happy together.

Then again, when he heard the good news, surely James would remember how much he loved Loki, and then he would want to… if he loved her he'd want to, right? The soreness in her body wasn't guilt after all, but a symptom of her pregnancy. Maybe she hadn't actually done anything wrong? She wasn't like the others, after all. She wasn't a monster. He had said yes. Besides, something good had come out of it…

Something good.

Clarity hit Loki like a lightning bolt. Frigga would have never done this, and if Loki was going to be a mother she had to be better. She had to be the person that Thor believed she could be, the person James had always believed she already was… or, he had. Before she'd forced herself on him.

That's what it had been. Loki took a deep breath. Best to accept that, best to accept what she'd done. She sucked down more air, but it wasn't enough. Her mouth filled with thick saliva, and she leaned over the toilet and vomited.

That was just morning sickness; it had to be. James was going to forgive her. James always forgave her. He could forgive anything, and Loki would not hurt him again. Not like that.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

<><><>

(This next story is set a few years later, after the cabal have taken over most of the world, and have set up their home base in the Avenger's tower. Other supervillains have joined up, and they all pass James around and torture/rape him. Also Tony has also been captured and James keeps him in a magically induced coma so he doesn't have to think about what's happening.)

<><><>

The dolls were fighting. Saga yelled all the insults she had recently learned, imagining they were being said by the two little figures she had clutched in her fists. Finally, when she was satisfied that the argument had reached its peak, she took the smaller of the dolls out of the dollhouse and threw him against the wall to punish him. He smacked it hard and his arm snapped off.

“Oopsie!” Saga gasped, but it was alright. Mother would fix it. She retrieved the two pieces and put them in her wagon. Broken or not, the doll still wasn't allowed back in the dollhouse, even if he banged on the door and cried and begged to be let back in.

She put the other doll to bed so that the story could progress, but before anything more could happen, her mother came into her room and interrupted the game. Mother was wearing his armor, and if Saga looked at him from the right angle she could see all the purple halos coming off of it. She'd asked her parents what the purple halos meant, but neither of them could answer her. They didn't know what she meant, though Saga felt that her questions were more than clear.

“Precious, Mother needs to take care of some things. You've got to come with me, alright?” He explained. But Saga wasn't done playing.

“No thank you.” She answered, and it occurred to her that now was a good time to have her doll fixed. Taking the broken pieces out of the wagon, she handed them to her mother. “Fix please.”

Mother crouched down to Saga’s level. “Saga, be gentler with your toys.” He chided before taking the pieces and waving his hand over them. They shimmered green for a moment and then the doll was whole again. Mother put the doll in bed with the other one, which wasn't right, but things changed so quickly that Saga supposed it didn't matter. “Now, be a good girl and come along. I promise it will only be a little while and you can come back to your game.”

Well, Saga did want to be a good girl. “Okay.” She agreed, and Mother picked her up and walked out the door.

Saga very rarely left home, so the rest of the tower felt strange and unfamiliar. Saga loved it though. It was like an adventure every time, and she got to meet her mother’s friends sometimes. A few were very nice to her.

As Mother walked down the hall, Saga spotted Hyperion and Amora walking by in the opposite direction. She waved excitedly to them, and each of them smiled and waved back.

“Loki, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages.” Amora cooed. “You’re always holed up in your room these days.”

“This one keeps me very busy.” Mother replied, nodding his head towards Saga.

“She's getting so big.” Hyperion said and then, addressing Saga, continued, “aren't you missy? Gonna grow up big and strong like your uncle Hyperion?”

Saga nodded vigorously raised both hands above her head and announced “Very big! Like my mumma!”

The adults all laughed. Saga liked when they laughed. It meant they liked her.

“You need a break, Loki. Come to the party tonight.” Hyperion said.

Mother pulled Saga a little closer and said, “I'm afraid, since my babysitter is the guest of honor at those ‘parties,’ I'll have to decline.”

“And you get plenty of one-on-one time with the boy, don't you?” Amora said, “We all wonder just what it is you do to him that takes hours and hours every night.”

“You’ll have to continue wondering.” Mother replied, and he was really holding Saga uncomfortably tightly now. She started to squirm out of his arms, but he was too strong. “Now, if you don't mind, I think Victor will have my head if I'm late for another strategy meeting.”

Saga waved goodbye as Hyperion and Amora went on their way. Mother took her into the elevator, and Saga gazed happily at the purple threads that seemed to pulse from every inch of the elevator’s surface. She had to keep moving her head, because she really could only see them out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed at them, but as usual they just slipped through her fingers like water in the sink. She wanted to touch them very badly, though.

“Saga, when Daddy gets home tonight we’re going to be extra good to him, do you understand?” Mother said suddenly.

That was confusing, because Saga was always extra good, but she said “Yes Mumma.” anyway, just to be agreeable. She hoped Daddy would play his guitar and sing with her when he got home, but sometimes he was too tired. Mother said to always let Daddy rest when he gets tired, but Mother didn't always obey that rule himself, so Saga didn't quite know what she was supposed to do.

They arrived at a set of big doors and Mother put Saga down. While they were both on the ground, he took her by the shoulders and said, seriously, “When we go in there you have to be very quiet and let Mother work. You can let me know if you need to be changed, but otherwise please don't interrupt. Can you do that for me?”

“I be good.” Saga assured her mother, earning herself a big smile and a kiss on the forehead. Then Mother stood and passed through the big doors, Saga following close behind.

In the middle of the room was a large table with projections emanating from it. Mother was trying to teach Saga the difference between magic and technology, but she couldn't tell yet whether the projections were holograms or illusions. Around the table stood some people Saga recognized: Mr. Osborn and Ms. Schmidt and that Mandarin man, plus some people Saga hadn't seen before or whose names she had forgotten. At the head of the table, in his very big chair, sat Doom. Mother talked about Doom all the time. He seemed to glow purple.

The group were all deep in discussion, but everyone turned to look at Mother when he walked in.

“You've started without me.” Mother observed as he led Saga into a corner and sat her down.

Saga watched Mr. Osborn’s face crinkle up. “You brought your girl?”

Mother summoned, seemingly out of thin air, a coloring book and some crayons, a juice box and a bag of animal crackers, which he laid in front of Saga. “It's called parenting, Norman. Some of us like to give it a go now and then.”

With that, Mother stood and headed towards the table. “What fresh hell has the General decided to send us this time?” He asked. One of the other adults answered him, but she used too many words that Saga didn't understand so she stopped listening and got started coloring a picture.

She flipped through the book until she found a picture of a kitty flying an airplane. She grabbed a blue crayon in her fist and started filling in the sky. Both Mother and Daddy liked it when she colored outside the lines, which was good because that was really all that Saga could do. She wanted the kitty to be yellow but the color seemed too faint, so halfway through she switched it to orange. The airplane she colored in gray, and added in the purple lines she knew airplanes had, because she had seen them flying overhead and felt the tingly sensation they radiated. She didn't know why she always had to add in the purple lines herself.

The picture had come out really well, and Saga itched to show it to someone. She glanced over at her mother, who was getting angry with one of his friends, and remembered that she wasn't supposed to talk to him unless she had a dirty diaper. She tried to make pee so she'd have an excuse to get attention, but nothing came out.

It dawned on her that this would make a really good gift for Nonno. He always liked to see her pictures, and even kept some next to his bed. He couldn't look at them very often because he was almost always asleep, but he said he liked knowing they were there. She would give him this picture and then he would tell her silly stories about when Daddy was a baby. Maybe he could explain what the halos were. He had a purple bloom sprouting from his chest, so he had to know.

After gathering her things, Saga set out on her journey. She made sure she was quiet when she left the room and shut the door behind her. Mother had told her to stay quiet, and she was a good girl. She started down the hall, but it didn't take very long before she realized she didn't really know where Nonno’s room was, or even if she was on the right floor. Sitting heavily on the ground, Saga sipped her juice thoughtfully. Whenever Daddy took her to see Nonno, they went down in the elevator and headed south, more or less. Mother had already taken her down in the elevator, so if Saga went south she'd find Nonno. That made sense.

Her plan in her mind, Saga followed along the paths that went north and south. The hallways were so long, and everywhere looked the same. It was so frustrating.

Looking at her crayons, Saga remembered one time when she had drawn a picture on her bedroom door and Daddy had made her sit with him while he scrubbed it off.

“When you do this, Daddy has to clean it up.” He'd explained. She remembered how battered and bruised his face was.

“Ouchie.” She'd said, pointing at him.

“It's ok, Princess. It looks worse than it is. Now, be a good girl and don't draw on the walls anymore.”

“Okay Daddy.”

Saga took a few of her crayons and started scrawling on the walls. If Daddy had to clean this up, that meant he'd have to appear, and then Saga could make him take her to Nonno. Mother would think she was so clever if he knew about her foolproof plan. She could tell him later.

As Saga drew, she thought about Daddy's angry bruises and bandaged arms, and wondered why it was only Daddies who came home with ouchies and not Mothers or little girls? She never really got a good answer to that question.

A distant sound of laughter and applause pulled Saga out of her thoughts. If there were people, she could ask for their help finding Daddy. No, wait, she'd been looking for Nonno. Either way. Adults liked her. They would help her. Maybe they'd want to see her picture too. She followed the sound of voices, even though it meant she wasn't going south anymore. As she got closer, she realized just how loud they were being. Maybe this was the party Hyperion had been talking about? Saga hoped so. A party sounded like fun. She could have cake.

Saga found the room that the party was in, but it didn't look much like a party. It was just a bunch of adults sitting or standing around in groups and talking. She didn't see any cake, but it seemed like a good idea to keep looking. Nobody noticed her when she wandered in, but that was okay. She wanted to find somebody she recognized before asking for help.

There was another room attached to the main one, but there wasn't any cake there either. It was just a bunch of adults sitting at a table playing a card game. The table also had a bunch of funny looking things on it that Saga couldn't identify. Some had halos. Most didn't. She recognized Mr. Hammer there, and Amora too, but what really caught her attention was who was under the table.

“Daddy?” Nobody heard her. Curious, she stayed in the doorway and watched what happened.

Daddy was wearing pretty lace stockings and gloves, like a lady in a movie, but he didn't have any other clothes on. That was silly. Saga could see more cuts on his chest that she'd never known about before. He also had bracelets with shiny chains that connected to each other, to match the thick necklace he always wore. All his jewelry had halos. His eyes were closed, and Saga thought maybe he was sleeping.

“Three of a kind! I win!” Mr. Hammer announced. As soon as he did, Daddy’s eyes popped open. Mr. Hammer whistled and snapped his fingers. “Here boy.”

Daddy crawled over to where Mr. Hammer was sitting, like he was playing pretend he was a doggy. He looked up and smiled, and Saga felt so relieved. It's just a game. Daddy is happy. Daddy is ok.

“What kind of reward would you like, Justin?” Daddy asked. In answer, Mr. Hammer pulled Daddy up by his hair and ran a thumb over his lips.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth to good use. How does that sound, Baby?”

Daddy kept smiling, “That sounds amazing, thank you. I love to suck you off.”

Amora tossed cards around the table, “It's so creepy how you make him pretend to like it.” She said.

Someone Saga didn't recognize added, “You're missing out on the best part: when he begs you to stop.”

“Nah, the best part is after, when I go tell Tony what the inside of his son's throat feels like.” Mr. Hammer replied. Saga didn't see what happened exactly, but Daddy put his face in Mr. Hammer’s lap and he gasped.

The adults talked about something while they played their game, but Saga was watching Daddy. Why didn't he get to play too? They needed to share and take turns. That was how friends played.

“Round’s over, Hammer. You gotta finish up.” Somebody said finally.

“Yeah, I'm almost-” Mr. Hammer sputtered out before making a weird sound and sighing, “Yeah.”

Daddy sat back. He was still smiling. “Thank you Justin. You're so wonderful.”

“Creepy.” Amora insisted.

“Hey, your boyfriend’s the one who wanted to have his goddamn baby. That's creepy. I just know what I like.”

“If you're done, it's my turn.” The man Saga didn't recognize, the one who said the best part was being asked to stop, stood and, reaching under the table, dragged Daddy out by the chain binding his wrists. Daddy wasn't smiling anymore.

“Don't break him, Bulls. It's still early.”

“Yeah.” Mr. Hammer agreed, “Break him later.”

“It takes all my willpower to shove things up his ass instead of through his skull. Be thankful.”

The bad man bent Daddy over the table and selected the largest of the strange objects. He took the object and arranged it in some way Saga couldn't quite see. Daddy saw what it was and started to cry, and Saga cried too. If the game wasn't fun for everyone, they needed to stop playing. They weren't being nice.

As soon as she began to cry, Daddy's eyes widened. He started looking around frantically.

“Wait! Wait, please. Saga’s here somewhere, I feel her, she's-”

The bad man didn't wait. He thrust forward and Daddy screamed.

Saga had never heard a sound like that before. He screamed and screamed, not making any words. Just communicating raw, unbearable agony in the only way he could.

Then she was screaming too. Saga wailed “DADDY! DADDY!” and curled in on herself, clenching her eyes tightly shut. Mother had never ever made Daddy scream like that.

“Oh shit, get the brat out of here!”

Suddenly, Saga was keenly aware of every fiber of purple light, which before had been so hard to see even with her eyes open. Unthinking, she reached for them and they slithered into her grasp. The bad man had the light inside him, in his arms and legs, but Saga was holding the light. It had to stop. The screaming had to stop. He was hurting Daddy.

There was a crunch, then someone else was screaming.

“Holy... shit.”

“Well, that’s a buzzkill.”

“Christ, somebody call medical.”

People rushed around her, their footsteps frantic. Saga’s eyes were still closed and she was still screaming when she felt herself being picked up and carried away. She thrashed to get free. Who was taking her? Was it the bad man? Was he going to hurt her too?

“DADDY! DADDY HELP!” She wailed, but if her daddy couldn’t save himself, how would he save her?

“Shh, shh Love. It’s me. It’s Mother.” Saga felt gentle hands stroking her hair. She opened her eyes. They were back in the hallway, she and her mother, but Daddy wasn’t there.

“Daddy?!” She pleaded between choking gasps of air. Her throat ached from crying.

“Daddy is alright, Precious. Daddy is fine.”

“NO!” How could Daddy be fine and scream like that? Why didn’t Mother understand? “Bad- bad man! Mumma, please! Stop- help- he screaming.” She didn’t know how to say what she needed to say, so she just threw her head back and wailed.

Mother bounced and rocked her, humming soothingly, but it was no use. Saga needed Daddy. The bad man would get her unless Mother did something, unless Daddy was safe. Why was this happening? She could hardly breathe. Everything was going dark.

No, not dark. Green. Shimmering green. Her throat burned. Had she been crying? She’d gone to the party and then… something had happened, and Mother had carried her out, sobbing. Because there was no cake. It was a bad party because there was no cake.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful, smiling girl.” Mother cooed. He handed Saga a fresh juice box.

“Want cake.” Saga demanded.

“Alright. Alright. Darling, precious, sweet little girl. We’ll have cake at home. Doesn’t that sound nice? It’ll be all better.”

Saga drank her juice. It felt good on her sore throat.

“Loki!” Saga heard someone hiss. She looked down the hall to see Amora headed towards her. She was angry. Saga buried her face in her mother’s neck.

“I know I need to watch her more carefully. A lecture is a waste of both our time.” Mother snapped. Saga tensed. She wanted to go back to her room.

“Are you feigning ignorance, or did you truly not see what she did to Bullseye?”

“Don't be absurd. Saga didn't do that. She's a baby.” Mother insisted. Saga didn't understand. Was she in trouble?

“A baby with mutant blood.” Amora said, then, after a pause, asked, “Why did you tell her that Stark is her father?”

“What?”

“She called him ‘Daddy.’”

Daddy? Where was Daddy? Saga needed him very badly, or… she thought she did. She couldn't remember now.

“Doesn't she have a right to know?”

“He's a toy, Loki.” Amora said, “Please tell me that you don't take him to your room every night to play at being a family. Like Hammer making him act like he's in love.”

“I am not like Hammer.” Mother seethed. Saga felt him lurch forward, imposing himself into Amora’s space.

“Loki he can't love you. You must know that.”

Were they still talking about Daddy? Daddy loved Mother very much. Why would Amora think he didn't? They must be talking about somebody else.

“I… I don't need him to love me. Of course. He is, as you say, a toy.” Mother explained. “I only need a nanny, and the boy is more cooperative when he gets to call it parenting.”

Amora laughed, “If you insist.”

“It's late. I want to take my daughter home.” Saga felt her mother sidestep around Amora and head back down the hallway.

“Doom’s going to want to know why our best assassin is getting scraped off the floor right now.” Amora called after them. “You might want to start coming up with excuses.”

They went home in silence. Mother ordered some cake for them as soon as they got back. Cake would be good. It would be like a party. She hoped Daddy would come home soon, and they could all have cake and have a party together.

Saga frowned. That didn't seem right. Something made her think that Daddy didn't like parties very much.

<><><>

“I'm sorry! I’m sorry! I'm sorry there's so much blood! Oh no, oh no.”

The strained voice of her daddy woke Saga up. Her tummy started to flutter uncomfortably, and she hid her head under her blanket and clutched her Bunny.

So softly that Saga could barely hear, Mother hissed, “I'm trying to stop the bleeding. Stop screaming, you'll wake the baby.”

“I don't wanna die, Loki!” Daddy cried, “Please don't let me die.”

A loud sob shook Saga’s body, and she buried her face in her pillow to stifle the sound. It would only get worse if she started crying. It always got worse if she started crying.

Her parents were speaking more quietly now, which was a good sign, but it meant she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Was Daddy going to die? Saga didn’t even want to think about that, about never seeing her daddy again, about having nobody to sing to her or play with her. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard Daddy walk towards her room with uneven steps, but instead of turning into his own room, he stopped. Quietly, her door opened.

“I know you're awake, Princess.” Daddy said. He sounded sleepy. Saga pulled her blanket tighter around herself.

The bed dipped as Daddy sat down on it. “You don't have to be scared. Everything is ok.”

“Don't die.” Saga pleaded.

“That's.. you heard that, huh?”

Saga just whimpered in reply.

“Come out from under the blanket, Saga.” Daddy coaxed, “You’ll overheat.”

Sniffling, Saga crawled out from her cocoon. Daddy was right, it had been too hot in there. She sucked in a breath of cool air, and the squirming in her tummy settled.

“You said-” Saga began, but started to cry before she could get the words she wanted out.

Daddy lifted the blanket and climbed into bed next to her, gently shifting her stuffed animals as he did so. “I know what I said, but it's ok. It's nothing you have to worry about.” He hugged her gently, and she nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. All you have to worry about is being a happy little girl. Can you do that for me?”

Saga shook her head. She was too scared to be happy.

“Well, that's ok too.” Daddy said as he rubbed her back soothingly. “But you'll feel better tomorrow, Princess. We’ll all feel better tomorrow.”

Like magic, Saga was completely calm again. She closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to the sound of her daddy softly singing.

When Saga opened her eyes again, her room was flooded with light, and Daddy was gently snoring next to her. She rolled over and tapped him lightly.

“Wake up Daddy.” She whispered.

Daddy scrunched up his face.

“Daddy! Wake up time.” Saga insisted. She patted him on the chest, more roughly this time. “Daddy! Good morning Daddy!”

“Saga… ugh.” Daddy groaned. “Good morning. Please go bother your mother.” With that, he rolled over.

There was nothing else Saga could do. She hopped out of bed and made her way down the hallway and into the kitchen to bother her mother.

Mother was a girl again today. She was already eating breakfast, which for her consisted of mostly piles of bacon and sausage, served in the shiny metal trays that appeared with food every day and then disappeared without a trace. The threads of purple light surrounding the trays caught Saga’s eye, and something like a memory of a dream tickled the back of her mind. She’d been able to touch the light before… in that dream…

“Good morning, Sweetie.” Mother tittered with a smile when she saw Saga walk in. “I need to talk to Daddy. Is he awake?”

“He won’t.” Saga replied.

“Won’t what?”

Saga sighed, “Won’t wake up. He sleeping and sleep and…” She huffed. “Not get up.”

Mother’s eyes widened like she was about to be slapped in the face. She practically leapt from the table and dashed across the kitchen, brushing past Saga without a glance. Saga followed after her.

“No. Oh no no no. James? James?!” She called out, rushing into Saga’s room. Daddy was there, sitting bolt upright in the bed.

“Honey, honey it’s ok.” He blurted out. “What’s going on?”

“Saga said you wouldn’t wake up and I thought…” Mother sunk onto the bed. “Of course... you’re just tired, aren’t you my love?” She sighed and, cupping Daddy’s jaw in her hands, gently kissed him all over his face.

Daddy closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“There’s coffee in the kitchen. I’ll take care of Saga.” Mother offered, smoothing Daddy’s hair. “I need to talk to you, and it can’t really wait any longer.”

Without opening his eyes, Daddy nodded. Mother gave him another kiss, then turned around and focused her attention on Saga. Knowing what was coming, Saga reached up her arms and allowed herself to be scooped up by her mother and carried into the bathroom.

When Mother changed and dressed her, it was much quicker than when Daddy did it. Mother simply waved her hands and Saga had a new diaper and her pajamas became playclothes. Still, when Daddy dressed her, she got to pick what she wore. Today, Mother chose a red dress, but Saga wanted blue.

“No this please.” She said.

Mother just handed Saga her toothbrush. “It's fine, Saga. Mother’s in a hurry.”

Saga pouted and made sure to do a bad job brushing her teeth. That would teach Mother a lesson. The only problem was that Mother didn't notice. Was this lack of attention tantrum-worthy? In the time it took Saga to consider whether or not to scream, she found herself hauled out of the bathroom into the kitchen and plopped into her high chair. The moment had passed.

Daddy was already in the kitchen, sipping his coffee with a soft smile on his face. The smell of coffee was so soothing; it always made Saga think of her daddy. After situating Saga in her chair, mother walked over to Daddy and lightly stroked his face.

“It's so nice to see you smile, my darling.” She said.

Daddy sighed. “I get that these aren't ideal circumstances, but all my… appointments... were cancelled.” He laughed, but it didn't sound like he thought it was funny. “I get the day off.”

“I know.” Mother answered as she started piling eggs and toast and bacon into a plate, “I'm going to do my best to keep you reserved all day so you can watch Saga. I need to smooth this over.” She thrust the plate in front of Daddy. He frowned.

“Hon, I don't-”

“You will not starve yourself while you're watching my baby.” She warned. “I'm not coming home to that again, James. Don't you make me.”

Daddy took a bite of toast and chewed it slowly. Was that how people were supposed to eat toast? Saga may have been doing it wrong this whole time.

“Please.” She said, reaching for the toast. She had to practice.

Immediately, Daddy cut up some toast and, for some reason, bacon into manageable pieces and left them for Saga on her tray. He also supplied her with a handful of raspberries. She went for the toast, though. If Daddy had toast, that's what Saga wanted.

“Is that good, Saga?” Mother asked, sitting down at the table. “Do you like that?”

Saga scrunched up her face. Didn't Mother realize she had to concentrate?

Mother turned to Daddy. “What is that face? What does it mean? Does she want something else?”

“Honestly, she's just really determined to eat toast.” Daddy replied, laughing. He always understood.

Mother smiled, but her smile faded almost immediately. “We have to blame somebody else for what she did yesterday. Nobody can know that she's…”

“So we’re sure?” Daddy sat up straight and leaned closer to Mother. “We're sure it was her? Couldn't it have been someone else?”

Mother shook her head, “Amora saw where the spell came from. Luckily for us she did and started telling everyone about it, or you would have been blamed.”

Saga was so tired of chewing toast. She opened up her mouth and let it splat onto her tray. The toast had been a failed experiment. Saga moved on to the raspberries, which she knew would be good.

“No way! They all think this collar inhibits my powers.”

“And how long would it take them to figure out that it really doesn't?”

“She's not even three…” Daddy said. He glanced over at her and noticed the toast mush on her tray. “Saga, when you put something in your mouth you have to finish it.”

Saga disagreed. “No.”

Daddy shot Mother a pleading look. She just laughed. "She's right, Love. She doesn't have to."

Exasperated, Daddy looked out into the distance for a second.

"It's polite, Princess." He clarified.

"Okay Daddy." Saga said, but she really had no intention of being polite. She scooped up a handful of berries and shoved them into her mouth. Mother and Daddy both watched her, their faces grim.

"That's roughly what Bullseye looks like right now." She said, indicating the berry mush in Saga's hands. To help mother emphasize her point, Saga showed off her hands, made purple by the juice. A blob of red slid off and splattered onto her tray. Her parents winced.

“She crushed his bones…” Daddy said very quietly. “They were reinforced with adamantium. I couldn’t even bend adamantium on my best day.”

“I don’t think she went for his bones despite the adamantium.” Mother replied, “I think it was because of the adamantium.”

“You think she’s like…”

Mother nodded.

Daddy seemed to think for a moment. "It's a miracle Bullseye's still alive."

"I'm not sure he'd agree." Mother said. Her mouth twitched up into a smirk.

"Loki, this isn't funny."

Mother huffed and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "He deserves it, doesn't he?"

Silent, Daddy stirred his uneaten eggs around on his plate.

“We have to discredit Amora and find a scapegoat.” Mother said after a long pause. What was a scapegoat? Saga tried making the word.

“Skake… spape… sapetote.” No, that wasn’t quite right. Why were words so hard? Grown ups didn’t seem to have any trouble. In frustration, Saga picked up her toast mush and threw it on the ground.

“Saga don’t throw your food.” Daddy said. Saga pouted.

“Let her do what she wants.”

“...Yes Dear.”

Triumphant, Saga tossed a few of her berries off the side of her tray, letting them hit the floor with a satisfying splat.

“Bullseye had plenty of enemies. A scapegoat is gonna present itself.” Daddy continued as if nothing had happened. That word again, what did it mean? Saga knew what a goat was…

“What skatepope?” She asked.

“Eat your breakfast, Sweetie. Mother will explain later.” Mother answered without looking away from Daddy.

“Everybody probably has their own theory about what happened. We just have to make sure His Doomliness believes literally anybody besides the person telling the truth.” Daddy went on. “Which won't be too hard since in this case truth really is stranger than fiction.”

Mother smiled. “Have I mentioned I love seeing you get devious?”

“I know you mean that as a compliment-”

“It is a compliment.”

“We’re scheming to get somebody ki- ah, in trouble,” Daddy glanced Saga’s way, “for something they didn't do.”

Mother rubbed her face like she was tired. “Surely you of all people must understand that every single one of them has got it coming.”

Daddy sighed and closed his eyes, and Saga thought he must have fallen asleep sitting up again, until he said, “We’ve all done terrible things to get here, Loki.”

Mother stood suddenly, and she looked so angry that Saga thought for sure she was going to hit Daddy. Tears welled in Saga’s eyes, but she knew crying would make things much worse, so she struggled to keep her mouth closed. However, instead of reaching over the table and smacking Daddy across the face, Mother clapped a hand over her mouth and walked away until she was leaning against the kitchen counter, her back turned.

Finally, Saga couldn’t help herself anymore. She started whimpering and gasping, still trying to keep the crying in but being unable to do so. The more noise Saga made, the tenser her mother’s shoulders got, the lower she hung her head. She was going to get so angry and hit Daddy, and it would be all Saga’s fault for crying and making her mad, and Saga just couldn’t seem to stop and it was getting worse every second-

“Oh, Baby Girl. Shhh, it’s ok.” Daddy’s soothing voice cut through Saga’s panic. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Princess. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I worry. I scared.” Saga explained, “Mumma mad and I think you get owies again.”

When she said that, Saga saw her mother’s shoulders start shaking.

“No, no owies. Don’t worry. Don’t cry.” Daddy smiled widely at her. That had to mean that everything was okay. Saga's breathing started to even out, and Daddy leaned over and kissed her on her forehead. “Eat your breakfast sweetie, it’s ok.”

Then, Daddy stood up and walked -limped actually- over to Mother and very carefully laid a hand against her arm.

“She thinks I'm a monster.” Saga heard her mother whimper.

“You're not a monster, Honey.” Daddy gently stroked his hand up and down Mother's back. “Your daughter thinks you're the be all and end all, ok? I do too. I didn't mean to make you feel bad.”

Mother knocked Daddy's hand away. Don't worry. Don't cry.

“Then why did you say that?” She whirled around and snapped in Daddy's face. He didn't even flinch.

“I meant me too.” He sighed. Mother bit her lip and fidgeted with her hands then, and Saga didn't know what she would do until she reached for Daddy's shoulders and pulled him to her, cradling him against her chest. She whispered into his neck, and Saga thought she heard her mother say “It's not our faults. We're trapped. We don't have a choice.”

Daddy didn't move until he finally pulled himself out of Mother's arms. “You're a dame?”

Mother tittered, and Saga knew that meant everything would be fine for now. “Oh darling, it really is sweet that you genuinely don't notice.”

As if unsure, Daddy reached out to touch Mother's body, but he pulled his hand back at the last second. His body completely rigid, he clenched both fists against his thighs.

“This is for Victor.”

“We both have to do what we have to do.” Mother said, brushing past Daddy and leaning over Saga’s high chair. She took a knife from the table and spread some of Saga’s berries over her toast. “You've got to eat, Princess. Don't you want to get big and strong? You come from a long line of warriors, you know.”

“Okay Mumma.” Saga agreed, and put some toast in her mouth berried-side first, getting her face sticky with sweetness.

Mother smiled down at her and without turning around she said “I can hear you pouting from over here. So cute that you still get jealous.”

Daddy worked his jaw. “Victor Von Doom has made my life a living h- has tried to make my life hellish for over three years now. That fact that you'd take him to bed is… I wouldn't call it jealousy.”

Mother sighed and cleaned some of the juice off Saga’s cheeks. “I don't want to.”

Daddy curled in on himself and Mother went to him. She gently cupped the side of his face. “You know I only want you.” She said.

Eyes wide, Daddy looked Mother up and down. “You- like this? Like…” he gestured to her body.

Mother cocked her hip. “Well, why not?”

“Oh, Honey you know I love you. I wanna be with you.” Daddy's eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, “I’m just… saying. Last time we did that like this we ended up getting a little surprise.”

Then both Saga's parents stopped and glanced her way. She waved to them.

“Not a bad surprise, though.” Mother said after a pause.

“... Loki what are you saying?”

“Just that she's getting to be a certain age, and sibling relationships can be so beneficial…”

Daddy clapped a hand over his mouth and slumped against the kitchen counter. “Hon. I know we do a good job playing house,” Mother flinched, “for the baby but I don't- do I? Do I have to remind you what happened yesterday?”

“Don't you patronize me.” Mother was getting that tone again. The bad tone. Saga put more toast in her mouth, because Mother has asked her to and maybe if she was good then nothing bad would happen.

“I didn't think I had to but,”

“I know that if I got pregnant again,”

“Then you started talking crazy about having another baby,”

“Victor would have to let me take you away somewhere.”

“Like we're not on thin ice already.”

“He wouldn't be able to stand it!”

“Victor Von Doom does not send people who displease him to live quiet lives in Norwegian villas.” Daddy said finally.

Mother frowned deeply. “Fine.” She said. “Then we won't make love when I get home. Assuming I remember to keep you booked all day.” With that, she stormed out of the room.

“You know I'm right about this.” Daddy called after her. The only answer he received was the loud, jarring slam of the front door. Saga’s toast fell out of her mouth and landed berries-side down on her tray. Everything was going wrong this morning. Saga couldn't take it. She started to cry again.

“Oh, baby girl I'm sorry. Did the loud noise scare you?”

“Toast!” Saga wailed, pointing to the food on her tray. She didn't eat her toast right and then Mother had been angry and made a loud noise and those things had to be connected. Why couldn't Saga just be good enough to make things go right?

“It's just toast, Saga, pumpkin.” Daddy cooed, “You can have some more. You can have anything you want. Oh, gee whiz look at us. Your mother and I forgot to get you anything to drink. How about some juice and fresh toast? Would that make you feel better?”

It wouldn't but Saga nodded. Daddy sighed, and Saga didn't think he was fooled.

“Juice and toast… and after, how about a bath? You won't even remember why you're sad anymore.” Daddy insisted sleepily. “We can go to therapy with your rubber duck. Contemplate the bubbles. Get pruny like an old man. Sound good?”

“Okay Daddy.” And it did sound good. Maybe today would be okay after all.

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imhereforbvcky · 5 years

Text

Vivid - Part 2

Masterlist - Series Masterpage

Summary: Have you ever met someone who completely embodies a color? Not an aura, not synesthesia. Just… They walk into the room and when you spot them, you think to yourself, “Wow. That is a walking hurricane.” When Clint Barton serendipitously meets a free-spirited stranger, he sees red. Chapter: Clint never expected to see you again, but today he does. Can he convince you to see him again? Maybe on purpose next time?

Warnings: Sailor Mee and the curse of the lip, back at it again. (Swearing. There’s plenty of swearing.)

Word Count: 2503

A/N: Oooh boy. I’m on the fence about this one. I like parts of it, but I’m always leery about including side relationships and fleeting characters. In this case, I think it gives character insight? So I kept it? Again, fair warning, this “you” is practically an OFC.

The next time Clint saw you was as unexpected as the first.

He hated these events. Everyone did. Of course he knew it was important, a good cause, part of his responsibilities, and on, and on, and on. Having a few Avengers listed on the invitation always brought bigger donations. Clint knew this. But it was still a headache and he wasn’t great at pretending.

He’d shaken a few hands, smiled, simpered, and promptly grew bored. By the time Natasha found him observing from the corner, the speeches had nearly concluded. He’d slouched into a deeply uncomfortable rental sofa, spinning a long slender breadstick in his fingers.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with your food?” Natasha teased as she handed him a whiskey neat. He quickly dumped it into his half empty coffee and took a gulp. Almost an Irish coffee. Rougher and not quite according to direction, like him.

“Convince me these are actually edible and I’ll stop.”

She yanked the slender stick from her fingers and crunched down on it. He laughed when she yelped and handed it back rubbing her jaw.

“Think one of these penguin suits is a decent dentist?” she groaned, scanning the room of tuxedos and glittering evening gowns.

“I think if you ask you’ll never hear yourself talk again,” he grumbled, taking another gulp of his drink. “I’m bored.”

Natasha hummed her agreement and took a sip of her cocktail while she scanned the room. “Well the band’s about to start. Take bets on the playlist? I’ll take $100 we get two Journey songs.”

“You think I’ve got $100 to flush down the toilet?”

Natasha laughed and shrugged. “Works on the dentists.”

He laughed, watching her scan the room, looking for a target for the night.

“Big red over there is pretty,” she nodded toward the stage.

Clint perked up, turning to look over his shoulder at the singer in the bright red dress.

“What d’you think her drink is?” Natasha asked, eyes too busy reading a million silent clues to see her friend’s slack jaw and wide, eager eyes. “I’m guessing… Gin martini with lemon. Definitely goes for a twist.”

“Coke,” Clint answered quietly beside her, as shocked as he was mesmerized. The band had begun to play, and of course she was a front-woman. It was so obvious it hurt. Or was that the pounding in his chest.

“What did you say?”

“She likes coke,” he answered, a smile slowly curling his lips. “I’m going rum and coke.”

Thoughtlessly, effortlessly, he was on his feet, moving toward the stage. He suddenly had that feeling again. Red. You wore it and you lived it. You came alive on that stage. With smiles and winks, a little dance and a few songs, you’d drawn every guest into motion.

They tapped of fingers modestly against their glasses mid-conversation. Or they swayed shoulders, skirting the dance-floor hoping to be asked. The more exuberant guests allowed themselves to be swept into the current.

You were a red neon light, glowing, burning. Energy itself innervating the room. He felt it on his skin and in the center of his chest.

“Do you know her?” Natasha turned to him, somewhere between an amused smile and a confused frown distorting her smooth features.

“We danced once…”

“You?”

“In a bodega.” He chuckled at the memory, at the promise it held.

“That makes more sense,” she smirked and scanned the room again. “Well, I guess I’ll have to try again for a dance partner then?”

“Uh-huh.” He hadn’t really heard. He’d stopped paying attention a long time ago. He was drawn like a moth to a bright red flame.

He waited, enjoying the rest of the party, for once. For once, he had something else to think about.

“You guys have been great,” you smiled wide into the microphone. “We’re gonna take a little break. Just enough time to have another look at the silent auction items.” A wink and the spotlight cut off the stage just as you turned to leave it in a swirl of red dress, blue light, and humming voices.

Clint weaved his way through the crowd as you and your band-mates cleared the stage. He had no idea what he was doing or what he might say, but… it seemed like fate. Like the wind had blown a lucky red balloon just within reach.

“No, fuck being friends!” he heard your whisper-shout when he finally spotted you down the hall. With eyes scrunched closed, your hands pushed out in front of you, toward the man across the hall. “This has never been just friends. Not for me. And it’s not for you either; you just can’t… You want to play around but my heart isn’t a toy. I can’t do this hot and cold thing.”

“Baby, don’t be like that,” the man urged, taking your hand. He stepped close. Very close. “I came to see you.”

You shoved the man’s hand away abruptly. “To see me.” A bitter laugh cut through the air. “It’s like you have some kind of special shit-stirrer’s radar. Every time I start doing okay without you, you turn up and make damn sure I’m not.”

“So don’t be without me,” he cooed, stroking his hands down your arms. “Not tonight.”

“This is what I mean. You want me ‘til you don’t. Doesn’t seem like that’s changed, has it?”

He merely sighed and looked at his feet, shaking his head, unwilling to answer. Always unwilling to risk anything but you. He was guarded while you stood, as ever, with a heart open and alive, red and beating, straining to feel it all. As ever, you were tired of breaking yourself against someone else’s walls.

You shook your head and pushed the man away gently. “Just go,” you said softly, hardly more than a whisper.

Having realized, too late, exactly what he’d stumbled upon, Clint turned to slip away in the shadows, unnoticed. Except Clint Barton, SHIELD spy, Avengers sharpshooter was shockingly prone to accidents. The clatter of glass drew your attention down the half-lit hallway. He’d tripped over a cocktail glass some wandering guest had left behind.

“The fundraiser’s the next door on your left,” you called, assuming he was a lost patron.

“Don’t do that,” the man across from you cooed, resuming your argument and reaching for you again. This time you moved out of reach. “We’re good as friends. Come with me, just for the night, for old time’s sake. No strings. We both know what it is this time; no one gets hurt..”

Clint didn’t like pushy people. He didn’t like anyone who manipulated their way into places they weren’t invited. He’d known a few.

“Um actually… I’m uh with the event” Clint stumbled with a sheepish grin that appealed to you immediately. It beamed a signal: gentle and safe, and… familiar. “I was hoping to talk to you.” He was giving you an out and you were grateful.

“I have to go,” you told the man you’d been arguing with. “So do you.”

With that you patted his shoulder and turned down the hall towards the event. Towards Clint.

“Hey honey, what can I help you with?” you asked with a customer service smile glued to your face, eyes shimmering with struggle.

“I was…” Clint stopped and shook his head, changing course. “Are you alright?”

“Of course.” In the momentary pause Clint raised his eyebrows, ever skeptical, and you , you released a heavy sigh. A bittersweet smile tilted your lips. “Or I will be. ”

“He seems like a jerk. You should go have a drink and dance til your feet are numb and buy yourself something weird and awesome and forget all about him,” he held out his elbow for you and you took it, looping your arm around his with a watery laugh. As if you could afford a single thing on the auction block.

You turned to him as he led you back to the party, with your fingers curled around his rigid bicep. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, no. Nevermind.”

“No, come on!” You bumped him with your shoulder. “What was it?”

He turned to face you but shook his head, looking at his feet and yours, swept by that red-as-red-could-be red dress.

“I recognized you, is all,” he admitted. “When you guys started playing... I think the bodega performance was maybe, a cut above, but,” he shrugged with a huge grin on his face.

You burst into laughter at the memory.

“The bodega!” you smacked your palm onto your forehead. “Oh my god, I was… not myself that night.” You tipped your head with a wink to be sure he understood.

This time it was Clint who laughed. And you enjoyed every bit of it. The shocked rise of his eyebrows, the glint in his wide eyes, and the huge grin on his lips… It brightened your heavy heart. He was good at that, apparently.

“I should have known,” he laughed, “Sober people don’t sing to coke bottles.”

“Oh no, I absolutely do that sober.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “You’re that kind of person.”

“And you’re lucky to have witnessed it.”

“I am,” he agreed, with something warm and soft in his eyes.

“That was another ex-boyfriend special. Ending a night to forget with junk food and a hangover on the horizon,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I’m a jump in with both feet sort of girl, ya know?” He did know. In his mind you were bright red, full of risks. And if you were lucky, he assumed, gleaming rewards. It made perfect sense that you felt strongly and acted rashly. Red. “When I see something I like I’m all in. And he was a… a…”

“An idiot?” Clint offered. “An asshat? Blind?”

Your laughter was infectious to him. He didn’t even care if it was at his expense. He just wanted to hear it.

“That too, I like to think,” you agreed through a giggle. “Truth is: I’m the idiot. I feel too much and I get my heart broken too often. Can’t turn it off.”

“No,” Clint argued, dropping your hand from his arm so he could turn to face you. “Definitely not an idiot.”

“No?”

“Brave.”

People like you were a complete mystery to Clint. He could barely bring himself to say things like ‘I love you’ to people he well and truly loved. They knew it. People like Nat, and the others: his family. They shared traumas and challenges that understood why. Yet here you were, brimming with it, ready to share it so easily. This was what he had been drawn to that day in the bodega, and this was what had pulled him down the hallway looking for you this night like a moth to the bright red heat of a flame.

You chuckled softly, turning embarrassed eyes to your feet. “You do know there are real live Avengers in this room, right?”

“WHAT?!” he shrieked, feigning shock and looking wide-eyed about the room.

This time your laugh was deep and full. He was so light and fun, this stranger. Time with him was weightless, light as a feather. It cheered you up moment by tiny moment.

“I don’t know if I qualify as brave in this crowd,” you explained.

“Well,” he turned back to you. “Would I qualify if I danced around like a preschooler on Kool-Aid?”

“Oh, definitely,” you grinned, nodding.

“Bravest of them all.”

“Look out, Lancelot!”

By the time you glanced up to the stage, your band was already gearing up to finish the set. One grateful squeeze to your new yet old friend’s arm and you were off. Clint tried not to read too much into it, but it felt like a whole conversation. A ‘thanks,’ a ‘see you,’ a silent ‘I like this.’ Wishful thinking, he told himself.

You didn’t want to leave Clint’s side, but the show must go on. Especially one paid for by the biggest name in New York City.

It was the worst set of your life. Your band mates were furious. You were completely blowing an important gig, but damn it all, you couldn’t stop laughing.

Clint had planted himself at the center of the dance floor and held true to what you had thought was a joke. He flailed and jerked like a madman. He slid behind unsuspecting dancers making faces and wild gestures. He dragged a confused and reluctant Tony onto the floor for a waltz during your most lively song. It made no sense and it was exactly what you needed.

He spun and lunged and dipped, taking stealthy sips through straws of drinks held behind intimately held partner’s backs. Partner pairs he was absolutely not a part of.

What finally, finally got you to step away from the mike, cover your face, and double over laughing was the chicken dance in the middle of a slow mushy ballad.

The pianist glared at you before looking to your lead guitarist for help. They turned it into a lovely instrumental on the fly and you ended the show early.

“Thank you all, you’ve been a wonderful audience,” you managed through giggles. “And a generous one by the look of it! Give yourselves a hand! A beautiful evening for a beautiful cause.”

You paused for the soft applause that filled the room as the dancing stopped. Clint grinned up at you, fanning himself in mock exhaustion. Though, you didn’t doubt he probably had worn his dress shoes to blistering.

“And a special round of applause for my personal hero down here on the dance floor! Mr. Lancelot!”

This time it was Clint who turned red. He tried to duck into the crowd, shaking his head with a sheepish laugh.

“What the hell are you up to?” Tony asked in a discrete, tight lipped murmur as he, slung an arm over Clint’s shoulder, saving him from the limelight.

“Oh damn,” he sighed, high and long. Exhausted. “I have no idea.”

“If uh,” you stammered on the stage, the first time all night Clint had seen you look unsure. “If he wanted to hang around for a bit I’m gonna go get some pizza because this fancy fundraiser food is served on a toothpick and I’m starving.”

Clint’s entire face lit up. It was the most lovely thing you’d ever seen. It started in his eyes: they looked up into the light of the stage and glittered, narrowing as the smile pushed at his cheeks, rounding them and wrinkling the soft skin near his clear blue eyes. Lopsided, his lips drew over grinning white teeth, as he glanced at his feet, blushing.

He was cute as hell.

He laughed under Tony’s arm and nodded. A matching smile erupted across your own face, for the first time in weeks, excited to be greeting the early morning hours.

“You’re kidding me,” Tony scoffed from beside Clint. “Those moves actually worked?”

Part 3 >>

#clint x reader #clint barton x reader #clint x reader fluff #clint barton fanfic #clint fanfic #avengers fanfic #vivid 2 #vivid part 2 #vivid chapter 2

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queeruma · 5 years

Text

Thoughts on Escape from the Isle of the Lost

under the cut because spoilers

good things

Celia is Fantastic. reads fortunes, cheeky, realises her own potential and does magic with her shadow. 10/10 would die for

Uma misses her crew, also it’s confirmed that she can create storms and generally affect the weather, and transform into more than one sea creature. in general she seems to be a natural when it comes to magic.

Harry is miserable bc uma’s not there. the crew are still on the ship.

‘But all she felt for this ragged, unruly crowd was deep empathy and affection. Mal wished they could all understand that there were greater things to live for than revenge or violence or pettiness, greed, and graft.’ mal is... suddenly the person most interested in helping the kids on the isle?? i’m not sure how I feel about it but if they’re going to position her as ‘the liberator’ then at least they’re making her act like it

Dr facilier is very fun and also the most decent parent we’ve seen by far

‘Mal would never forget her name, or who freed the Isle of the Lost: UMA.’ okay so at least uma’s still interested in freeing the isle, even if they’re implying it’s only because she knows mal wants to

MDLC has finally realised that it’s spelt ‘deux’, and not ‘doux’

bad things

idk basically everything else??

i might have said this before on this blog but MDLC is really, really bad at making the core four in any way sympathetic to me. this book is by far the worst from that standpoint.

we don’t get to see a lot of the core four actually being friends. they do stuff together (not even that much bc they’re constantly with their significant others instead), but that Bond between them just isn’t there.

carlos honest to god forgets that there’s nothing nice on the Isle. He brings his spa bathrobe with him. He was expecting a hotel. What on earth?????

jay just... doesn’t really think about the Isle. At All.

evie is still going on about kids ‘deserving’ to go to auradon.

mal has done a complete 180 and now loves doing all the things she hated doing in d2.

they’re all kind of spoiled now. it sucks.

dizzy is still on the isle. somehow no one is fighting very hard to get her to auradon anymore.

ben is suddenly way more like his parents in terms of his attitude towards the isle. he still wants to unite them eventually, but he and mal literally negotiate how many kids can come to auradon with him arguing for lower numbers and her arguing for higher. as far as I can tell, when Ben and Mal swapped saliva at the end of d2 they also swapped attitudes towards the isle

hades is whiny, annoying and pathetic. and Mal’s dad (at least they’re hinting Very Strongly at it). he doesn’t match the energy we’ve seen from cheyenne jackson in the trailers at all. we don’t hear a single one of the ideas from the meet hades trailer at any point.

the ‘evil plot’ between him and uma is.... just uma. who is only interested in revenge against mal now. no more interest in the isle. nope, we have to bring down the barrier just so uma can defeat mal.

There’s a royal council. It’s ben, king beast, queen belle, mal, and fairy godmother. they sit and eat scones, served by mrs potts, chip, lumiere and cogsworth. beast is very grumpy because people want to help the villain kids.

carlos’ name in their group chat is ‘c-dog’

‘Ben had sympathy for the kids on the Isle, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted his friends to go back there. Wasn’t it too dangerous?’ WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS FOR THE KIDS WHO ARE STUCK THERE, BEN

“Dangerous? Not to us,” scoffed Jay. “We know every trick in the book.” Jay. Baby. Last time you went back, you lost Ben in about 30 seconds despite two of you standing with him the entire time. The time before that, Maddy literally came this close to drowning Mal.

‘For a brief moment, back at the Auradon Cotillion, she had been a princess; she had stood on the deck of a magnificent ship, and Ben was hers. He had looked in her eyes with love—sure, he had been spelled, but who really cared? Except in the end, that’s all it was—a brief moment.’ SINCE WHEN IS THIS SOMETHING UMA WANTED. MELISSA TURN ON LOCATION I JUST WANT TO TALK

“Do we really need to discuss this right now?” King Beast yawned. GUILLOTINE. GUILLOTINE! SORRY BEN YOU’RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO BE LIKE THE REST OF THE CHARACTERS AND ONLY HAVE ONE PARENT.

“We hear from our people that Uma has been seen underwater. She’s out there, free to wreak havoc and do whatever she wants.” okay but has she though. or is she not bothering you at all. guys.

“It’s just, her mother… her mother almost destroyed my family.” yes. and then her mother was killed. and then YOUR FAMILY TOOK PART IN BRINGING HER BACK FROM THE DEAD AND IMPRISONING UMA FOR LIFE FOR HER MOTHER’S CRIMES

mal is aware that her mother is out there somewhere as a lizard.... and she does not give a damn.

apparently it has not occurred to any of the core four that maybe children shouldn’t have to apply to be able to have decent food. maybe try telling ben to stop sending them trash?? and start sending them stuff that’s edible instead of trying to convince them to come to auradon so they can eat

okay, so facilier’s like a semi-decent headmaster, even if it is of a school of evil. does he like.... get paid?? because he’s working with auradon here. i hate to bring this up disney but keeping someone in prison and forcing them to work for free is uhhhhhh. slavery.

‘if Celia deserved to get in to Auradon Prep, she would. But it would be on her own merit, not because the VKs swayed the committee.’ WHAT FUCKING MERIT EVIE. SHES LIKE 12. SHE DOESNT NEED TO EARN THE RIGHT NOT TO BE IN PRISON. YOU DIDNT FUCKING WELL HAVE TO.

gaston is a coach. this isn’t a massive problem but I feel like it kind of undermines jay’s relationship with his coach in d1?? also since when does gaston know literally anything about teamwork.

the Marry Hint

cj is back on the isle???

MDLC wrote out the whole of the under the sea mess and i understand it even less than before. was the entire thing a hallucination from hades??? why even put harry, gil and dizzy in there??? was uma using her necklace in some way? how much of it was hallucination?? did any of it happen??

doc brought up the goblins back in the first book. this is the fourth book. nothing has changed for them, except for the things that have got worse

................. mal’s friends seem to have forgotten that she can’t swim. apparently they’re not afraid of her drowning, despite her being stuck underwater.

mal can swim underwater as a dragon apparently??? yes, she’s definitely designed for rapid underwater movement

“A haircut? At this time of night?” asked Carlos. “I’ll never understand women.” first the friendzone comment in d2, now this??? why are they so determined to make carlos a Certified Heterosexual Bro™

they get the isle kids to watch them graduate. somehow this is written like it’s a good thing.

everyone forgets what happened on the isle. I can only assume this is MDLC’s way around the fact that it won’t be mentioned or thought of at any point during the movie

#eftiotl spoilers #h speaks #eftiotl

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carrietrekkie · 5 years

Text

Crossroads - Part III

Fate, Time and Destiny.

The last part of this story. It´s kind of a sum up but I had to bring it forwards and it didn´t fit the next part so. Here are the “ending” of the night together, the morning after and a look through the following week. I changed the series story a bit, you´ll see.

Warning: Comfort, a touch of romance and sadly some hard decisions and death.

Please leave some fb! ;) Enjoy!

@bold-brave-courageous @allthetrek @reeselivesforeverinmyheart

Part I - I never wanted to do that.

Part II - Save in my arms.

I jerked slightly, but calmed down immediately, realizing that it had only been a dream. Well, this time anyway. I was still dead tired, but opened my eyes briefly and took a moment, until I had processed the picture in front of my eyes. Lying beside me, peacefully asleep and as relaxed as I'd ever seen him, was Captain Chris Pike. How did that happen?

I let my eyes wander through the dark room. The pale light was enough to make me realize that I was not in my quarters and consequently was not lying in my bed. The insight wiped the drowsiness a little aside, but unfortunately also left the reason why I was here. I sat up and took a deep breath. Right, I had lost my nerve and that was right down the line. He had insisted that I slept here and now I understood why. If I had been alone now, my thoughts would have started to turn around this horrible event of a few hours ago, now I pulled myself together, if only because I didn´t want to wake him.

I sat there for a while watching him sleep. His chest was rising and falling evenly, in between he made something that sounded like a growl. I had to clench my lips, otherwise I would have giggled. Then something else came to my mind. It felt so good to be here with him. I remembered the feeling that flowed through me as I lay in his arms, the warmth, his heartbeat, his scent. His voice and words keeping me sane. It was a long time since I felt that way and yes, it felt damn good. I sat back on the mattress, rolled over and looked out of the window for a moment. How big was the likelihood of finding someone like him in the middle of this huge galaxy, even through space and time? And yet he was right next to me and with every moment we spend together, the feeling that I should exactly be here, on his side, grows more and more, wiping away all the doubts and uncertainties I had, leaving just affection, warmth, love and everything that goes with it.

Right now he was moving. I glanced over my shoulder, sleepily blinking at me. "Everything alright?" He stroked his nose, totally drowsy. "Yeah, all right." I smiled, than I raised my hand and softly brushed back his hair. "Go back to sleep." "Mmh."

He slipped close to me until he was right behind me, he pushed his arm past my head, then put his other arm around me and cuddled up to me. I closed my eyes, it felt so unbelievably good and when I felt his breath brush against my neck, I had to pit myself together, not throwing all the rules of propriety overboard, kissing him and seeing where that leads. I felt his breath calm down again, so I took it as a sign that he had fallen asleep again. I closed my fingers around his hand, cuddling as close to him as I could, then I let myself be carried off again.

****

Later on the next day.

Tilly was impressive, I could not say otherwise, but it was certainly twenty light years ahead of me, at least, because for a good five minutes I didn´t understand a word she said.

"You look like you just had a little stroke." Her head moved into my field of vision. "Not that, I'm just trying not to look like I lost the lineup." I grinned at her. "Sorry," Tilly replied. "I forgot you're still in the beginning." "At the very beginning. That's when I lost the thread. "I pointed towards warp drive. "And I just get the feeling that this is not really my thing." "It doesn´t have to, but it's part of the basic knowledge." Silvia shrugged. "Then surely there are textbooks or something?" I pushed away from the console I was leaning against. "Yeah, that's a good idea!" I chuckled as her eyes widened. "I'll send you a list, let's say last high school year?" "I was never in high school. That means differently in Germany, but I think I should be able to cope with that. " "If not, you can ask." She started dubbing something on a data pad.

"Tell Tilly, is the memory of the ship's computer unlimited?" "No, not at all. Much of it relates to the network of the Federation, in which we are in contact and regularly updates itself. The memories of the Constituting class are huge, but that also depends on the way of they missions. So far out there, the contact with one of the homeworlds of the Federation is very difficult to impossible. " "Okay, you see." I pointed to her. "I understood that." "Small cattle are also crap." She returned it, then handed me the pad. "You should be busy for a while." "Most certainly." "I have to go to the bridge, will you come with me?" "I think I'll skip that." I raised my eyebrows. "At least for today." "Will we have dinner later?"

Together we left the engine room. "Yes, at the end of your shift?" "Yep, I'll ask Micheal." "I just wanted to suggest." Tilly entered the turbolift, I stopped for a moment. "See you!" "See you!" The doors closed and I moved on to my quarters. I had something else to do now. Since yesterday I pushed that before me. Since leaving Pike's quarters the morning after my collapse, I had somehow avoided him, that was mean and unfair, because on the whole I remembered from that night was, how I had slept in his arms and that he had looked after me wonderfully. I went to my bedroom and grabbed the little box on my bedside table. Somehow it seemed to me that a simple thank you was not enough.

"Computer, where can I find Captain Pike?" "Captain Pike is in his ready room." "Thanks." I grimaced, it still felt funny to talk to a computer. I made my way to the destination it had called me, avoiding the bridge and directly taking the turbolift to his office. I pressed the door opener, waited until he bade me in and then went through the door.

"Hello." He was kneeling straight in front of one of the cabinets on the side, but looked up as I stepped beside him. "Hi, am I disturbing you somehow?" I grinned at him. "No, not really. I try to work out something, and was disturbed by the crooked bottle. "Pike chuckled as I started to smile. "Okay, that sounded a bit crazy." "I strongly suspect that the problem you're breeding over either takes you pretty much or is a mystery." "Let's say a mix of both." He finally got off the floor. "But I think there is just some light coming into the darkness." I smiled at him. "You wonder why I'm avoiding you?" "A little." He reached out and offered me a seat on the couch where he sat down. “You were gone when I woke up.” "I´m so sorry about that, it was not really intentional." I sat down, stroked my pants and then took a deep breath. "To be honest, I was a little embarrassed to see you again." "Why?" He smiled so broadly that it showed his dimples. "Seriously?" I sighed slightly. "I honestly wondered how I can look you in the eye again. I didn´t even thank you before I left. "Now I peek carefully in his direction.

He was still smiling, but far more gentle. "Would that have been so difficult?" "I don´t know yet." I returned it, then hesitated a moment before placing my hand on his. "Thank you, Christopher." "I liked to do that." He closed his fingers around mine. "How are you?" "It's still a weird feeling." I pulled my shoulders up a bit. "But I'm not crying every now and then, if I have to remember that. " "Can you sleep?" "Shall I be honest?" I pinched my lips for a moment. No, I couldn´t say that and yet I wanted it.

"Not as good as the night with you." I inhaled a bit hectic. "It's getting better." I didn´t give him a chance to say anything about it, but if I hadn´t turned away at the moment, I could have seen him getting a little blushed. "I have something for you."

I pulled the little box out of my pocket, turned around and could only wonder for a moment about his confused face before he wiped it aside with a smile. "Here." I pushed the not even palm-sized box into his hand. "What's that?" He smiled at me, then looked at the gift box. "Open up."

Smiling, he opened the package and one of the small disks that they used to listen to music rumbled on his hand. He took it between two fingers and held it up with a questioning face. "Under normal circumstances, I would have baked a box of cookies, but on a spaceship you cannot bake cookies. I learned today. "I grinned at him. "What a pity, because I bake dazzling cookies."

"I believe you immediately." He lifted the disk smiling. "It may look like that, but unfortunately not edible." "I rummaged through my music collection and put on it, which I thought you liked." I tapped the piece of technology. "There are cheesy, snappy and horribly old-fashioned songs, but maybe you like it." He was really touched that I could see the way he closed his fingers around it. "Thank you." He got up, went to his desk and put it on one of the interfaces. "Your welcome, it should be my thanks."

Chris sat down easily on his desk and started calling up the data. "I hope it worked." I also got up and walked over to him. "Was my first try." He grinned, looked at me briefly, then went on searching. "I assume there is a story to each of these songs?" "Not necessarily." I stood next to him and looked over his shoulder. "Some are just good. May I?" "Of course." I tapped a file. "This one is great for driving." From the loudspeaker came the first notes of U2, The Unforgetable Fire, then I scrolled on. "I'll just believe you now." "Right." I shrugged my eyebrows. "Didn´t think about it." I tapped another file, anyway, I wanted it when he came before me and choses the song directly beyond it. I smiled. "I started with that."

"That haunted me as a catchy tune for a few days." "I'm sorry." I nudged him. "With this that doesn´t happen anymore." Chris laughed a little, then pushed away from his desk. "Or it gets worse." "Could happen." I walked around the table and was about to head for the door when I felt him reach for my hand. "Do you have a moment?" He looked into my eyes. "It certainly doesn´t hurt either." "Okay." I let myself be withdrawn from him. "I don´t have a whole spaceship waiting for me." "Are even two." I didn´t want to hear that, but I didn´t show it. "I just want to try something." Carefully, he pulled me close, put one hand behind my back, and with the other he reached for mine and held it up, I guessed what he was getting at and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Computer from beginning." The song started from the beginning and he looked at me now. "What will that be?" I grinned at him. "You know how to dance waltz?” "I could do it in the 21st century." "I believe that has not changed." He took a step and I followed him, as I had learned it from an eternity ago. Pike raised an eyebrow. "No, everything like always." "From your or my point of view?" I let him push me in a spin. "That's a good question." He just wanted to pull me back when the doorbell rang. I stumbled and slammed straight into him. "Oops." He caught me and held me tight. "I had planned that differently." "I believe you even." With his hand on my hip, he pulled me closer, started stroking his thumb up and down, a look in his eyes I could give up everything right now. I loved how he looked at me in this moment and I wished he would never stop it again.

"Somebody wants something from you." Why couldn´t I shut up, just for one time?

“Should wait.” Carefully he put his forehead against mine, closed his eyes and I couldn´t help but smile at the sight. Kiss him!

The thought took everything in my head and why not? I leaned against him and nudged his nose lightly. He didn´t back off, but started stroking my nose with the tip of his. But again, destiny wasn´t on our side. It rang again and with a sigh that sounded more like a little curse, he let me go, stopped the recording and then invited the visitor in. Ash Tyler entered the ready room and nodded at us. "Captain, can I talk to you briefly?" "Of course Mr. Tyler." He looked at me. "Thanks, that helped me a lot." "I have to thank you, sir." I nodded my farewell to the two men, then left the room through the access I had just entered through, not without first cursing Ash for his appearance.

****

Right after that moment I was ready to bet everything on it, that this following day could be ours, that we ended up together in some way. In this night I found myself again in his bed, but not the way I wished for.

I had barely left the ready room when the red alarm made me flinch. I turned on my heel and ran back to the bridge. I was not part of the bridge crew, but as part of these still mysterious events, I wanted to know what was going on. Another signal had arrived and it was supposed to lead us into the klingon territory, to a planet no one had ever heard of, and from the first moment we did, I felt it would have been better that it stayed that way. In the next few hours the events unfolded and I found myself with Christopher in the biggest dispute we ever had and will have. I couldn´t believe that he wanted to beam alone on a planet, of which little more was known, as there was a klingon monastery and something was preserved, which was known as timecrystals. My suggestion to accompany him, he declined with a very clear command, even my objections that it would be sure permitted for me as a civilian, he didn´t accepted.

So I just could watch helplessly as the transporter carried him away. It felt like an eternity till he came back and the look with which he looked at me, before he wordlessly left the transporter room, went deep down into my soul. Something had to happen down there. It took me hours before I found Chris, and the time after that was blurred into a cloud of fear and tears. Just when we thought we had fated fate, time had made it clear to us that we couldn´t escape it. I needed all my strength, warmth, and yes, in any way, love to sustain him, to prevent him from get lost in the gloomy thoughts that surrounded him in that night. I could only hold on to him and keep saying that everything would be fine, while the nightmares kept him from sleeping, finding peace for what was ahead of us.

Chris later told me that he believed that he could only pass this test, that he was only able to control his senses because he knew what this crystal would show him, and yet, it had changed him and it took a long time, until he had recovered to some extent. He also had not much time in the next few days for some calm moments. Tilly and Burnham came up with an unbelievable idea of how we could protect the data from Control and even I could come up with a proposal that would save the whole Discovery and its crew. An idea from an old sci-fi series, who would have thought that would be really useful? Nevertheless, the price was high. Chris had sacrificed his fate for it, we suffered heavy losses and Stamets was still recovering from his life-threatening injuries. The damage to the Discovery was considerable and the spore drive was destroyed. And we lost Captain Leland. There was no way to separate him and Control and so Georgiou and Pike had found no other way out than to kill him. When the shuttle, into which we had been able to load the Sphere's data store, disappeared into the wormhole created by Michael, Captain Georgiou, Chris and I stood in the engine room, watching Leland die. Despite everything that had happened, they had been friends and I could see Chris heart breaking as he could do nothing to save him. It was hard to join the party that followed Michael's return, and Starfleet's instruction never again to talk about the incidents that accompanied the signals didn´t make it any easier.

I hoped that time, as much as I cursed it, would gradually heal those wounds, and when I left my quarters the next morning, I even believed it for a while, but then a crossroads opened in front of me and I had to decide which way I wanted to take.

******

On the next day

Another branch appeared in front of me, I hesitated for a moment, then turned right and found the next checkpoint. I reached out and slapped my hand, waiting to see where it was going to send me. The path went towards the engine room. I turned around and ran again. That was a strange competition, but alright, it was supposed to test orientation under time pressure and load, and I found myself pretty good at it. Now it all just mattered what my time was. I accelerated even more, ignoring the scream of my muscles and shooting into the hallway that would take me to the engine room. The seconds passed and when I was almost sure that I had lost my way, I saw my goal. I grinned, made a final turn, and stepped through the light barrier that marked the finish line. "Huh." I stopped and leaned on my legs. A few legs were in my field of vision. One of them I recognized right away. "Hey Tilly." I briefly raised my hand. "Hey." She sounded too hurry, but was so fit that she could hold a water bottle in my face. "Just arrived." "Ah." I straightened up and took a long sip. In the background I got to see how my colleagues stormed into the room one by one. "Ms. Zimmer. "Saru's voice made me straighten up. "Commander." I smiled at him, well I tried. "Congratulations." He nodded to me. "You were second after Ensign Tilly." "No, seriously?" I stared at him, then at his pad, which he turned so I could see it. Tilly had arrived before me just ten seconds. "Wow, look at that." "Two weeks ago you get lost constantly." Tilly punched me. "You cannot do everything." I jabbed back.

"Well done, both of you." Saru nodded to us, then looked at me. "I release you, if you would like to attend the morning's shadow exercise." "Would I be qualified at all?" The rest of the content of the bottle disappeared inside me. "Well, maybe not one hundred percent, but there's no question you'd learn a lot." "Okay, I'm in." I grinned at him. "What should go wrong?" Saru's smile finally made me guess a little, that Tilly was chuckling next to me didn´t make it any better. "Didn´t I catch something?" "No, I'll tell you right away." Tilly grabbed another bottle, then handed me it. "Let´s eat something?" "Sure, I am dying of hunger." Saru dismissed us, than tell the others their results. "Would it be unreasonable to pull in a huge sundae now?" I unscrewed the cap of the bottle. "I think we burned enough calories." Tilly did the same. I was grateful for the distraction by the CTP the last few days. Since the mystery of the apparitions was solved and averted the impending disaster, I felt increasingly useless. I didn´t know yet what to do with myself here. Although I did a kind of internship with Dr. Culber, but without training at the academy, that wouldn´t get me any further, even though he never tired of assuring me how great I would be. The next few days I will have to decide and that was just incredibly difficult and actually I just didn´t want to deal with it. The hoped-for distraction came halfway towards the team café. Pike came swiftly towards us, but slowed when he saw us. "Let me guess." He spread his arms. "I am too late?" "So much." I raised my hand and held my thumb and index finger just above each other. "But yes Sir." Tilly grinned. "You´re late." "Commander Saru is still in the engine room." "We'll be meeting later anyway." Pike waved his hand. He was on amazingly good mood. Well, even in the worst situations he was hard to beat his positive mood, even after the last events, but just now he was almost too euphoric. Tilly and I exchanged a look.

"Um, Sir, are you alright?" "Yes, excellent Tilly, thanks for asking." He returned her smile. "Are you telling us what makes you so overjoyed or should we guess?" I raised my eyebrows. Now he laughed right. "I've just talked to Number One, the Enterprise systems are restored, the ship is ready to go." I hoped I wouldn´t let the smile fall from my face but I couldn´t prevent it from freezing. "We are expected in a few days on earth."

"You can go home." Tilly joined him smiling. "Well, as far as you can say that." "That's the way to say that." Pike's gaze moved in my direction. "And you are remarkably quiet Cathrin." "I'm almost run an hour around, I'm hungry. "I pulled myself together. "But yes, that's great! It lasted long enough, right? " "Just long enough." He looked at us, then past us as Saru turned the corner. "Excuse me, please." "Of course Sir." Tilly stepped aside and I watched him go past us. "That's unbelievable news, finally there are a few good ones."

Silvia went on, but I just saw myself unable to even move. Instead, I stared at Pike as he exchanged a few words with Saru, then the conversation ended and he turned to me. His eyes met mine directly and I struggled to pull away. I could see him tremble briefly, so I did the first thing that came to my mind, smiled at him, turned around and started to catch up with Silvia. The following hour seemed like an eternity and I was more than relieved when the doors of my quarters finally closed behind me. I knew that day would come, I knew it because I had seen it and I knew it because he had told me, but a part of me had hoped that something would change and he would be around for a while, stay longer on the Discovery. At least until I knew what it was or could be between us.

And now? A look out the window told me we were already on Warp, the destination was not hard to guess. Christopher Pike would be leaving my life in a few hours, and given the size of the galaxy and the enormous amount of spaceships, I would probably never see him again. Even if I completed the Academy successfully, no one could guarantee that I would end up on the Enterprise or back here. Maybe I had this, whatever that was between us, the last weeks just imagined and he would go without me hugging him, hold on or finally kiss.

I just felt lost, like never before since my arrival here, not even when I had to fear that Cornwell delivered me to Section 31, I still had hope and I was painfully aware of why I had had this hope. Chris had always been at my side, I never had to face these catastrophes and incisive events alone. I just sat down on the floor where I had just stood. I couldn´t believe that day should be tomorrow and I couldn´t do anything about it. I couldn´t ask a Starfleet captain to didn´t go back to his ship, especially if that ship was the USS Enterprise and the Captain, Christopher Pike.

The only thing I could comfort myself with was that I had probably prevented him from having to submit to this terrible fate, which had come up in my world as a particularly mean author. I lay down and stared at the ceiling. I could go to him now, it was only a few meters to his quarters. I could knock and finally put an end to this back and forth, and I surprised myself with it, as I put my legs back on, got up, and left my quarters. Then I stood in front of his door and then my courage left me a little. I didn´t know if he was there, actually, I didn´t know what I wanted to say, but I raised my hand and let it wander over the bell, then I pulled it away and took a step back.

I couldn´t, I just couldn´t do it, so I turned and walked back. This time, I went straight to my bedroom, changed my clothes, and fell completely to my bed. Thanks to the orienteering, I fell asleep immediately, but it was not going to be a particularly good night.

Masterlist

#star trek discovery #star trek discovery fan fiction #star trek discovery oc #chris pike #chris pike x reader #christopher pike x reader #captain pike x reader #captain pike x oc #pike x oc #chris pike x oc #captain christopher pike #writeblr #cathrin zimmer #captain pike fan fiction

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heather1815 · 6 years

Text

My little test subject: Chapter 14

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, chapter 12 and chapter 13

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

Warning! This fic contains: Foul language, scenes of torture, use of medical tools, drug use, self-harm, suicidal tendencies, violence, self-neglect, blood, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

Sobbing, muffled cries echoed throughout the, otherwise quiet, fuchsia living room.

Despite being alone in the apartment, Matt insisted on crying as quietly as he could. He hugged his knees to his chest, concealing his face as he cried softly. He kept trying to wipe away the tears that continuously brimmed in his eyes and threatened to spill over.

Ever since things have gone oh so horribly wrong for their little group, Matt had always tried to toughen up; be more supportive of his friends and be less of a whiny crybaby.

In a lot of ways, he'd looked up to Tom for that. His eyeless friend had always been so stoic and reserved, rarely displaying any emotion; and despite his reckless drinking habits, Tom had been the voice of reason of the group and always had an idea to get out of any tough situation. Matt wished he could be like him.

But that's just it. He isn't.

Matt was never leader material of the group. He'd usually let Edd or Tom take charge of the situation and he would step back and follow. Though he always wanted to help out, he knew it was easier to let the others handle things because he always messes things up more somehow. Matt had never been good with words, and he was clearly not the brightest out of them. Frankly, he wasn't sure what he's good for anymore. And now that Tom is gone and there's only Edd and him left, he has to step up to the plate and be there for Edd in whatever way he could. Even to the point of putting his own grief aside for Edd's sake.

However, he doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of helping Edd. His best attempts only seem to push the brunet further away.

He had woken up this morning with hope that things could go back to normal, away from the sorrow and regret they both felt these past months. But his heart had sunk when Edd insisted on being alone after Matt had suggested they do something together. Matt hadn't argued then, just wanting his friend to be happy again. But he was saddened that he'd been left all alone, again.

Matt doesn't like to be left on his own with only his thoughts, because it's hard to be strong like Tom when there's nothing to distract him from the overwhelming sadness he felt for everything that's happened. Thoughts of grief always creeped up on him in these moments, and Matt would inevitably break down.

Even the multiple portraits of himself, which used to cheer him up on any occasion, could do nothing for him now but make him feel even more utterly alone.

He misses Tom so much.

Though Tom hadn't always been the most affectionate one in the group, or even that compassionate at times, he did attempt to lend them comfort whenever they needed. Matt wished his friend could come back, even if it's for a brief period, just so he can talk to him properly and maybe ask him for advice on what he should do next; and hug him tightly of course.

He wondered if Tom would have been such a disappointment to Edd if their places had been reversed. Maybe Tom would have known how to make things better.

Matt shoved the thought away. He shouldn't think like that. Edd needs him! If he starts doubting himself, then what hope does he have to help his friend?

Matt wiped his eyes once he realized he was all out of tears to shed. Still sniffling, he headed for the bathroom and washed his face, making brief eye contact with his reflection in the mirror. His puffy red eyes contrasted drastically against his fair complexion, but Matt couldn't bring himself to care about it too much at this point. Though maybe if he did, it would give him a bigger incentive to choke down the urge to cry every time he was left alone.

A sudden and very distinct smell of something burning reached his nose, and Matt instantly panicked as recognition dawned on him. "Oh cr#p!"

His sadness forgotten, he burst out of his bathroom and hurried to the kitchen where the scent is strongest. Matt peered through the glass door of the oven, and saw the batch of cookies he had been preparing this morning were burning. Grabbing his pink mitts, Matt quickly turned the oven off and pulled the crisp, coal-black cookies out.

Matt sighed in relief. "It doesn't look that bad." He analyzed the damage optimistically. "I must've caught it just in time."

Much like leadership, Matt was never one to take charge of the cooking either. It was usually Edd who prepared the meals, and sometimes even Tom would volunteer to make dinner when he was in a good mood. Matt tried to learn and once attempted to make a high-quality, deluxe dinner to treat his friends; but it didn't go over well. Tom and Edd had spent the next few hours throwing up and brushing their teeth constantly. They claimed Matt was a kitchen hazard and prohibited him from doing anything with food ever again, so Matt happily obliged and let others make the meals instead.

Grief threatened to overwhelm him at the memory, and Matt had to turn his head away – fearing if he didn't he would taint the cookies with his tears. Wow Matt, I'm impressed you didn't burn the whole place down. He could practically imagine what Tom would say if he were still here. You're getting better. Who knows? Maybe by next year you could finally make something edible!

Though Tom's words sounded harsh, they really weren't. They were playful despite the deadpanned tone, and Matt would probably laugh in response before offering some to Tom.

The urge to cry at the thought of his dear, grumpy friend he will never get to see again gripped him strongly. Matt felt his heart crack. So much pain. He won't hear Tom's sarcastic voice make remarks toward him, or give Tom surprise hugs when he least expects, or show off his latest trinkets to Tom in hopes of impressing him ever again. Even when Tom acted cold and uncaring, Matt always knew deep down inside Tom was really just a softie who didn't like to display it very often. Matt still remembers the time he got sick over eating too many sweets after going trick-or-treating the day before, and Tom made him stay in bed while Edd prepared a soup for him.

There won't be any of that anymore.

Keeping his breathing under control, Matt managed to push his anguish aside and focus on the present day. He has a very important meeting in a couple of minutes and it is of outmost importance that he makes a good impression on his hosts.

Matt still can't believe he's actually doing this, but hopefully all the awkwardness he'd been feeling for the past couple of days will finally be over after today.

Putting the batch of cookies down on a plate, Matt made one last glance-over in the mirror to make sure his appearance was presentable enough, then grabbed the tray and went out the door.

With slow, hesitant steps he neared the door diagonal from his; heart racing in his chest out of sheer nervousness. He stopped halfway and glanced back to his apartment wistfully, nearly changing his mind but decided to follow through with the idea.

Don't be such a scaredy-cat, Matt! He firmly told himself. Be fearless; be more like Tom!

His gaze flickered over to the apartment door on the right side of his own. Matt had contemplated whether he should inform Edd about this and invite him to come along, but the brunet had made it abundantly clear he wanted to be left alone today. Besides, Matt figured he wouldn't be keen in joining.

Matt took a deep breath as he reached his destination and shifted his feet uncertainly. Here goes nothing. He pressed the doorbell and waited, the building anticipation making his heartbeat drown out all noise from his ears and making him anxious.

Matt nearly jumps out of his skin when the door opened and Mark stepped out to greet him. "Ah it's you. You're here earlier than I expected."

Matt frowned. "You did say I could come whenever I want." He mumbled with a hint of impatience.

Yesterday evening Matt got the surprise of a lifetime when his blond rival knocked on his door and invited him over to have tea the following day. Understandably so, Matt was hostile and suspicious of Mark's intentions at first. But after Mark elaborated, explaining that this was a peace offering between their groups, Matt had relented.

The four of them have been living in the same building for two weeks or so, but Matt was already sick and tired of the uncomfortable feeling that pricked his skin whenever they accidentally stumbled upon each other. He would go out to collect the mail from his mailbox or head out to do some shopping only to bump into one of them, and Matt would immediately retreat back to his apartment out of sheer awkwardness. He had waited for either of them to begin with the harsh taunts, but they never came. Matt would've preferred if they did; at least then he would've finally learned what their current stance is and things didn't have to be so tense around them.

He often wished he could discuss these odd sensations with Edd, but after finding out they were moving in, Edd didn't seem content with talking about any of this. In fact, it seems Edd was distancing from Matt further away with each passing day. And Matt is absolutely clueless as to why.

Matt shoved his thoughts aside and focused on the blond man standing at the door. He held the tray out toward him. "I, uh, made some vanilla cookies." He muttered awkwardly, still expecting this turning out to be just an elaborated prank. "Wasn't sure what type you liked."

Mark eyed the charcoal-crisp cookies critically but did not dare make a comment as he courteously accepted the tray. "Thanks." He stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Well, in any case you're welcome to come on in."

Matt hesitated a heartbeat longer before he fully stepped inside, and he looked around wearily.

He'd never been to their rival's residence before – there was never any need to, given their animosity toward each other in the past. But Matt was kind of shocked to find the high-quality luxury the place held. Rosy punch-pink walls, neatly organized rows of books in an ivory bookcase, pretty paintings decorating the place, a huge vintage triple mirror on one corner, a fancy red, blue, and purple carpet stretched across the living room, and various ornaments and figurines were neatly laid out in various spots.

Matt looked on wide-eyed in amazement. Everything seems so shiny and fancy and – is that a chandelier?! Matt was absolutely speechless.

Mark chuckled at his reaction. "Please, make yourself at home." He quietly shut the door and walked past the stunned ginger toward his kitchen. "Will Edd be joining us?"

His words snapped Matt out of his daze, and the ginger haired man looked away timidly. "No. He… he rather be left alone." He murmured quietly. "So it's only just me, if that's okay."

"Understandable." Mark acknowledged. He grabbed a ceramic jar and proceeded to slide Matt's cookies inside of it before placing the lid back on top. "Eduardo is also taking a bit of a time off, but he'll arrive soon. So for now it's just us."

Matt stepped farther into the strange and yet surprisingly welcoming environment, looking around the place with awe. He always saw Mark as this egotistical and snotty version of himself, and although Matt wasn't outright jealous of his blond counterpart they did have their fair share of clashes to prove whose looks were superior. But now, looking around his rival's flat he realized they were really much alike.

Though, from what he can gather thus far, Mark seems a lot more organized with his belongings than he is.

"Do you have any tea preference?" Mark's question cut though Matt's thoughts.

"N-no. I, uh, I'll drink whatever you have, I don't mind."

"Nonsense!" Mark blew him off, waving a hand casually as if to dismiss his nervous reply. "You are my guest, and I insist you take something that you enjoy the most. Now; what will it be? Green, chamomile, or earl grey?"

Matt blinked in bewilderment. Today is definitely going to be a weird day. "Uh, chamomile sounds nice."

He looked away out of nervousness and his gaze found a tray of cupcakes settled on a coffee table in the middle of the living room. Matt's eyes lit up at the sight and began to near the tray, subconsciously licking his lips as he eyed the frosted treat. The pastel colors and the beautiful swirls taunted him, but Matt held back from taking one.

These could be off-limits for all he knows.

"You can take one if you want, you know."

The gruff sounding voice right behind him made Matt whip around in alarm, only to come face to face with none other than Eduardo. The tall brunet towered over him with an unreadable expression on his face, and Matt shrank back. Mark may have been his rival, but Eduardo is far scarier than the blond – he remembers the intense rivalry between him and Edd vividly, and Matt always held a bit of a fear of him.

After all, he was known to punch things that annoy him in the face. Matt touched his cheek consciously. Though Eduardo hadn't been the offender that time, he wouldn't put it past him.

"Ah Eduardo, so glad you could make it." Mark reappeared from the kitchen, carrying a tea set on a silver tray before carefully setting it down on the table.

In response to his comment, Eduardo scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Well yeah, of course I would. We planned this whole thing together, after all."

Mark raised one eyebrow. "Then how come I'm the only one getting everything ready?"

"Because that's your specialty and I burn everything I touch."

As they began to bicker, Matt watched them interact with intrigue. They're still kind of scary, but strangely enough they do not behave that much differently from how he and Edd so often did. It was weird to see them now as anything more than bullies.

His fear diminished a little at the comparison, but his anxiousness persevered.

Matt sat down on the cream-colored sofa behind him, trying to calm his nerves when his eyes landed on a pile of magazines stacked next to the cupcakes. He leaned forward to take a closer look, his eyes widening once he spotted the cover of "Beautiful and unaffordable" – by far the best and most expensive brand of beauty tips magazine out there.

With a quiet gasp, Matt quickly reached for it and opened to look at the wondrous contents inside. It's been so long since he last indulged his looks, or even so much as did anything remotely to do with his vanity. He always felt strangely uncomfortable and somewhat selfish to do so with everything that's been happening, and thus Matt started taking less care of himself as a result. But there's no way Matt can deny the opportunity to take a peek at this rare gem.

Whilst the orange-haired man was distracted, Eduardo stepped closer to Mark and grabbed a tea cup for himself."What kind of tea is this?"

"Chamomile."

"Nice." Eduardo nodded in approval. Then his mood changed, and he cleared his throat with a frown. "I, uh, I'm not sure I'll be able to stay here for very long. Some things came up and I really need to check'em out."

Mark paused and looked up at him with a disapproving glare. "You promised you were going to be in your best behavior."

"I know I know; and I'm gonna. But I have to see what that's about." Eduardo insisted.

The blond man narrowed his eyes and sighed. "Fine, I can see there's no use in arguing – you already made your mind up about this." He relented. "Just let me do most of the talking, alright?"

Coming to a mutual agreement, Eduardo helped Mark set the rest of the things down and poured each of them a cup of tea. Matt hastily puts the magazine away as his hosts settled down around him, and graciously accepted the cup of tea from Mark.

"So now that we're all sorted out, I would just like to start off by thanking you for accepting our invitation." Mark began politely. "It really means a whole lot to us that you decided to come."

Matt was taken back. This is all so weird! "Oh! Uh, well… you're welcome?" He stammered and smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head nervously. His eyes accidentally strayed away from his blond lookalike toward Eduardo, who's simply sitting across from him; his facial expression giving nothing away. Matt found his presence thoroughly off-putting, but he did not dare say anything. He sipped his tea to calm down instead. "But uh, if you don't mind me asking… why did you invite us over? After everything we put each other through…"

The two neighbors swapped a meaningful glance with each other. Eduardo steadily stared back at Mark and gave a curt nod. The look made Matt curious. What just flashed between them?

With a small sigh, Mark started to speak again. "You are right to question our motives, given our history of animosity in the past. But a lot has happened since those days of petty rivalry – for both our groups." Matt didn't need to be smart to know what he was referring to. A pang of sadness clenched his heart at the reminder and his grip on the teacup tightened.

"We simply wish to put our past rivalry behind us, make amends, and start anew." Mark went on coolly. "We've… matured a lot since Jon's passing and we don't want to cause trouble anymore. We just want to get on with our lives in peace."

"Yeah, and we're just as uncomfortable about this whole "living together again" deal as you guys are." Eduardo added assertively, though Matt could've sworn he saw him grimace briefly at the mention of Jon. "We don't like this arrangement any more than you do. We don't enjoy the awkward standoffs whenever we bump into each other on the hallway, but it's not like we can afford to move someplace else now. So here we are."

"Cool your temper, Eduardo." Mark advised smoothly and shot his life-long friend a warning glance, jumping in quickly to take over the situation before his companion could get ahead of himself and ruin their attempt at peace. Eduardo looked away and sipped his tea with a simple grunt, but settled down nonetheless. "While it's true we never meant to cross paths with you lot again, it can't be helped now. The only thing that we can do though is settle our differences once and for all and forget about that whole nonsense of being rivals. Otherwise none of us are going to live in this building in peace."

Once he finished speaking, a steady silence filled the room. Matt reflected on their words carefully, his expression still divided somewhere between awe and confusion as he tried to decipher the meaning behind their odd actions. His blue eyes lit up suddenly. "Oh! You mean… you want to be friends?"

The duo sitting before him both choked on their drinks, albeit in different manners.

Mark outright spat out his drink and started coughing convulsively while beating on his own chest. Eduardo, on the other hand, tried hard to keep down his own drink as he shook his head profusely, wide eyed, as he repeatedly muttered: "No. No. No. Nope! Uh-uh. No."

Having caught the duo off-guard, Matt couldn't help but snicker at their flustered expressions. His blue eyes glinted with a mischief he hadn't felt for what seemed like years. Not so scary now, huh?

Recovering from their stupor, Mark quickly recomposed himself and took over the situation once more. "Uh… no. Not necessarily anyway." He coughed. "I think we're good with just peace, thanks."

"Yeah, agreed. Peace. Totally enough."

"So what do you say?" Mark prompted, shifting the topic back to its original focus.

Matt's gaze was intensely thoughtful as he reflected on their words. "I think I speak for both Edd and I when I say… peace between us would surely be a welcomed change." He says at last, looking a little bashful. "But then neither of you will pick on nor harass us ever again?"

He watched Eduardo and Mark swap another meaningful glance, and they nodded to each other curtly.

"Of course! It would be very counter-productive if we went back on our word after arranging all of this." Mark grinned as he sipped his tea. He then gave his companion a long side-glance, as if inviting him to speak next.

Eduardo scowled at him briefly before turning to Matt with a small sigh. "We won't do any of that anymore, we promise." He speaks earnestly and then continued firmly. "But we will not hesitate to respond if either of you provoke us either."

Matt narrowed his eyes in return. Like we ever started anything with you guys! He thinks with indignation. He opens his mouth to retort, but Eduardo abruptly rose to his feet right at that moment and looked at his watch.

"Oh, look how time flies fast! Sorry, I must get going now - gotta head back to work."

Mark rolls his eyes but says nothing as he continues to stir his tea. Matt watched the broad-shouldered man begin to turn away and leave when his eyes caught sight of the cupcake tray again. His eyes glinted with interest much to Matt's amusement. But rather than taking one or two from the tray, Eduardo grabbed the whole platter instead. Matt grinned but resisted the temptation of laughing by biting on his lips.

The task was even harder when Mark suddenly slapped Eduardo's hand away, and the brunet glared at him indignantly.

"Hey!"

"Don't be so greedy, Eduardo! I made those for our guest." Mark admonished, gesturing to the ginger sitting across from him.

"It's not like he's gonna eat all of them!"

"He can have them; I don't mind." Matt tried to speak up between fits of suppressed giggles. They're acting as if they are an old, married couple!

Despite his protest, Mark appeared to not have heard him. "I understand your work is very important, and I have given you a pass for leaving us early; but I don't appreciate your gross and unhealthy habit of eating nothing but sugar for the reminder of the day." Then he paused, and appeared to reconsider his words when a mischievous idea struck him. "But of course… if you really insist you should at least be reasonable and take something else." He smirked. "You'll find a jar in the kitchen with a fresh batch of vanilla cookies. You may take them instead."

Matt shot Mark a questioning look. Mark returned his gaze with a silent message for him to hold his tongue.

Blinking in surprise, Eduardo glanced back toward the kitchen and, sure enough, spotted the cookie jar on the counter. He took a moment to consider for a bit and then shrugged. "Alright, fine by me." He relented, stalking away from them and take the whole jar with him on the way out. Eduardo's glance swept across Matt and Mark, and he gave them a tiny nod of farewell before he left.

"Sorry about that. Eduardo tends to have little to no sense at times." Mark broke the silence. "I know he might appear a bit intimidating, but don't let his size and attitude fool ya. He's just a big ol' softie underneath that tough exterior."

Matt said nothing – simply bent forward to take one of the colorful cupcakes. Should he take his leave now? They have concluded what they had set out to do, but Mark hasn't dismissed him yet. And truth be told; Matt wasn't keen to return to his lonely, sad apartment any time soon. If he does, Matt knows he'll do nothing but wallow in his grief and break down again.

"Anyway," the blond went on, trying to lighten the mood. "Guess it's just us again, huh?"

"Yeah…" Matt took a bite out of the swirly treat and his eyes brightened with delight. It's delicious! It could even rival Edd's cooking. He licked the frosting around his lips and thought carefully. "If you don't mind me asking… where have you guys been this whole time?"

He half expected Mark not to answer. The blond held him motionless for several heartbeats with his penetrating blue gaze. Then Mark relaxed, and his expression was replaced by a distant look of memory and loss.

"After our house was destroyed that fateful day, Eduardo and I didn't have many options. Thankfully, Eduardo's grandmother was kind enough to take us in; even with such short-notice. She could never turn away her beloved grandson, especially after such tragedy." Mark murmured, bending forward to refill his cup with more tea. "The living conditions weren't exactly ideal per say. Small and cramped place, no room for whatever belongings we could salvage from the wreckage, and there were her dogs too."

He shivered with repulsion at the memory of the two large brutes he had to coexist with. Mark had nothing against dogs, but he had a clear preference to cats. They're quiet and drool less. "But it was the best we could do until we found a new place for ourselves."

Listening to the story, Matt realized just how lucky he and Edd were that Tom found a new place to live before everything went down. If it weren't for Tom, they probably would've had to stay with Matt's grandparents; similar to Eduardo and Mark's case. Oh Tom… we owe you so much! He thought with anguish.

"Does it ever get any better?" He asked eventually.

Mark tilted his head in confusion. "What does?"

Matt hesitated before replying, and Mark thought he was looking slightly awkward. His feet shifted uncomfortably, and when he spoke, his voice was a low murmur. "The… the grief, I mean."

For a few heartbeats there was silence. Mark was staring at Matt with an unreadable expression on his face. Matt swallowed nervously and placed the cupcake he had been eating down on the table, his appetite gone. Maybe he overstepped his boundaries too far this time. I'm so stupid! Matt inwardly winced, wanting to smack himself upside his head for his foolishness. If Tom were here, he wouldn't have hesitated to do so for him. Just when we start making peace, I go ahead and ruin it in less than ten minutes!

But the blond man didn't appear to be upset. Instead Mark held him with that serious gaze for a moment more and took a deep breath. "I wish I could say that it does. But truth is… it's a lot more complicated than that." He responded solemnly.

Matt blinked at him with surprise. He had not been expecting a genuine answer out of his former rival. Matt gave a little nod, as if the answer satisfied him. In truth he wanted to ask for more advice on how to handle this messed up situation, but refrained from doing so. They only just stopped being rivals; it would be incredibly awkward if he were to keep on probing on such a delicate subject.

Across from him, Mark could right away tell that the ginger had a lot on his mind. He frowned. Both went through the same experiences and are suffering for it. From having their house blown up to losing a close one. Their rivalry may have ended, but it seems to have left a greasy stain on their relationship that will be hard to wash out.

And Mark would be lying if he said that he couldn't see said stain either. After all… why should he care? Even if they aren't enemies anymore, they're just neighbors, right?

(Meanwhile…)

"So Tom, how are you fairing today?"

"Pretty awful." Tom replied quite bluntly, taking a sip of his special juice through the orange straw as he leaned back against the reclining chair.

"You had your first training session with Red Leader this morning, how did it go?" Pat asked, opening a new file on his tablet for today's topic.

Tom uttered a dry scoff. "Why bother asking me that? You were there – you know what happened." Resentment and frustration burned through him.

His soldier training with Tord earlier that day had been a disaster, just like he had predicted. It wasn't physical exercise heavy, and at first Tom thought that was a good thing, until Tord made what was supposed to be a simple lesson on gun handling a f#cking nightmare. Tom had never felt so stupid quite like today; with the way Tord scolded and kept correcting him for the smallest of mistakes made him feel like he couldn't do anything right. Tom was certain the Norwegian man was just being picky for the sake of getting under his skin.

Heck, even after he shot most of the targets square on the bullseye Tord still found a way to nitpick – claiming Tom wasn't trying hard enough otherwise he would've gotten all of them and he was just being a lazy slop like he always is.

Needless to say, Tom had a real hard time controlling his powerful urge to turn the gun on the Commie and shoot him. But alas; it was a paintball gun and wouldn't have done any damage, other than maybe pissing Tord off and getting a few hundred pushups as punishment.

The voice certainly had a great deal of fun picking his confidence apart throughout the training, practically ganging up with Tord against him – which would sap away his energy, making him lousier with his training and resulting in Tord berating him again and the whole process goes full circle.

Tom wished Paul were still in charge of supervising his training. He had never treated him like an idiot. But the two trusty soldiers had a lot of things to deal with around the rest of the base right now, and now Tom is stuck with Tord. Paul and Patrick kept telling him that it was an honor to be trained by the Red Leader himself, but Tom wasn't convinced he was such a great mentor; much less that this situation was in any way a good thing.

Though very busy, Patrick had insisted on attending this first training session – to make sure Tord and Tom could be in the same room without a hitch, and advise his leader with his mentoring skills whenever needed. Tord was admittedly brutal in his teachings. But Pat had to keep in mind that this was an army and that Red Leader was training a soldier. The army is harsh and it's best Tom learns that now; which is why he so rarely intervened when Tord would criticize the eyeless man, even though it was clearly grating on Tom's nerves.

Pat guessed the Brit might hold some resentment toward him after that. "Nonetheless, what are your thoughts?" He pressed, adjusting the reading glasses on his face.

Tom breathed out an irritated sigh. "I'll tell you my thoughts; Tord is an annoying, f#cking, piece of sh-" He followed with a long line of colorful vocabulary, getting increasingly more intense as he went on. A few sessions ago, Patrick had given him permission to cuss out the Red Leader however much his heart desires and Tom has since always abused that privilege when given the opportunity to. "Stupid ass Commie always thinks he is better than everyone else, and he is always so smug and cocky and I just wanna punch his face in every time I see him."

"I see…" Pat typed down a bullet point. "You truly hate him huh?"

"Like there was ever any doubt about that!" Tom crossed his arms and took another sip of his drink with a scowl. "Commie is an awful person and there is nothing else to it."

Patrick nodded in understanding. "Alright Tom, there is a reason why I wanted to have this session with you right after your training." He admitted, watching the eyeless man sitting across from him fume silently while gnawing at the straw of his drink in anger. "Because today we get to dive in to the main source of all your problems."

At that, Tom tensed and stared at the Polish soldier wit a mixture of confusion and horror. Source of my problems? He echoed, nervously sipping at his juice. Surely he couldn't have found out my secret? There's just no way! And yet, apprehension made Tom listen with abated breath for Pat's next words; praying with every non-believing fiber of his being that this wasn't the case.

"Let's talk about your relationship with Tord."

Tom heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Oh thank god." Then he realized Pat was looking at him oddly and Tom needed to elaborate so as to not cause suspicion. "I mean, I get to cuss the sh#tty Commie out some more. That's… good."

"Actually, if you don't mind, I would like to talk in depth about your relationship with Red Leader." Patrick went on. "Your history together, how it developed over the years, the source of this rivalry you have toward each other, and hopefully understand why the two of you behave the way that you do now."

Tom emitted a scornful sniff and rolled his empty eyes. "Didn't he fill you in already? Being one of his most trusted soldiers I thought he would've shared his past with you."

"He did." Pat confirmed. "But I would like to hear it from your perspective of things and get a better understanding of where all this hatred originated from."

Even as he was saying this, Pat's mind instantly thought of the recent rise of his leader's conflicting feelings. Paul came to him the other day with a big secret to tell him, but Patrick was somewhat disappointed to hear it was merely about Tord's obvious attraction toward Tom; as if this was supposedly anything new to hear about.

A long time ago, when Pat was only an Officer in the Red army, Tord had opened up to Paul and him about his past. He was a little drunk at the time, which perhaps would explain why he went into such great detail about it. Tord talked about his family, his friends, his hopes and dreams with the army, and specially his major infatuation for Tom.

At the time, Tord had claimed he was over it and would only dedicate himself exclusively to the army and his goals. However, it was clear as day that, despite the attraction growing stale over the years, Tord continues to carry feelings for the eyeless man.

Maybe this was another reason why the Red Leader was so particularly strict with Tom today in training. He wanted to prove his emotions wouldn't get in the way of his duties. Evidently the Norsk has no idea how to deal with these feelings.

Patrick will confront him about it eventually, when his leader's mood is a bit more agreeable for this discussion. "You've known each other for so long; surely you got some good memories with him?"

"I doubt it." Tom muttered, and then emitted a long and loud exasperated groan. "Ugh, where to even start?"

"How about when you first met?" Pat prompted. "From what I gathered, your friends seemed to already know him when you met them for the first time."

Tom frowned. "Yes, they did." He recalled with a hint of wistfulness in his voice. His face furrowed as he wracked his brain for details. "I don't remember much about the way we met – it wasn't as impactful as meeting Edd and Matt."

"Odd, considering the great rivalry between you two today." Patrick noted with narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, well, believe it or not we didn't start out throwing punches at each other." Tom scoffed, his voice edged with annoyance. Even though he was thankful they weren't going to talk about his condition like he'd feared, Tord was still a touchy subject to discuss. All Tom can remember from their past together was how much Tord liked to pick on him and grate on his nerves; how they often clashed in heated arguments and physical fights, and how Tord absolutely hates his guts.

Tom reciprocates the notion.

Thinking hard about his past, he tried to remember the time he met the Norsk. After the finger-painting in the bathroom incident and meeting Edd and Matt, Tom recalled it was weekend after that. His parents had scolded him for getting into trouble in school, but after he gleefully chatted about the new friends he made and just how much fun he had, his parents were merely glad he was unharmed. He had spent the whole weekend anticipating school day to arrive just so he could see his friends again and play more with them.

"Really, it wasn't a big deal when we met." Tom continued, a little quieter this time. "Once the weekend was over I was excited to see Edd and Matt again…"

(Flashback!)

Tom waved his parents goodbye as he rushed toward his school. He greeted his teacher in a hurry and practically tossed his schoolbag into the shelf where his name was tagged. The eyeless boy looked around wildly for his friends through the crowd of playful kids, until he finally spotted them sitting on a small, round plastic table over one corner of the room.

Edd made eye contact with him from across the room, smiled, and waved him over.

Tom weaved his way through the large group of kids surrounding him with an excited skip in his step. However, his glee gave way to nervousness when he realized there was someone else sitting among his friends.

He slowed down as he approached, and looked over the new kid with curiosity.

Sitting between Edd and Matt is a boy with weird, messy caramel-brown hair that almost resembled horns. He is wearing a red hoodie with what appeared to be the face of a robot etched on the front, dark pants and red sneakers. The strange boy was too busy showing a drawing he made to Matt to acknowledge Tom's presence among them, until the ginger nudged him and the boy finally looked up.

Tom froze, feeling shy under the other boy's silver-gray gaze.

"Hey Tom!" Edd piped up enthusiastically.

Matt waved. "Hello!"

The boy in red looked at both his friends in confusion, but remained quiet as he turned his attention back to Tom.

"Oh right!" Edd jumped to his feet when recognition flashed in his head. "Tom, this is Tord – the friend we mentioned, remember? Tord, this is Tom – I told you all about him during the weekend."

Tom waved timidly. "H-hi."

The boy clad in red, Tord as he is called, stared at him for a couple of heartbeats before responding. "Hey." He grunted. And just like that, he resumed work on his drawing; seemingly losing interest on the newcomer.

Tom frowned in dismay. It appears Tord isn't quite as receptive to him as Matt and Edd were.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Don't worry." Edd reassured him with a comforting pat. "Tord is very quiet and shy, but he'll warm up to you."

Edd let Tom take his seat, right next to Tord, while he went to grab another chair for himself. Tom fiddled the straps of his overalls nervously as he sat beside the stern-looking boy, occasionally shooting glances in his direction to see what he was doing. Tord barely acknowledged he was even there.

Tom frowned. He hoped this wasn't going to put a damper on his new-found friendships.

"So you didn't like each other then?" Patrick questioned, interrupting the story.

Tom shifted in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. "I wouldn't go quite to that extent." He muttered reluctantly. "We just sort of looked at each other… and didn't think much of it? It's kind like receiving a birthday gift you're not very enthusiastic about – we just didn't know what to make of each other. That's the best way I can put it."

Pat thinned his lips as he thought this over. "So you weren't exactly on bad terms, but not on friendly grounds either."

"Yup."

"And how did that made you feel then?"

The eyeless man did not answer right away. His gaze fell to the floor, his face held an unreadable expression on his face as he continuously tapped one foot. He really doesn't like today's topic.

Tom shrugged stubbornly. "Didn't care much."

"Tom." Pat admonished, seeing through his blatant lie.

Tom winced and cast him a smoldering glare, shifting in his seat; a clear sign of discomfort. "Alright - Fine! I may have been… slightly upset about it." He reluctantly confesses out of frustration. "But only because- I- well- being the shy and naïve kid that I was back then, who rarely interacted with other people and was so nervous about it only to get these amazing friends, I was afraid that- maybe- if I couldn't get Tord to, urgh, like me I couldn't be their friend anymore."

With every word he spoke, Tom felt a bit of his dignity die. This is much too personal and he hated having to talk about this now, to a person he hardly knows is trustworthy enough. However, Tom is well aware that it's futile to even try to lie or give short answers because Patrick seems to tell right away and immediately coax him to tell the truth.

But when you really think about it; what's the harm?

If in fact, Patrick is just gathering Intel to use it against him later on in the experiments, as a tool to manipulate him or something and this whole therapy-play is all a ruse, then Tom should be safe.

A sense of dull calmness instilled on him, and Tom let down his guard. Jokes on them, I'll be dead long before they get the chance to experiment on me. Internally, he laughed bitterly. I won't let them bring it back out. I mustn't!

Although not active right now, Tom was vaguely aware of the voice's presence swimming around his mind; cackling along with him at the idea.

Patrick can learn all he wants about him and his past, he could even tell Commie about it for all he cares, because none of it will matter in the end. Heck, maybe Pat will even see how messed up Tord truly is if Tom opens up about it. Whatever they decide to do with the information he's giving them, it will inevitably amount to nothing once he puts an end to his misery.

So yeah, Tom will play along for now until the time is right. But he won't let them take advantage of him – not if he can help it.

"So what did you do then?" Patrick questioned, jerking Tom out of his dark musings.

"I was friends with Edd and Matt like normal, and we would go on our "little" crazy adventures, even if Tord didn't seem that ecstatic about having me around." Tom explained, a tiny smirk tugging the corners of his mouth, barely visible. "And, well, I was trying to… impress Tord I guess? In hopes of us-"

He paused and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the next words he's about to say.

"Becoming friends."

(Flashback!)

Following the days after his first encounter with Tord, the group of friends stuck together ever since. Doing all sorts of crazy stuff and getting into trouble whenever they could. The teachers even dubbed their little group as: "a storm in the making."

Amidst their everyday activities, however, Tom was struggling in his efforts to properly befriend Tord.

Much like Edd and Matt had said, Tord didn't speak very often and when he did he sounded kind of weird. Turns out he wasn't from around the area, and came from a place up north. When Tom found out, he enthusiastically tried asking Tord a bunch of questions about where he came from, hoping he would open up and be friendlier but to no avail. Tord would only respond with short, direct answers and nothing more than that.

Tom was crestfallen. Nothing he did seem to appeal Tord enough to finally warm up a bit.

In fact, the only one Tord seems to be most talkative with was Edd. They are pretty close, and they always stuck close together. Wherever one of them is, the other is never far behind. Though Edd is the one who comes up with ideas for their adventures, Tord appears to have a hand on their schemes too. Often times, Tord would lean in and mutter something to the boy clad in green, causing him to chortle.

Thankfully, their closeness and Tom and Tord's lack of it did not put a damper on the groups' games of mischief. Though Tom often wished they all had the same tight bond as those two. Matt didn't seem to mind and was just happy tagging along in whatever they got planned, and assured Tom that he was one of them no matter what. Easy for him to say – Tord doesn't mind when he gives one of his infamous crushing hugs, or when Matt asks him for help during arts and crafts.

Regardless, things continued the same way.

Until…

Tom arrived in school like normal, but dropped his bag on the shelf with less excitement this time around. He looked around for a place to sit and found Tord sitting by himself on an empty table, messing with a toy robot in his hands. Their other friends nowhere in sight. Tom sighed nervously and walked over to join him.

It's been two days with no sign of the other two boys. According to Tord, Edd went traveling with his family somewhere, and Matt is stuck at home with a cold. So this week, until both of them return Tom and Tord are stuck with each other.

Tom sat down with a quiet greeting. Tord merely grunted in reply, not taking his focus away from his toy to properly acknowledge his presence. Feeling the familiar pang of hurt in his heart, Tom turned away and begun to fiddle with whatever toy was closest to him.

Neither of them spoke a word to each other as they waited for class to start.

It started to rain at some point, and they were forced to have recess inside instead of going out to the playground like they usually did. Tom decided he absolutely hated not having Edd or Matt around. After Tord continuously ignored him, Tom tried to play with some of the other kids but they weren't any better than the Norwegian boy. Some kept staring at him with curious and weary looks, others backed away in apprehension, and there were some who liked to pick on him.

The last straw for the eyeless boy was when a girl tried to stick a crayon into his sockets to see how deep it would go. He struggled away from her and retreated to the far off corner, away from everyone where he could play with a stack of building-blocks in peace.

Tom felt like crying. This isn't fun at all! He wanted his friends here with him, but most of all, he wanted to leave this awful place. He hugged his knees and started to sob quietly, curled into a ball and wishing he were somewhere else.

A sudden and loud clank had him look up in surprise. Through teary eyes he saw Tord a few feet away from where he sat, rummaging with an air vent. Curious, Tom wiped the tears away with the back of his sleeve and approached. Like usual, Tord did not seem to notice his presence until he spoke up.

"What are you doing?"

The question got Tord by surprise, and he jumped in alarm only to bang his head on the edge of the table above them. With a quiet hiss, the Norwegian boy rubbed his injured head and turned to look at Tom; who shied away from his gaze.

"Leaving." Tord replied curtly through his thick accent, turning his attention back to the vent. Upon closer inspection Tom could see some type of tool in his hand that he was using to lose the screws with.

"Where did you get that?" Tom asked. Without glancing up from his work, Tord motioned toward the janitor's tool box a couple feet away from where they are; left out in the open without adult supervision for any kid to grab. "You shouldn't steal." He fiddled with the straps of his overalls. "And we're not allowed to leav-"

A hand clamped over his mouth. "Shh!" Tord glared at him with a finger over his lips, signaling for silence. After a few seconds he let go and returned to fiddle with the air vent. "Don't care. I'm leaving." He repeated firmly.

With a quiet hiss of cheer, Tord pocketed the tool away and opened the vent. Tom stared at the Norwegian boy as he prepared to crawl in with a mixed set of emotions, until they overflowed and he couldn't take it.

"Can I come with you?" He blurted out.

Tord whirled around in surprise but did not say anything. Tom sighed and rubbed his arms together. "I don't like it here without our friends… I want to go home!"

For a few heartbeats Tom thought he wouldn't let him come along; and indeed, Tord just blinked a couple of times and crawled into the vent without another word. Tom sighed in dejection and turned away to head back to his secluded corner when Tord called out to him.

"Coming or not?"

Tom didn't need more incentive than that. He quickly gathered his stuff and crawled into the tight space of the vent, just big enough for him to fit, and followed Tord's lead through the dim ventilation system. He followed Tord through the darkness until the Norwegian boy pulled out a flashlight to illuminate the way. They were walking along a tunnel that sloped up and down, winding first one way and then the other.

On and on they went. How far have we come? Tom began to wonder.

"How do you know where to go?" He piped up suddenly. He'd been so enthusiastic about leaving it only hit him now that Tord might not even know the way out. "Did you do this before?"

"Duh! Of course!" Tord snapped from up ahead. Tom heard the shuffling of paper in front of him, and Tord twisted around as far as he could to face him. "I have map." He showed Tom a drawing scribbled in crayon.

They eventually made it out of the vents and exited out the very back of the school. Rain was still pouring down and Tom felt a cold shiver ripple down his spine as they jumped down and got instantly soaking wet. It's too bad they didn't bring an umbrella with them.

"Now what?"

Tord nodded the tall fence surrounding the school grounds. "We need to get over that. Just need something big…" He peered around for a solution. He had his hoodie on to protect his horn-like hair as best he could from the pouring rain. Tom envied him for the little shelter that he had from the bad weather. "Aha!" Tord's eyes lit up when his gaze landed on a trash can. "Perfect! We push this closer to fence and we jump over."

Tom shuffled on his feet in discomfort and glanced back at the school longingly. He kinda regrets coming along now that he is all drenched wet, but it's too late to turn back now. Not that he plans to anyway. School stinks without Edd and Matt around, and he can't leave Tord to go on his own now that they've come this far.

"Are you just going to stand there?"

Not wanting to get on Tord's bad side any further, Tom quickly jumped into action and helped him move the garbage can over to where they need it. Side by side they left the school behind and climbed over the fence. But as Tom and Tord dropped down onto the grass on the other side, they were met with nothing but swaths of tall trees as far as the children's perspective can see. Tom looked at the looming trees towering over them in awe, but felt a foreboding feeling creeping at the back of his neck the longer he stared.

"So like… where are we?" He prompted, hoping his companion would have some idea of where they're going.

Tord glanced at him with a grin. "The woods." And then took off into the dense woodland. Tom stared after him in dismay.

"Wait for me!" He cried out, desperate to keep up and not be left behind.

The two boys ran into the woods. Tord led the way with glee; swerving past branches, stones, and fallen trees with ease. Tom followed him, purely out of despair since he did not want to be left behind in the middle of the woods and never find his way out again. The overarching trees surrounding them provided a little shelter from the rain, to which Tom was thankful for.

"Through the woods is home!" Tord shouted encouragingly as he led the way deeper into the dense terrain.

Tom could only hope that the boy clad in red truly knows the way and wasn't just leading him a stray. His worries diminished considerably however, when the undergrowth began to thin out, and the sound of roaring cars drifted through the trees. Before long, Tord and he stood together at the edge of the tree line, staring out into a road.

The eyeless child breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank heavens! They are still within reach of civilization, and they won't have to spend the night out in the woods and scavenge for food. But now there's a new problem…

"Do we have to cross it?" Tom asked anxiously. His parents always told him to stay clear off any roads unless he was with his parents or teachers. But he isn't.

Tord simply nodded as he neared the sidewalk's edge. Worried he was going to take off and leave him behind again; Tom quickly reached forward and grabbed Tord's hand. The other boy turned to him in surprise.

"My mom said it's important to hold hands when we cross a street!" Tom smiled innocently. "And to look both ways too."

Tord rolled his eyes with a huff, but did not raise any complaints.

They waited for the cars to go on by until it was safe enough to cross. Even after they made it to the other side though, neither of them let go of the other's hand as they kept on walking. They strolled right through people's gardens. Tord said it was quicker this way, but Tom found it awfully disrespectful to invade people's property like this. But hey, anything to get him out of the rain sooner!

He nearly bumped into Tord when the latter abruptly stopped moving. Tom shot him a curious look and saw him point at a green house across the street from them. "Edd!" He exclaims, further confusing Tom as he looked around wildly. Edd? Where? Wasn't he supposed to be traveling?

Tord shook him and motioned toward the house again. "Edd!" He repeated more firmly.

That's when it hit him. "Oh! You mean that's where Edd lives?"

Tord nodded fervently and continued walking, pulling Tom along with him. The eyeless child wanted to ask how he knew where Edd lived, but was distracted when he realized that they were heading straight for a white house on their left. "Where are we?"

"Home." Tord replied, walking up the small steps to the front door.

"Ah, so you and Edd are neighbors then!" Tom's cheerfulness suddenly dwindled as worry began to creep up on him with a startling realization. "Wait! How am I going to get home?"

Tord turned to him with an inquisitive tilt of his head. "Know where your home is?"

Despite trying his best to think of an answer, he knew it was futile. His parents always dropped him off in school by car, and though he looked out the window on his way there every time he never memorized any of it. He looked around the foreign neighborhood he was currently in; hoping to find some clue of his whereabouts but to no avail.

Tom ducked away shyly and began to fiddle with the straps of his overalls. "No." He admitted.

He almost expected Tord to make some sort of rude comment about his stupid decision of following him all the way here, but the other boy was quiet. Tord bent down to pull out a key from underneath the 'welcome' mat, and unlocked the door to his home. Tom stared at him in dismay, fully expecting to be locked out in the rain and be left to find his way home by himself.

Just as he turned away to leave, Tord unexpectedly grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the house.

Tom blinked in surprise as the door closed behind them, and then stared at his surroundings in awe. Everything is so shiny, clean and pretty! Not to say that his own house isn't clean or nice. But Tord's home is so stark white it seemed to carry a lustrous glow everywhere he looked.

Tord nudged him and motioned for him to remove his shoes by the door, and Tom complied. "Where's your mom?" He couldn't help but question, noting the massive size of the house but seemingly no one occupying it at the moment.

"Working." Tord hummed, heading straight for the kitchen and opening the fridge. "She'll be home later."

"And your dad?" Tom shuffled closer. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he is soaking wet from the rain, and he was dripping water all over the polished wooden floor. His mom would not approve of any of his actions today.

"Not here." Tord took out a bunch of different kinds of food and placed them all on the table in front of them.

After asking for the bathroom, Tom managed to get himself semi-dried; his clothes still soggy and cold, but it was the best he could do with no spare clothes to put on. He returned to the kitchen and was met with the sight of Tord preparing snacks. He glanced at the eyeless child then; their gazes locked, and he patted the empty seat next to him.

They had lunch together. Tord made himself a sandwich while Tom pulled out the lunch his mom had packed him for the day – a chocolate milk carton and some crackers. It wasn't much, but neither Tom nor his mom could've ever foretold the series of events that transpired today. He was really thankful when Tord was kind enough to make a sandwich for him too.

As they finished eating, Tord began to put everything away again while Tom looked out the window, watching the sky darken and the rain continuing to pour down. It won't be long for school to end, and his parents will come to pick him up only to realize he's not there anymore. Tom sighed. How will he ever get home?

Tord must've taken his worried sigh as a sign of boredom, because as soon he was done clearing everything away he grabbed Tom's hand and started leading him up the stairs.

Upon opening the first door to the right, Tom was met with a semi big and yet simple looking bedroom. It consisted of a bed, a dresser, and a bright colorful toy box that contrasted with the stark white of the rest of the room.

Tord drew away from Tom to approach his bed, and revealed a walkie-talkie from under his pillow. "Edd!" He exclaimed, holding the blue device up and pointing at the window where their friend's house was in view.

Reaching to take the walkie-talkie from him, Tom could only hear static coming from the other end. "It probably doesn't reach wherever Edd went to." He observed, taking the hint that Edd has the other device. "Hey Tord, I really should be getting home. Do you think you can help me get there, please?" He asked shyly.

Despite Tord's usual cold demeanor towards him, Tom hoped he would at least be willing to help him now. Tom won't be able to return home on his own otherwise.

The other boy stared at him for a few heartbeats with a tilt of his head and then turned away from him, and began to rummage through the large toy box. Tom watched him curiously until Tord returned to him with a couple of figurines in hand.

Tom's concerns faded away almost instantly as he got distracted by the toys Tord was handing him.

They played together for quite a long while until Tom caught a glimpse of the alarm clock by the bedside table. He tried asking Tord for help again, but he merely kept showing him more toys and even took him to his living room to play video games whenever he brought up the subject of leaving. Admittedly, Tom was having lots of fun playing with Tord, but he felt guilty for the amount of worry he was placing on his parents the longer he stayed.

Tom glanced at the clock and realized school had ended about an hour ago. He then gazed out the window and jumped to his feet when he noticed it was no longer raining. Now was his chance!

"Tom?"

The eyeless boy turned to Tord, who looked at him with an inquisitive expression.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go home now." Tom glanced over his shoulder toward the front door. "It's getting late. My parents will be wondering where I am."

Tord hopped off the couch and moved past him to where a collection of board games were stacked up against the television. He grabbed one and returned to Tom with an excited skip in his step.

Tom stepped back. "No, Tord. I have to go." He repeated more firmly, but still apologetic. "It's been fun playing with you, but my mom and dad are waiting for me."

"But you don't know how to get there." Tord pointed out.

Tom sighed. "I'll back-track our trail all the way to school. From there… I'll just have to go by memory I guess."

Hearing his insistence, Tord looked visibly upset and shifted his feet in awkwardly. Tom took his silence as a victory and started getting ready to head out again. He grabbed his backpack and put on his shoes while Tord watched him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, it's okay. We'll see each other tomorrow in school!" Tom exclaimed, trying to cheer up the other boy. Tord dropped his gaze and fidgeted with his hands. "Besides, your parents are probably on their way home right now."

"No. Mom doesn't arrive until after bedtime."

"What about your dad?" Tom asked.

Tord looked away. "Not here." He repeated the same words from earlier, this time with some strain in his voice.

Taken back, Tom swept his gaze around the house again. It's certainly a very big place, clean and organized. But it's also kinda depressing upon closer look. The home was devoid of any color or personality. On his frame of vision, Tord is the only speck of either of those things among this whole bland household; and he looked so utterly small in comparison to everything else.

Tom felt a stab of pity for him. Tord must feel really lonely being cooped up in here with no one to play with. No wonder he'd been so insistent in trying to keep him here.

"Do you… want to come with me?" Tom offered. An idea just slid into his mind. Tord turned to him in surprise and he elaborated. "We'll play together some more, and you can sleepover at my place! My parents won't mind you staying over – I bet they'll even like you! Besides, I would feel a lot safer if you were accompanying me on the way there."

Tord didn't waste a heartbeat. "Okay!" He brightened up and immediately tore away up the stairs to pack his things.

Tom waited by the door for him, but it wasn't long before Tord descended the steps again; backpack hanging over his shoulders. He went to the kitchen and wrote a quick note to his mom regarding his whereabouts, left it on the balcony, and neared Tom.

"Ready!"

"Alright, let's go!"

Tord locked the door as they stepped out, and together they proceeded to retreat back the way they came. They passed through people's gardens again, crossed the street, and raced through the darkening woods once again until they reached the school grounds.

The two boys checked their surroundings wearily as they stepped out from the undergrowth for any signs of the teachers. No doubt their absence was noted at some point during their escape, and it would be really bad if they get caught back here now.

"Where to now?" Tord turned to Tom expectantly.

Biting his lip deep in thought, Tom's face scrunched up as he tried hard to remember the brief memories of the car rides from home to school and back again.

"This way I think." Tom nodded the street to the right.

Their pace slowed down considerably now that they were threading in fairly unknown territory. Tom had to pause a lot throughout their journey to recall the right way to go. He would look around for anything remotely familiar, follow his gut, and choose a direction. Tom hopes they're heading in the right path, and that they'll get home before the sun goes down.

They held hands whenever they had to cross a street, and Tord tried to cut path through people's gardens again but Tom stopped him; insisting they had to stick close to the road for him to get his bearings clear, and because it's rude to invade people's properties. Tord had grumbled a complaint but sulked after him obediently.

"Look!" Tom pointed towards a familiar blue house just a block away from them. Relief flooded through him at the sight of his home. "We're nearly there!"

They crossed one last road and started to the house together. "Mom! Dad!" Tom cried out in joy, seeing his parents waiting for him by the front door. He drifted to a halt and swept his parents into a hug. Remembering he was not alone, Tom quickly introduced them to Tord. "This is my friend from school, Tord!" He gesture to the other boy, who stared at them in complete bewilderment. "He helped me get home. Can he spend the night over with us, please?"

Tom glanced back and forth between his parents in silence.

"He left a note for his mom."

Silence.

Tom smiled gleefully. "Yay! Thank you mom!" He placed them down and turned to face Tord. "They said yes." He grabbed Tord's hand and dragged him inside the house.

Tom showed Tord around his home, then he showed him his toys – it's not nearly as big of a collection as Tord's, but he still has plenty of them. "This is Tomee bear!" Tom held out his plushie teddy bear with the unibrow for Tord. "My dad gave it to me for my birthday!"

They played together for a quite a while, then Tom's parents made them pasta for dinner. They played around some more after that, until Tom's mom announced it was bedtime. Since they didn't have an extra bed, Tom had to share his bed with Tord; which is fine – if anything it makes the sleepover experience all the more fun!

Even though they have to wake up early for school the next morning, they talked for quite a while into the night, way past the time they were meant to be asleep. Didn't help that Tord had brought a whole load of candy from his home for them to share.

"Hey Tord?"

"Hm?"

"You awake?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like me now?" Tom asked bluntly.

Tord raised his head from the other side of the bed and peered back at him with a questioning glance. "What you mean?"

Tom fidgeted with his hands. "It just seemed like you wanted nothing to do with me before today, and now we're having a sleepover and stuff." He mumbled. "Does this mean we're friends now?" He looked at Tord expectantly.

The other boy steadily stared back at him for a couple heartbeats before he broke away his gaze and stared at the ceiling instead. "I never hated you." He admitted. "I just… didn't know how to act around you. Edd and Matt told me so much about you I got nervous."

"I think you're pretty cool." Tom commented casually.

"Thanks. I think you are great too." Tord yawned, stretching his arms lazily. "Yeah, so I guess this does make us friends."

Tom smiled and hugged Tomee bear tighter. "Yay!" He whispers excitedly under his breath.

It sure took them quite a while to finally drift off to sleep.

Needless to say, Edd and Matt were overjoyed to see them getting along so nicely when they eventually returned to school.

Tom sank his head onto his chest. His eyes shut as if he were in pain by the memory he recalled from his past. He was silent for so long that Patrick wondered if he was about to end the session now, but the eyeless man said nothing yet. Then Tom's features finally smoothed, and he took a deep breath.

"We were… inseparable, for a while." He murmured quietly. ""Best friends forever" – we would tell each other back then." A hint of bitterness could be detected in his voice, and then his face twitched with the bare hint of a faint smile. "Tord loved inventing and making plans. Every year he would sign up to robotic courses, and every year he would attempt to create something new. He won several awards for his projects throughout our academic period." He chuckled. "I remember when Edd gave him a chemistry kit for his birthday when we were very young. Tord loved it. He was such a dork."

Conflicting emotions stirred inside of Tom like a deadly storm. What the h#ll was he feeling? It was warm, but with a hint of bitter frost beneath all that. He felt empty, but steadily brimming up at the same time. The voice could be sensed at the very back of his head. It seems agitated for some reason; though it remained silent.

"Tord and I would go over to each other's houses all the time, and sleepover too in most cases. Tord would tinker away in his garage and I would watch him work; sometimes play the bass too to pass the time. We would talk about video games and stuff, but we stayed mostly quiet and just did our own thing." Tom continued, unsure of his feelings but sensing a strong urge to keep on talking for some reason. "Tord, being great at picking things apart and rebuilding them anew, would offer his services to fix broken things to earn money. I would often tag along and we would ride on a bike together to our destination." He snorted softly. "One time, Tord was called in to fix this old lady's furnace on the outskirts of the town. I went along with him and I remember that after Tord had it fixed, the lady made us lemonade and we sat on her porch where there were a bunch of fireflies out and about. I think Tord was feeling a bit down that day, I can't remember exactly why… So I tried to cheer him up by gathering a bunch of fireflies and bringing them closer to him. It was pretty cool up until one of them flew inside my eyes and we both started to panic, trying to get it out. But at least he stopped being sad, so I guess it worked in a way."

Patrick observed his facial expressions carefully as he listened with intrigue. Was that a glint of fondness he could hear in the Brit's voice? Pat grew hopeful at the idea that there could still be some semblance of endearment in Tom for their leader despite their broken friendship. There's a slim chance their prideful rivalry could end if they were open with each other. Unfortunately, knowing Red Leader's superiority complex and Tom's habit of holding grudges, chances are, they will never overcome their differences.

If only. Pat thought with regret.

"When… my father died… It was one of the worst moments of my life." Tom said with a somber tone. He recalled that specific memory with a pang in his heart as he thought of, not only of his dad, but how he changed so drastically by one tragic incident. Tom went from being a cheerful kid with a lot of love in his heart to a pessimistic and grumpy child. Who knew he would end up being a barely-functioning and utterly broken man by the end of his days? Tom mourned the loss of that child. "I would shut myself off from the others and cry constantly. Edd would come and console me as best he could during those hard times. Matt tried to comfort me in his usual not-so-subtle way of hugging." Tom looked down at his hands. "But Tord… he would just sit close by, not saying anything, and just… be there. It was strangely comforting to be completely honest." A small, shy grin appeared on his face.

Patrick swallowed. It was now or never. "What happened between you two?"

The Brit's grin faded, to be replaced by a sorrowful expression. "When we were about 14 years old we started to get reckless. We began to drink and smoke at an early age without anyone else knowing… well, Matt might have known, but he never did anything aside from giving us distasteful glances." Tom murmured. "Tord and I started to crave for bigger thrills as we got older. The adventures the four of us would go on were great and goofy, but didn't exactly fulfill our needs. So he and I initiated a series of minor heists or as we liked to call it then, crimes."

Patrick leaned forward in his seat. "Go on." He urged quietly.

Tom blinked several times, as though trying to get his thoughts in order. "They were inoffensive at first… just shoplifting here and there, or making elaborate pranks in school." He went on. "But eventually we moved on to breaking into places, stealing whatever we wanted – usually things Tord needed for some new wacko invention of his – and doing some dangerous sh#t. But we never seriously harmed anyone! That's not what we were about. Tord and I were partners in crime for a while; and for what's worth, it was admittedly fun while it lasted. " His expression turned pained. "As you can probably expect from a duo of stupid kids doing even stupider nonsense, we were eventually found out."

His voice fell silent then, his face a mask of anguish, before licking his lips and continuing. "We went too far one day and people got truly hurt that time around. We got questioned. I was scared but not too worried about the consequences because, well, Tord was with me. We caused this mess together, we were partners in crime, and we would face the consequences together." His voice wavered as he went on. Tom paused and took a deep breath. "But that's not what happened."

Patrick's chest tightened with sympathy, but he nodded for the Brit to continue.

"Tord…" Tom choked, and then tried again. "He didn't want this incident to foil his good reputation as a top grade student, or his chances of being a successful inventor in the future. Tord had big aspirations, even back then, and he knew that if anyone found out of his involvement he would be branded; possibly for life." He shut his eyes and turned his head away. "So of course he did the only logical thing he could do in this situation. He threw me under the bus. He told the cops, the principle, our parents – everyone who ever questioned us that I did all those things by myself and he only knew about them but never participated in anyway. " Tom took a long, shuddering breath.

"I got all the blame. Even when I tried to tell people what really happened, no one believed me. How could they? It's the word of an honor student against that of a dumb child with an attitude problem. Tord also told them about my illegal drinking habits and my father's death – thinking that in some way would cushion the blow and lessen my punishment somehow. But I know he only said those things so they wouldn't suspect him anymore. They started referring to me as a "problem child" – I was forced to go to counseling and got suspended from school for a while."

Tom fell silent for a few seconds, staring off into space. He felt his throat constricting as grief and anger threatened to choke him. Whatever warmth he was feeling before has been completely dissipated and now he only felt cold. He dug his nails into the arms of the chair.

"I know that doesn't change the fact that people really did get hurt because of me. I understand that I wasn't completely innocent either. But to have everyone turn against you like that… I'm just thankful that Edd and Matt never gave up on me." He trailed off and winced. I definitely couldn't have told them what the matter with me is. Tom thought, thinking of his current predicament. They would've been so afraid of me if I did. They wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore; not after everything stacking up against me. Maybe it's for the best. "I confronted Tord on the matter eventually. I wanted to know why he would betray his best friend like that… Ha! Oh the irony. Do you want to know what he said? What his line of reasoning was?"

Now his voice was a low, bitter chuckle, with a strange note of mirth in it. Patrick's stomach churned with apprehension, but he had no other choice but to press on at this point.

Tom set his jaw. "Like I said; he did it to protect his reputation. But also because it was more likely that I would do something like this, sooner or later, given my lack of talent and failing grades in comparison to him." Resentment flared up inside of him, and for a split-second he swore he saw his hands turn into claws. "Basically – I was a failure. He wasn't. No one with a bright future would do those things, so obviously the problematic one had to be culprit behind everything. I was the perfect cover up. Can you believe he had the gall to not only tell me not to take it personally, but act as if nothing ever happened when I finally returned to school? I wanted to punch him so badly then. But of course, given my history of violence I couldn't do anything unless I wanted to be expelled. When I finally got him alone though… I did not hold anything back. We were rivals ever since."

Pat remained silent; all he could think about was the feeling of utter betrayal Tom must've felt back then. To have someone you grew up with and think of as a friend, only to suddenly turn on you. A chill ran though him at the thought of what that must have been like. No wonder Tom carried so much hatred for his leader.

At first Pat wanted to console the eyeless man of his situation, but instantly decided against it. This incent was years ago, and Tom was not the type of person to accept pity from others. Patrick has to thread carefully now.

"Did… you friends ever learn the truth?"

"No." Tom choked out. "As far as I know, they think we only hate each other because of some petty arguments and misunderstandings as we grew older. When we finally started living together, it was only for their sake that Tord and I merely tolerated each other's presence and tried to be, you know, civil."

He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. If only his friends had seen Tord as he had before the robot incident; putting his ambition and pride above all else, searching for dangerous thrills no matter what cost, and provoking any reason he could to use his guns with wild-eyed hunger for bloodshed. The memories gave Tom strength. Whatever it had cost him, he was the only one who could stand in Tord's way now. Only he knew what the Norsk was capable of.

"The day he left was the happiest I've ever been by far."

"So that incident is your main source of conflict then?" Patrick prompted.

"It's the key reason as to why we're enemies, yes. But as the years went by our fights and arguments escalated, the incident just became the kick-starter. Like, of course I haven't forgotten much less forgiven the commie for what had happened, but we simply can't stand each other. The bastard loves Christmas – practically relishes it. I absolutely hate it. He smokes. I drink. He's a Commie, and I'm a Jehovah's Witness. See what I mean?"

Pat nodded in understanding. "Have you ever wanted to get revenge on him?" He ventured cautiously. His answer would be critical.

Tom took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then slowly let it out. He thought hard about the question. Did he ever want revenge against the commie for what he did? Maybe at some point in the past, but now Tom is too far-removed to really care about it at this point. Revenge is the least of his worries, and probably at the bottom of his bucket list if he had to double check.

"I foiled his world domination plans and made him lose a limb. I say that's revenge enough." Tom played cool while inwardly snickering; thinking on how he will take his own life right before Tord's eyes, foiling his plans yet again when the experiments finally begin. His last chance at the monster serum… gone for good. Tom will have the last laugh in the end. Too bad he won't get to see the look on the Commie's face when it happens, but it's the thought that counts. Tom just wishes he could die somewhere a bit more pleasant than an evil laboratory.

His friends instantly came to mind and the dark amusement he felt dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming wave of grief. Tom will never get to tell them how much they meant to him now.

"Thing is…" He began quietly. "Tord and I may have gotten along in the past, and if the incident hadn't happened nothing would've changed. But that's the point, isn't it? I never meant anything to him. None of us did. We were simply pawns for him, just waiting for the perfect chance to be played. It just so happens I got used first. So in short… Tord and I were never friends." He finished; his voice cold.

The Polish soldier nodded solemnly and typed on his tablet. Possible use of denial as a defense mechanism?

"I'm done talking about this now." Tom sighed, feeling his emotions disappear and leave him hollow.

Patrick put away his glasses and placed the tablet down. "That's alright. Thank you for your cooperation, Tom." He led Tom toward the door, placing a gentle hand on his back. "I'll deliver dinner a little later than usual today. My schedule is a bit tight."

"That's fine." Tom answered absently. How come he always felt like sh#t after every damn mental evaluation?

He stepped out into the hallway and walked away with a small wave of goodbye to Pat. The Polish soldier watched him go with a worried gaze until he was out of sight, and then left to return to his duties.

Tom's whole body felt numb as he walked, and his head spun with images of Tord – the old Tord. The one he grew up alongside of and went to school with. The one he nearly considered a friend – flashing in his mind. Tom wanted to have the familiar sensation of anger burn brightly through him at the thought of the Commie bastard and all he put him through. It was in there somewhere, but its spot was currently taken by a hollow melancholy that made him sway on his feet.

The hallway itself seemed different, even stranger to Tom than the day he had arrived in the facility. Nothing was real; he felt as if the walls and floor could dissolve like mist within a moment. A vast, unnatural silence covered everything.

Forget it. Don't think about it. It's in the past. Tom kept telling himself. This is all part of their manipulative schemes. They want me to see the Commie as more than just a rival to win my loyalty. Well, it's not going happen. Out of sheer stubbornness, he begins to recall the memories of Tord at his worst. The giant robot. Their many fights. Getting his face shoved into the cake on his thirteenth birthday by him. Using Tom as an escape goat –

That particular scene of his youth replayed over and over in his head. He saw again the scrutinizing figures standing before him as he was being thoroughly interrogated, and felt the hostile and terrified stares burn him wherever he went. He remembered how his mom and friends would try to console him despite everything, and even support him. He flinched again at the harsh voices talking down to him for his misdeeds and for a split-second he felt like cowering away.

But most of all, Tom recalled his dismay and disbelief as he confronted Tord, and realized that he had betrayed him to the authorities to save himself and his precious reputation from suffering the same fate.

Tom had stared at the guy whom he considered a friend; someone he thought he could confide in with everything. He thought he had known him well, but he couldn't recognize him at all then.

Instead of feeling anger like he wanted to, Tom only felt an intense pang of hurt. On the one hand he's feeling something now at least, but it's not nearly as prominent or long-lasting as rage.

"You know, instead of trying so desperately to feel emotions again why don't you spend your time doing something more productive? ~" The voice chimed in his head suddenly. Its arrival pressurized his skull with great intensity and the world turned a shade darker.

Ah! There you are. Tom thought with a flicker of sarcasm. I was wondering when you were going to show up. Let me guess; by productive you mean-?

"Killing yourself – yes! ~" It interrupted, circling a pair of specter arms around Tom's neck and shoulders casually. "Haven't you noticed you're running out of time? It won't be long now before they begin the experiments. ~"

Tom realized what the voice was saying is true. He is back to full health, and is even training as a soldier. Surely the actual experiments won't be far behind if that's the case then? A shiver of dread ran down his spine at the realization.

If everything goes my way, I won't have to do anything until then. Tom thought decisively. The idea is that Tord kills me in the process of perfecting his serum. That's why I told him not to use any drugs on me; to heighten my chances of dying.

"But they are being too careful with you. Even without the drugs they won't let go of you so easily if they can prevent it. ~" The voice reasoned, tightening its grip on him as another set of limbs circled his waist. "What then? If you don't die the way you're expecting to, what will you do? ~"

It won't come to that. Tom snapped assertively. There were 1825 other test subjects before me and they all died the same way. Why would I be any different?

Without warning, Tom felt a shriek being ripped out of his throat as a cleaver suddenly cut deep into his left shoulder. He nearly staggered forward in pain, but in reality he merely whimpered under his breath to keep the facade out in the open. "Because the serum works with you! You know that! ~" The voice snarls at him.

Commie doesn't know that. Tom pointed out through rasped breaths. This pain was unbearable.

"What if he finds out? What then, you low-life maggot? ~" A clawed hand moved up to grab him by the neck, earning a strangling cry from Tom. "You think he doesn't have ways to figure out? He is smart, unlike you. He is better than you. Who knows? The proof could show up in your blood sample and you wouldn't even know! But they do, and they are playing you for the damn fool that you are. You have to die now! ~"

The voice prepared to stab him – Tom could feel another blade forcefully poking his abdomen, ready to pierce his flesh right through – when a sudden explosion seemed to startle the voice away, and jolt Tom back to reality.

"Faen!"

Tom looked around wildly; the dark haze gone from his vision, confused as to what just happened when his gaze landed on a door a few steps up.

The test room.

His heartbeat slowed and he calmed down. His concerns momentarily forgotten and replaced by curiosity, Tom decided to investigate the commotion. It's not like he had anything better to do and he was no stranger to the test room. He'd entered before on one of his many strolls around the laboratory – aimlessly looking for something to take his mind off things.

It had been open only once, and then never again after that first visit.

Tom assumed Patrick had it locked after tracing his location via chip, though the Polish soldier never said anything to him about it afterwards. Guess they don't want him snooping around where he shouldn't, but how was Tom supposed to know? Tord never mentioned that in the rules. Besides, it's not like Tom could make any sense of that room. It's all just a bunch of heavy machinery and weird junk.

Cautiously, Tom pushed the door to the test room open and slipped inside. The room is semi-dark, with only the distant flare and the roar of a blowtorch to guide the way. Strange machinery of all sorts loomed around the room like a maze, their purpose unknown, and the place untouched since his last visit. Tom weaved his way through the labyrinth of junk as he followed the only source of light in the room.

When he made it to the center, Tom found a figure hunched over a table just ahead of him; and judging by the devilish-styled hair it was definitely none other than Tord. No surprise there, Tom had already guessed it was him the moment he heard him curse.

Naturally, with his curiosity mostly satisfied, this would usually be the time Tom would turn away and leave to avoid any form of interaction with the Norsk. But Tom stayed where he was.

He watched Tord work with a strange fascination. The Norsk is completely focused in his project and whatever it was he was doing. Probably creating his next big world domination device, if Tom had to guess. The sparks of fire from the blowtorch created an eerie glow around him that made him look… almost ethereal in a way. The sight was strangely alluring.

The peace of the scene was shattered when Tom sneezed suddenly.

The blowtorch turned off instantly, and Tom's gasp hitched in his throat.

"Å for faen!"

Tord whipped around, his face concealed by a welding mask. Tom winced and tried to back away and make himself unseen among the many machines around him, but to no use. Tord spotted him at once and marched up to him; ranting in his native tongue. "Flott! Akkurat det jeg trengte nå – forstyrrelser!" As the Norwegian man drew nearer he lifted the mask off his face to reveal his features, evidently annoyed by the interruption as he glared at the Brit.

"Kan aldri få gjort noen ting i dette dritt hølet!"

An awkward silence stretched out between them once Tord finished his mad foreign raving, as if he were waiting for the eyeless man to respond. Tom stared at him perplexed for a while. How was he supposed to answer when he had no clue to what had been just said?

"Uh… what?"

"What are you doing here?" Tord narrowed his eyes accusingly.

"I, uh, was just passing by on the way to my quarters when I heard you." Tom told him lamely.

"Awn, and you decided to check up on me? I'm flattered!" Tord chuckled mockingly. He turned away and returned to his work. "Didn't think you would want to see me so soon after our disastrous training session this morning."

Neither did I. The though escaped Tom before he could even process it. His anger toward the Norsk for this morning's events has faded away after his mental evaluation with Patrick. The melancholic feeling returned as he looked at Tord now. "What… what are you doing?"

"Tinkering. What's it look like?" Tord retorted without looking up from his work. He gathered the tools spread out across the table and brought them closer to inspect them for damages.

"Shouldn't you be like, I don't know, leading an army or something?" Tom prompted quietly, acting completely opposite to his usual behavior around Tord.

"I just got out from a particularly annoying meeting with my generals, and I would like to cool off a bit before I decide to shoot the next person that pisses me off." Was the Norsk's dry reply.

At the very back of his mind, Tom could feel the presence of the voice shift in excitement and silently urged Tom to do so. Had he been in a foul mood, Tom would have no problem in complying. But since he wasn't feeling particularly angry or cocky at this moment in time, Tom did nothing but stare at Tord.

"If you want to stay here then I suggest you keep quiet and don't interrupt me." Tord warned as he began to fiddle with a couple of wires, igniting a small spark.

Tom didn't bother replying. His gaze scanned around the room, pausing briefly over all the weird machinery around them with curious awe. Did he make these all by himself? He wondered. What kind of evil intent are they capable of?

He began to investigate the contents of the room, for once mindful of Tord's warning. Tom had no idea what the matter with him is. Minutes ago he was talking about how much he hated Tord, and now he can't even bring himself to feel so much as a flicker of distaste for the Norwegian man. Any other day Tom wouldn't have hesitated to mock Tord despite his anger, or just storm out of the room seeing as there was no one else to interact other than him.

So how come he is still here when he got every reason not to?

Truth be told, the recent episode with the voice left him a bit spooked. The sudden and repetitive warning ringing in his head that he had to die now shook him to his core. And Tom could still feel a bit of the old nostalgic sensation deep within from when he was talking to Pat. So this seems like a good distraction.

While Tom worked to distract himself, Tord's focus started to slip away from his work.

As he tightened one of the bolts to his newest invention, Tord's gaze seems to flicker back to Tom every now and then; making sure the Brit doesn't mess with something he shouldn't. In reality he was starting to regret his hasty decision of letting Tom stay in close proximity when all he wanted was some peace and quiet while he worked.

Tsk… what a nuisance. Tord thought irritably and went back to tinkering. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to ignore him, he would inevitably halt progress and return to watch Tom inspect his inventions with curious intent. Despite all his efforts over the past two weeks, Tord couldn't entirely suppress the recently awakened emotions he still feels towards Thomas. Tord would be lying if he said he didn't feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest when he finally saw the Brit again – much to his annoyance.

Now Tord observed his test subject stroll about the room, watching his every move as his single-eyed gaze raked over the eyeless man's form.

The Norsk still blames his Commander for the return of his unrequited emotions. Tord understands that Tom could never feel the same way towards him, so why bother with these feelings all over again? And despite priding himself in acting more like Red Leader than Tord nowadays, he could never follow through the persona's attitude of "take what you want" in this subject matter – even he has principles!

At least Tord can have the small satisfaction at the fact that; with Tom working with him so closely in his army he can't belong to anyone else.

"So… what is all this?"

Tom's voice suddenly cut through Tord's thoughts, effectively snapping the Norsk back to reality. He'd been so busy admiring Tom and contemplating his situation he barely acknowledged the fact that he wasn't feeling angry or stressed anymore.

"This, if you haven't realized, is the test room. It's where I dedicate my time into creating new inventions without being interrupted." Tord swoop his arm to gesture their surroundings and shot Tom a pointed glare.

Tom turned to him with furrowed eyebrows. "I figured that. But like, don't you have a board of scientists to create things for you instead?"

"And miss out on the opportunity to make a breakthrough in science and change the way of life as we know it? What's the fun in that?" Tord grinned. "Besides; I like tinkering! It helps me with my temper." Tord explained coolly, though a hint of excitement could be detected in his voice.

Initial frustration aside, he was behaving like the bold and enthusiastic kid Tom had once cared for and was even friends with, giving Tom an even more agonizing sense of what they had lost.

Pushing his silly thoughts aside, Tom directed his attention to the ceiling. "Don't you need better lighting to see what you're doing?" He pointed out casually. "Why is the room so damn dark?"

"I think you've been spending a little too much time around Patrick." Tord observed dryly.

Tom shrugged. "It was your orders, if you remember." He then smirked. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you're trying to imitate the phantom of the opera."

"Excuse me?" Tord sputtered in surprise.

"I mean, you can already play the part." Tom elaborated casually as he continued to look at the machines. "Creepy guy living underground, half his face damaged, considers himself a great genius, and is obsessed with his work. All you need is some poor fool for you to pine after and you're practically the same."

Tord did his best to laugh without tainting it with his nervousness at Tom's comment. He observed the eyeless man wander about the room intently. There was something particularly… off about Tom. He seems at ease in his presence now, and he wasn't making any aggressive remarks just good-natured comments. Recalling his schedule, Tord knew Tom must've ended his evaluation with Pat not too long ago. What did they talk about for Tom to be so… tame?

"So these are your inventions." Tom murmured. "Are they all weapons?"

"Oh no! Not at all! These are all… mostly harmless." Tord chuckled as he removed the welding mask off his head and moved closer to Tom. "I merely design the weapons and let my scientists take care of those. But these inventions are merely the result of my passion for tinkering; and though most of them may never see the light of day, I have hope that I'll get to implement some them into society once the world is finally mine."

Tom's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What kind of inventions you have?"

When Tord's head snapped in his direction with a big wide grin on his face, and his one visible eye sparkling with interest and enthusiasm, Tom instantly knew he had accidentally wind up the right key to get him into motion.

"I have plenty more! Would you… like me to show you?" Tord offered with barely suppressed giddiness, and proceeded to extend his robotic hand out for Tom.

In any other moment, Tom wouldn't think twice about scoffing and slapping the hand away from him. But he simply blinked in surprise instead, and found himself genuinely considering the offer. Was this a sign he was developing Stockholm syndrome? Being incapable of rightfully resent the man that ruined so much of his life seems to fit in with the criteria well enough.

"Uh, sure? I guess I coul-"

Tord grabbed a hold of his arm suddenly, effectively cutting Tom off before he could even finish his sentence.

"Wonderful!" The Norsk beamed brightly and began to drag him along as he led the way through the lab. His stride was so energetic and fast Tom had to practically run just to keep up with him and not stumble to the floor.

"Now, let's see… Aha!"

A box on one of the tables, with the label "creation #258" etched on the side in black marker, caught Tord's eye and they approached. Tom leaned closer and peered inside to look at the contents of said box, and Tom raised an eyebrow at the dozens of tiny white discs he found inside.

"These are voice modulators." Tord elaborated, picking one of the discs carefully between his fingers and raised it to their eye level. "Their primary function is to change the user's voice."

Tom looked at the tiny invention in awe. It was barely the size of a bottle cap!

"They were supposed to be powerful enough to record and store many voice files for the user to change around at will. However, the technology I used to create them is not exactly ideal to store such huge amount of data – hence why there are so many of them."

"So what you're saying is that each one of them has only one voice?"

"Precisely; though I do plan to change that in the foreseeable future." Tord confirmed as he analyzed his own invention. "You just attach it to your neck like this, and it will externally connect to your vocal cords." He explained as he placed the tiny disc on his own neck, receiving a brief zap of shock when it connected.

"Shouldn't be long to take effect; I just need to keep talking until it finally kicks in. Have no idea what kind of voice I'm going to get though. I really need to start labeling these discs for future reference."

Tom and Tord stared at each other wide eyed as the latter's voice changed mid-sentence to a feminine tone. Tord grinned in amusement and started to laugh; his voice reverberated around them, smooth and silky. Tom took a few steps back in bewilderment. "Oh sh#t!"

"Surprised, Thomas?" Tord asked teasingly, trying out his new voice. "I created these modulators to aid in undercover missions – you know? Make it harder to expose the wearer's identity. And hey, we also live in an age where people are forging themselves a brand new identity; so this can also be quite profitable if I ever release it to the public."

"Okay, I get the idea now – can you please take that off?" Tom demanded, hiding half his face behind his hands as he stared at Tord incredulously. "Urgh, that voice with your face just doesn't fit. It's disturbing to hear it come out of your mouth!"

Tord giggled. "Well… I was thinking of keeping this on throughout the rest of the day and maybe prank Paul with it, but if you insist." With one final exasperated sigh, which he totally made with the intent of teasing Tom, he removed the modulator from his neck and places it back in the box. Tord cleared his throat. "Now, shall we continue?"

"Can I pick the invention this time?" Tom prompted.

"Be my guest!"

Tom glanced around, looking for something to catch his gaze, while Tord watched him with anticipation. His eyeless vision landed on a strange looking gun-like device on a shelf. It's dark blue in color, darker than his hoodie, with weird white spikes surrounding the barrel and spine.

Following his gaze, Tord grabbed a hold of the device. "This is creation #319, the Goofynator."

"The what now?" Tom sputtered.

"The Goofynator." Tord repeated like there was nothing unusual about his statement, and it was in such a casual way Tom simply stared at him with a strange look, not sure whether he should be confused or laugh it off. Sensing his mixed bag of emotions, Tord sighed proceeded to elaborate. "It decreases the target's intelligence by 99%, leaving them only a margin of 1% clever for the next 48 hours. Weird invention, I know; but I like inventing stuff no matter how stupid it may be, and our supplier tends to ask for some pretty strange things whenever we make deals. So it can come in handy."

Tom eyed the device wearily. "Does it work?"

"Meh, never tried it out. Can't seem to find a good time or candidate to test it on." Tord shrugged. He then grinned and aimed the device at the test subject. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"No thanks." Tom veered the odd gun away from him with one finger. "Think I'm good."

As Tord turned away to put the device back in its place, Tom caught a glimpse of a big cylindrical device across from them. It has pipes attached to itself in several areas, and a screen plastered on the front with a control panel of some kind.

"I would prefer if you stayed away from that one." Tord intercepted and pulled Tom away from the machine before he could properly inspect it. The eyeless man looked at him in wonder.

"Why? What does it do?"

"That is creation #151, and it's very unstable so far." Tord nodded toward the large contraption. "It's supposed to be a type of DNA splicer – artificially combining the genetic material of two people together to create a whole new being."

"What for?"

"Well… It can prevent deformities and genetic disorders from passing down, ensuring perfect health. You can manipulate how the final product will look like and which genes to pass on. Can help both infertile and same-sex couples. And it's safe…" Tord glared at the machine. "Or at least it's supposed to be! But every time I tinker with this damn machine it blows up in my face!" He kicked it for good measure. When an ominous growl was produced deep within the contraption, Tord and Tom wearily backed away.

Tom stepped back and regarded the machines for a few seconds, a mild expression of awe forming in his features. "Incredible." He breathed, oblivious to the Norsk puffing with pride at his side; basking in the praise. "How do you come up with so many inventions?"

"Oh! It's quite simple really." Tord smiled. "Thinking of new projects to create is the only way to get me through boring meetings and huge stacks of paperwork." Then he paused, a mischievous smirk making its way on his face. "Well… hentai also helps-"

Tom put his hands up, palms out, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Okay, okay. I should have known better than to ask where a mad scientist gets his ideas from."

Tord tilted his head slightly. "You… consider me a mad scientist?"

His voice was nowhere near menacing, even his facial expression showed more curiosity than anything else, but Tom still froze at the inquiry. Was he offended by his comment?

"Well, yeah?" He replied with a shrug. "I mean, what else would you call a crazy guy living underground working on weapons and hell-bent on world domination?"

The Norsk stepped closer to him. When Tom went to take a step back, his hand was instantly grabbed by the Norwegian man's own robotic one. He stopped and watched in total bewilderment as Tord enfolded his hand on both of his own. Tom flushed in embarrassment at the situation, feeling completely flustered. What's happening?

"It's all right." Tord soothed. "It's as accurate a term as any, really." He glanced at their hands with an unreadable expression on his face, save for the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "I suppose that by most standards, I am quite insane. Mad as a bag of cats, one would say. I would have to be, after all, to want to take over the world – and honestly I believe that frees me from a lot of the constraints of other more simple-minded folk. I can… envision the world I want, and the means to accomplish what must seem like a ludicrously lofty goal for most people."

Tom's gaze flickered from their hands to his face; his expression was a mask of tightly controlled unease, and he was vaguely aware of the heat creeping up on his cheeks the longer his hand was held by gentle, metallic fingers.

"Tord." He began quietly, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Why do you want to take over the world so badly?"

Despite his better judgment, Tom felt like he needed to know the answer to that question before he dies. He needed to know the real reason behind Tord's actions – what drives him forward, and why he does the things that he does at such a personal high cost.

It won't change anything, but Tom wants to know anyway and hear it from Tord himself.

Tord appeared to grin at the question and tugged Tom closer. "I want what I think most people want – a better world."

Tom scoffed dryly and rolled his non-existent eyes. Figures. Why did I think I would get a logical answer from him? "Yeah, right! You're greedy, Commie. Pure and simple. You only want power over everyone else." He mocked, feeling much like his usual self and tried to rip his hand out of the Commie's grip but to no avail.

The Norsk chuckled. "You know; if you're simply going to disregard whatever answer I give, why ask at all?" He observed with a sly grin, not at all offended by Tom's comment. "But I speak the truth, whether you believe me or not." Dipping his head, he went on. "Yes, I confess that my goals were selfish and greedy at the start – power and glory over the masses is a very seductive idea, after all. However, as I matured over the years through hard training and sheer discipline, I began to look at the bigger picture and all the possibilities that are open to me once I do take over. I can mold the world in whatever way I want! I can, and will, fix everything that's wrong with our current society."

"Wow, it sure must be windy in that high horse you got yourself onto!" Tom cut in with a snarky comment. How the hell did he get up there anyway? He wondered with disbelief. "Are we going to drink the Kool-Aid later, oh great and powerful Red Leader?" He did a tiny mock bow at the end of his remark.

Tord laughed, greatly amused by the Brit's jabs. It's not often that he hears someone poking fun at him good-natured like this. His soldiers either highly respect or fear him, and there are others that tend to be bootlickers. If anyone dared to make a wrong comment, one glare in their direction is all it took to reduce them to a stammering mess; always desperate to please him. There's none of that with Thomas. He will always speak his mind, no matter who he is addressing, and he is brutally honest when he does so.

"Well, at least I'm bold enough to try such a daring plan." Tord smirked, lifting his chin with an air of superiority as he let go of Tom's hand. "People complain all they want about the current state of things, but no one wants to get their hands dirty when it comes down to it. That's what sets me apart from the rest! I am going to be remembered for making history!"

A little unnerved by the intensity of Tord's ambition, Tom stepped back and looked around the room again. His gaze fell on a red horned helmet on a table on top of some blueprints, grabbing his attention. "I wouldn't be so cocky about it if I were you." Tom cautioned as he neared the table. He picked up the helmet in his hands for a closer look. It felt heavy in his grip. "Few people have tried before you, and things didn't turn out so well for those guys."

"They didn't have a monster with them."

Tom froze and continued inspecting the helmet, trying not to show how much those words affected him and act naturally. He risked a quick glance in Tord's direction, and had to will himself not to gulp in apprehension at the sight of the huge grin on the Norsk's face.

"You should be proud, Thomas. You're going to play a very pivotal role in all of this. You'll help me achieve my goal, and you will become a meaningful part of history. Have you thought about that?"

A shudder of pure dread washed over Tom so strongly he's sure he was visibly shaking. Help him? Never! His stomach dropped and he felt nauseous all of the sudden; but by some miracle, Tom managed to disguise his hidden panic well enough to look composed on the outside. He took a deep breath and glanced at Tord again. The Norwegian man is wearing a smug wicked grin on his face with his arms folded behind him as he waited for Tom's response.

What happened? Just a moment ago Tord was positively ecstatic about showing him his wacky inventions, and now he was talking like a dictator again. It was like someone flipped a switch on the Norsk. Perhaps Tom made a mistake in trying to understand him.

"There's the person you used to be somewhere in there. At least, there's got to be pieces." Tom ventured wearily, still weighting the helmet in his hands as a disguise for his skyrocketing nerves. "You've grown with that filthy ambition inside your head for so damn long, and I understand there's no going back for you at this point. But you don't need to be this either."

He raised one eyebrow quizzically when the Norwegian man threw his head back and laughed in response. Tom stared at him, face devoid of emotion as Tord flicked a stray tear from his eye and sighed.

"Ah, I find really funny that you think I need your approval to do anything I want." He smirked wickedly, a wild and crazed gleam was growing in his visible eye again, and Tom realized that whatever fragments of the old Tord were there had gone.

No longer could he see the good humored glimmer or the last remnants of the enthusiastic inventor he grew up with. Tord was back to sadistic prick mode again, and Tom could feel a numbness spreading throughout his body; and he knew that this conversation was over – lest they want to escalate into a heated argument.

Not in the mood for this, Tom heaved a heavy sigh and nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Whatever." He put down the helmet and shrugged, casting a last smoldering glance at the Norwegian man. "Bye Tord."

Squaring his shoulders, Tom braced himself to walk past Tord to reach the room's exit. Will he try to stop me? But Tord did nothing other than follow his movements with a one-eyed gaze as he left, though Tom could've sworn he saw disappointment flash across the Norsk's face briefly.

He ignored the look, thinking Tord had just been itching for an argument with him, and left the test room.

Watching the test subject walk past him, so tantalizingly close, Tord was beginning to realize that outside threats could very well rise up and destroy his army, but it was emotion that would destroy a single soldier from within. I want things to be simpler. He thought. All this messy emotion only weakens a person. I'd rather live my life without it.

With a low grunt, Tord turned back to his work and placed the welding mask back over his face.

Stepping out into the hallway, Tom found himself alone once more. "Damn." He sighed tiredly and soon resumed the long journey to his quarters.

Why did he waste his time bothering with Tord? Tom should know better than to try by now. Did he even learn anything new about Tord from this experience? Walking, his thoughts jumbled together in a incoherent mess as he tried making sense of things. Tom glanced down at his hand in wonder; still feeling the tingling sensation of Tord's distinct set of hands on his own. His expression softened slightly.

Tord still just as passionate about inventing as he was when kids. Tom mused wistfully. I guess he also has some good intentions, though I'm not sure if that's entirely true.

Tom will never confess out loud, but if there's one thing he both secretly admires and is fully envious of in Tord, is his confidence. Even as kids, Tord always knew who he was and what he wanted out of his life. He is an inventor; there's no doubt about that. He plans to conquer the world and Tom is convinced he can actually do it – monster or not.

But him? Tom could never figure out what wanted out of his life. Definitely not what he got in the end, that's for sure; but a little too late to change that now. Growing up, Tom always thought about doing something to do with music, but that never went anywhere. Tom wished he could get his life sorted out, but it doesn't matter anymore.

In a couple of days at most, he is going to die; and as far as Tom is concerned, Tord can do whatever he likes.

Never again. His heart was crying, reminding Tom yet again of the high price he will have to pay for his misdeeds. It seems the closer the fateful date gets, the more anxious his thoughts become. No more adventures, no more silliness, or crazy happenings with my friends. No more laughter shared or dangers faced together. It's over.

(Meanwhile…)

Moonlight filtered through the blinds of the dimly lit apartment, dappling onto the many sheets of paper scattered all over the place. A lamp in the near center of the room provided the only source of light for the resident of said apartment; as he peered at the pegboard in contemplation.

"Damn." Eduardo growled in frustration, tapping his foot on the floor repeatedly as he reached for another cookie in the jar before stuffing it in his mouth and munched angrily.

The cookies Mark had insisted for him to take were terrible, but not too unbearable to eat when he needed to occupy his mouth with something – lest he wanted the god awful taste of ink on his tongue and a pile of broken markers to trash. The cookies tasted of nothing but ash, and to anyone else they would be considered inedible; but due to Eduardo's insistence and strong stomach, he kept on eating them.

With every bite he took, Eduardo would catch the barest hint of vanilla underneath the powerful flavor of coal, which made it for a more bearable and interesting mixture. Kind of reminded him of Jon's cooking back when he was first starting out. They were only teens then, and every week he would bake something new for Eduardo and Mark to try out and give him constructive criticism. Jon wasn't good at first, but overtime he had become an undeniably great cook.

Eduardo sighed. He might as well throw in the towel for the day if all he's going to so is stare at the board and wait for an answer to magically come to him. What time is it anyway?

He glanced at the clock. It's nearly seven! Eduardo blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized it was this late already. It's common for him to get absorbed into his work, but Mark usually snaps him out before it can get out of hand. Speaking of which; didn't they plan to head out for pizza? Mark should've knocked on his door by now.

Dusting cookie crumbs out of his shirt, Eduardo hastily fixed himself and stepped out of his apartment to go over Mark's place.

"Mark?" He knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

Hearing the muffled reply through the door, Eduardo walked in only to immediately halt at the scene presented before him.

Mark and Matt are sitting on the couch together, surrounded by a load ton of cosmetics spread out all over the coffee table and floor. Their hair had been recently done judging by the glossy, shiny look to them, and they were just finishing clearing away the last remnants of, what Eduardo can only guess, a facial mask.

"What the-?"

"Hi Eduardo!" Matt cheerfully waved at him, his nails filed.

"What-" Eduardo restarted his sentence and tried again. "What's going on here? What happened while I was out? How did this-" He blurted in complete bewilderment, gesturing to the mess of beauty products surrounding them until his gaze paused on the two men sitting close together. "Happen?"

Mark snorted in amusement. It's not often he gets to see Eduardo being flustered, so this was absolutely gold. "Nothing much, honestly." He smirked. "After you left, Matt and I simply talked for a little while and we eventually came upon the subject of our vanity."

"And so we decided to try out some of these tips!" Matt finished ecstatically.

"I must say, Matt, you have a really good eye for nails." Mark analyzed his fingertips contently.

"Oh and I loved what you did to my hair! I feel as if I could run my hand through it for hours!" The ginger gestured to his gleaming hair with glee. It had been so long since he last took actual time and proper care of his hair. To dedicate his whole day on taking care of himself and his looks felt great! "And your recipe for the facial mask works wonders! My face feels so smooth and soft now!"

"But anyway, what about you?" Mark turned his attention back to Eduardo, his gaze curious.

Recovering from his earlier shock, Eduardo regained his composure and tried to look nonchalant. Mark doesn't need to know he wasted his time on a dead lead. "I just got off work, and I thought we decided on pizza tonight."

The blond man glanced at the clock. "Oh my, time sure flies fast when we are having fun. Just give me a few minutes to get ready, will you?"

"Awn, but Mark you said we could do makeup next!" Matt whined in disappointment.

Mark smiled. "Maybe some other time. We live right next to each other, so we'll get plenty of opportunities to do so."

Satisfied with his answer Matt looked a little brighter and jumped to his feet. "Well, I guess I gotta get going too." He rubbed the back of his head and glanced back and forth between the two men. "Thank you for having me over, it was… surprisingly nice." He confessed sheepishly.

How weird is it that just this morning Matt had been apprehensive of being anywhere near his counterpart, and now he is getting along with him? If someone had told him in the past that he and Mark were going to get along, Matt would've probably laughed it off as a joke. But here they are.

His thoughts broke off as he backed into Eduardo by accident on his way out. Matt jumped a little in alarm and whipped around. Eduardo fully expected him to scurry around him to get to the door, but the ginger took him by surprise by grabbing one of his hands instead.

"Hey maybe next time you should join us – lord knows your nails really need some work done." Matt took a closer look at his fingernails with an analytical eye, further astonishing the burly brunet.

One quick glimpse of Mark snickering on the couch was enough to snap him out, and Eduardo quickly ripped his hand back with an indignant scoff. "No way! That type of stuff is not my thing." He crossed his arms stubbornly.

Unoffended by the response he got, Matt simply smiled and shrugged it off. "Well… have a nice time out!" He sidestepped Eduardo and reached for the door, glancing back at them to wave farewell.

"Buh-bye!" The two neighbors casually waved back at him.

When the door closed, Matt couldn't help but hug himself and twirl; feeling intensely happy. Not only did he survive an encounter with the neighbors completely unscathed, but he also had fun spending time with Mark and taking care of his appearance after neglecting it for so long. He brought his hands up to his face and massaged his smooth cheeks. Matt feels positively great! This might've been the first time in a really long while since he had any legitimate fun.

"Matt?"

Jerking out of his gleeful thoughts, Matt turned around to face his life-long friend with a bright smile. "Edd!"

"What are you doing out here? And-" The brunet broke off as he took in Matt's sleek appearance and his eye widened. "Whoa! You… got a makeover?"

With his mood still elevated, Matt bounced up to Edd excitedly; his blue eyes glowing. "Edd! I had the most amazing time today – you won't believe it!" He proceeded to elaborate on today's events in great detail. All the while he was speaking, Edd stared at him with an array of emotions flickering behind his eyes; constantly switching back and forth and it was hard to get a good read on his overall reaction.

"Huh, so they really don't want to bother us anymore?" Edd echoed, his voice laced with a hint of skepticism as he raised an eyebrow.

Matt nodded fervently. "They aren't as bad as we made them out to be. I think they really mean it when they say they've changed!"

He expected Edd to be relieved at the prospect of no longer having to deal with their once rival neighbors, but the brunet's face was expressionless as he nodded distantly instead. "Oh… I see."

Matt searched his friend's eyes worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." Edd shook his head, but the tightness in his voice was unmistakable. "It's just weird that they want to make peace after all this time."

An awkward silence followed his words and hung heavily in the air between them. Matt swallowed; his earlier glee dissipating. How strange is it that he had been so happy with his former rival not even ten minutes ago, and now he feels miserable again in the presence of his best friend? Everything is topsy-turvy now days!

"They invited both us to come over and talk with them." Matt added after a few heartbeats of silence and shifted his feet with discomfort. "I knew how much you wanted to spend the day to yourself, and you don't like to be in their presence; so I went alone."

Finally Matt felt as if he'd done the right thing with Edd for once, because the brunet glanced up back at him with an appreciative smile. "Thank you for understanding, Matt." His brown eyes softened with gratitude, and the weird tension between them seemed to diffuse.

After a bit of hesitation Matt pressed on, hope surging in his heart. "I was wondering, maybe, since we haven't spent so much time together lately… we could go to an ice cream parlor one of these days? – or if you prefer something else, I heard there's a carnival fair in town! We could go together if you want-"

"Eddie!"

Matt was abruptly cut off and jumped back in alarm when a strange blond man came running up the stairs and wrapped his arms around Edd in a sudden hug. He watched wide-eyed in bewilderment as Edd was spun around the hall in the other man's hold.

"Reagan? What are you doing here?" Edd exclaimed, looking just as startled as Matt but there was a glimpse of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I thought I told you to wait for me outside!"

"What? And freeze to death out there?" The blond man inquired and placed Edd back on the ground. "After all the trouble of getting us dinner this is the thanks I get?" He exhaled dramatically, holding out a fast-food bag.

Edd laughed jovially and punched the man lightly on the shoulder in response. Matt watched them interact in confusion; his heart weighting heavier inside his chest the longer he observed them. How come I can't make him laugh like that? He thought with a twinge of sadness and envy.

"Edd, who is this?" Matt nervously asked, interrupting their laughter as his gaze flickered between the two of them.

The blond man's vibrant green eyes flashed at him, seeming to take notice of Matt's presence at long last. "Oh my, how rude of me! The name is Reagan Fitzroy, ginger." He stepped closer, shooting him a wink as he extended his hand out for Matt to shake.

"I'm Matt." The orange-haired Brit eyed him wearily and attempted to smile as he introduced himself. He could feel his gut churn apprehensively as he came into contact with the Irishman, and Matt had to force himself not to wince at the tight grip his hand was held in.

"Ah Edd's friend! He told me an awful lot about you." Reagan grinned, shaking hands in an eagerly fashion. "It's certainly a pleasure to finally meet you."

Though Reagan's words sound friendly enough, Matt couldn't help but feel threatened for some reason. He pushed the weird sensation aside and pulled his hand back with a confused expression. "You heard of me?" He chuckled nervously. "Funny I… don't think I've heard Edd mention you before."

Unoffended, Reagan merely stepped away from him in favor of draping a lose arm around Edd's shoulders and leaned on him. "Ha! I wouldn't think so. We've been hanging out together for – what? – nearly two months now?" He glanced at Edd as if to confirm his train of thought, but Reagan carried on before the brunet could reply. "But anyways, night is still young and we best get going now."

Matt glanced at Edd crestfallen. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah, sorry Matt." Edd ducked his head apologetically. "I kinda have this ongoing thing with Reagan. We practically hang out every Wednesday… and every other Saturday sometimes."

Matt opened his mouth to object, only to halt at the last second. This might be the first time he'd seen Edd genuinely happy in a really long while; how can he bear to take it away from him now? He can't deny the intense feeling in his gut telling him that Reagan is a shady guy, but he will put it aside for now. For the sake of Edd's happiness.

"No, no it's fine." Matt quickly lied, his voice wavering half-way through. "You go on ahead and have fun. I'll just… watch a movie or something. Just take care out there, Edd." He said the last part with a meaningful gaze directed at his dearest friend.

"Will do!" Edd waved him goodbye and smiled as he walked away.

"It's been nice meeting you, ginger. Love the hair by the way! See yah! ~" Reagan followed suit, but before he stepped out Matt was sure he saw the Irishman glance back at him with a smug grin and a predatory glint in his eyes as he left.

A shiver of dread raced down Matt's spine, but he did not speak up; convinced his mind might be taking his first impression of Reagan a little too far. Perhaps he can discuss his concerns with Edd regarding his new friend next time they see each other. Edd will surely put everything to light and reassure him it's all in his imagination.

But for now, much to his dismay, Matt realized he's been left alone again.

And there you have it! Man what a huge monster I created with this project… ;P

Before I forget, here's the translation to what Tord said in Norwegian: "For fucks sake! Great! Just what I need now of all times – interruptions! Can't ever get anything done in this hell hole!"

And if you are wondering what Tord's voice changed to when he put on the voice modulator, he sounded like Shania Twain. Why? I don't know, it's the first voice that came to my mind when I wrote the scene and I couldn't get it out, so it stuck. But you're free to come up with your own versions of what Tord's voice changed into.

Also, there is a very obscure reference in this chapter and I'll give a fucking round of applause for anyone who can identify it.

So tell me guys, what do you prefer for my update schedule? Should I take a long break to write many chapters, say 5 or 6, and upload them weekly? Or would you rather i keep up with what I’ve been doing so far and immediately update the story as soon as I finish writing the chapter?

#Tomtord #MLTS #eddsworld #ew tom #ew tord

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kitchi-the-canine-blog · 6 years

Note

How did you decipher your kin through all of the different types???

Great question! While I’m still mildly questioning, I’m pretty certain I’m a canid cladotherian (including foxes and canines.) If you’re looking to find your theriotype or kintype, I would suggest recording all your nonhuman-related experiences in a journal or somewhere, shifts and anything else you deem an important part of your animality. From there you can narrow it down by researching animals and/or mythical creatures and find what fits you best. Don’t forget to listen to your feelings, however! If all the signs point to a Jackal, but it doesn’t feel right, chances are, you’re not a jackal.

Meditation and dreams are used by some to find their type, however take dreams with a grain of salt as these are not always accurate. Meditation is used incorrectly by many. Rather than trying to get dreams and visions, use it to observe how you truly feel.

I found my theriotype by a lot of thinking and pondering what was already present. I knew I had these habits and instincts, and some I “discovered” by simply observing myself, I just had to figure out why. So then I researched animals, which led me on the right track but for awhile I became even more confused. I was skeptical of the concept of being a “cladotherian” and it took talking to a few others who identified that way to accept that I might be one.

That said, here is a list of things that for me personally, point to being a canine-human. Some of these I already knew initially while others it took some research to discover that this trait very well may be related to a theriotype. The combination of these experiences as what I felt was “right” narrowed it down a lot for me. Everyone is different, so don’t think you have to have experiences just like mine.

(Warning: This turned out longer than I expected. It’s quite long!!)

🐺 Phantom Shifts 🐺

Ears: I have always had phantom ear shifts, but the problem lay in deciphering what kind. I soon realized that my phantom shifts would differ each time. Sometimes I would get the feeling on my head of large pointy ears like a coyote, while other times they would be smaller and furrier, more akin to the wolf. I have even gotten partially floppy ears before! The same with tails. Sometimes my tail feels like a fox’s, sometimes a wolf. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, look up pictures of these things, that’s what it feels like, though I could be wrong.) I’ve even gotten a short tail I couldn’t figure out at the time, but assuming it wasn’t a cameo I think it could’ve been an African Wild Dog! I also get the occasional other kind of shift, such as muzzle shifts (sometimes it feels long and thin, other times more stocky but it definitely protrudes from my face.)

🐾 Sniffing things 🐾

I have a habit of sniffing things, things I’m not sure of, new things, things I’m about to eat etc… I gotta know what it smells like.

🐺 Growling and Snarling 🐺

When I was mad at someone when I was younger I would express this by growling and showing my teeth in a threatening gesture. There are obvious reasons I have learned to control this behaviour but the urge is still there.

🌲 Quad Running🌲

Running on all fours. It’s not easy, but for some reason I just kept trying it. It felt like it should feel more natural, the way I’m supposed to move but really it kinda just hurts my wrists. I still get the urges to do it though.

🐺 Behaviour Around Food 🐺

Have you ever heard the term “wolf it down?” I’ve never understood why people feel the need to talk while eating, I would never waste time getting the food to my stomach, besides maybe sniffing it first if I don’t know what it is/am not sure about it. I’m a pretty darn fast eater, and I have a habit (that I’m currently trying to kick) to eat and eat and not stop till I’m stuffed. Sometimes (not a lot, I’ve learned my lesson) I’ll eat so much during a meal that my stomach hurts after. I’ve never had any problems getting food or not having enough food, so I don’t think it’s related to that. I feel this is because when wolves and other canids (re: African Wild Dogs) get a meal, they have to eat it quickly to prevent their kill from being stolen, and eat as much as they can because they don’t know when their next meal will be. Believe it or not, a wolf can eat up to 20lbs of meat in one sitting!! On that note I am also uncomfortable leaving my meal alone, even when I know nobody will take it. As well, I have a very scavenger-ish mindset that is heightened when I’m hungry. I can feel my phantom ears perked and listening, my eyes scanning the landscape, searching for my prey whether it be the form of a vending machine or a 5 star restaurant. As a child I would walk around “scavenging” for the sole purpose of finding something edible— berries, nuts, even plants. Once again, I never really had any food security issues or anything like that. It just felt like something I should do.

I will eat anything—whoops, I just dropped my food on the floor. Did anybody see? Nope, guess I’m eating it anyway.

I can very easily become motivated by food. My English teacher gave out little assignments every once in awhile that we could either exchange for marks or candy. When candy was an option, I wanted the food! I would finish that assignment like my life depended on it I was so excited for the possibility of earning that candy.

🐕 Barking 🐕

I love practicing my bark. I used to have a bark so good in fact, it would fool people and other dogs! Alas those days are over, but what actually ruled out being just a wolf (what I used to believe about myself) was barking and the urge to bark. Wolves can bark, but do so very rarely.

🐾 Mental Shifts🐾

Mental shifts are like phantom shifts for me. I get them a lot but they may differ each time and sometimes depending on environment. Generally when I am safe in my “den” house, I become very playful and will often play wrestling games with my dog, (attempting to) use canine posturing, barking and play growling. It’s hard to resist the urge to just let loose and play and be a dog, so I have taught my dog to play fairly while wrestling with humans so no one gets hurt. Still, I’ve noticed that while I’m more shifty it feels natural and normal to play those sort of games, and when feeling less canine I am a bit scared to engage in play like that. I also have to remember to use my hands instead of my mouth otherwise I’ll get a mouth full of fur yucckkkkk. (Again, none of us hurt each other or actually bite eachother, that’s a no no.)

Other times I don’t particularly feel like playing with others, but I will toss around a toy and pounce on it.

Other times when I am in the house I don’t feel playful at all, but rather trapped. I feel hyper and full of energy and I just want to go outside and run and run and run and maybe howl.

A more “Wild” form of mental shift I get is when I’m in a place of nature. I feel canine but my phantom ears are swiveling all over and my senses feel heightened, alert to every sound. I feel like I’m always at least semi-alert for “predators,” more akin to a watchful coyote or fox than a top predator such as the wolf.

🐺 Love of singing 🐺

Maybe this doesn’t directly relate to being a canine, however since canines are very vocal creatures I thought I’d add it here. I absolutely adore singing and music (howling.) as a matter of fact, add howling to that list too, because I consider that singing and music as well. I am in absolute heaven when I can just let loose and howl/sing. I feel like it’s a social thing as well since I feel more inclined to sing when there’s others I know and love around (though less likely to do it 😂😂😂) I do feel this incorporates into my personal Therianthropy to an extent, however liking to sing doesn’t have to do with therianthropy in general, and many non-therians also love to sing.

🐶Chewing🐶

I feel the urge to chew things a lot and I would (and do) chew up pencils, water bottles, bones, anything that I can get my teeth on. (I also love gum for that reason and will often chew it way past the time the flavour is gone, just because I feel the need to chew something 😝)

🌲Longing for “home”🌲

From a very young age I was fascinated with nature, and felt strongly connected to it. I would build “dens” learn all the edible plants, pick berries and generally just spend the majority of my time outside. I absolutely loved camping. I’m sure this is common with some non-therians, but it went a little deeper than that. I saw the nature as my home, and have always, including now had a deep and intense longing or “homesickness” to return. I used to make secret plans as I was a kid, that the next time we went camping I would run away to live in the woods, maybe find a pack of wolves and live with them, which is the way I felt I was meant to live. Even now, the “human” way of life makes no sense to me and I’m baffled a lot by it.

🐾 Discomfort as a Human 🐾

Sometimes I just don’t feel comfortable as a human. I look at myself and I think this is not me.” When I think about how I should look, I know I have four paws and a tail and a muzzle. There’s a lot I would give to be able to physically shift (though it’s sadly impossible.)

🐾 My “Pack” 🐾

I am extremely suspicious of “outsiders” and generally it takes me a lot to warm up to people I don’t know, like a wolf that finds a strange canine on their territory. They either choose to avoid confrontation or will attack if deem necessary. Obviously I won’t attack people but I do feel like sending them away. Once I warm up to someone though and begin to actually trust them they become my “pack,” and that bond is not easily severed.

🌲Connection With Canines🌲

I’ve always been a lover of animals, but I feel particularly drawn to canines. If you’d ask what my biggest dream was, the right answer would be to live in a pack of wolves, to be a wolf or coyote or i can’t decide but something like that as crazy as it sounds. I feel like I understand them more than people sometimes. Canines are my family and they feel like home.

🐾 Walking on my toes 🐾

I have a habit of walking around “tiptoeing” like many digitigrade animals some of the time. It just feels normal even though humans are plantigrade. (That feels normal too, I do both.)

🐕 Startle response 🐕

My unusual reaction to being startled or hurt is to bark or yelp. Rather embarrasing if it’s in public.

🐩Awkward Socially🐩

I’ve always been a bit socially awkward, and while I’m not saying it’s all caused by being “a canine in a human body,” at least some of it I believe is for me. For example, I have always seen eye contact as a threatening or intimidating gesture, and used to deliberately look away from people when talking. While I saw myself as being “polite,” (it is, in the canine world,) I am perceived as rude by humans, and therefore have to “relearn” how to act socially because the canine social rules I use are not appropriate.

🐕 Play 🐕

As a child I felt most comfortable pretending to be a dog or a wolf. It was play, but it was also an expression of my natural behaviour.

🐾 Sleeping curled up🐾I find it oddly comfortable to sleep curled up into a little ball like an animal, though eventually I will stretch out, considering the human body was meant to sleep a little differently.

?? Den ??

I’m not too sure about this one, so I put it last, but when I feel scared or hurt, it’s most comforting to hide somewhere warm dark and cramped like a little den. I have heard of some kinds of foxes and smaller canids using dens for safety and living, though most canines simply use it as a place to birth their pups.

#canine #Otherkin #Therian #caninekin #canine Therian #wolfkin #foxkin #coyotekin #ask

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graciebirdie · 6 years

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This one makes me very curious, there's a lot of potential: “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Here, have some pinning!Peter andoblivious!Stiles. Oops this got really long and ploty… Also Tailor,this might have a bit of a familiar feel to it, sorry not sorry ;)

—

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Stiles cooed, reverently stroking his fingers over the cover of the three hundred year old book sitting innocently on Derek’s coffee table. He could feel the delicious magical energy rolling off of it, protecting it from time and the elements. He knew exactly what the book was even though it didn’t have a title, just a blank black cover. He’d been trying to find a copy for months but the only one he had found had cost a ridiculous amount and was being held for auction in Russia.

Because of the price and inconvenience he hadn’t been able to convince Derek to buy it for him. As much as Derek appreciated a good book he hadn’t thought a book of recipes was worth the exorbitant price. Not to mention the chance it could be a fake. Stiles would have had to inspect it before buying it and he didn’t exactly have the time to fly to Russia just to say if a magical book was actually magic or not.

Stiles knew he could have asked Peter. Peter liked books. Peter especially liked useful books and Stiles knew this was going to be a very useful book even if Derek didn’t agree. And it wouldn’t have taken Stiles any more effort to ask Peter as it did for him to ask Derek. In fact, it probably would have been easy to convince Peter to buy it. Peter could sense magic more strongly than Derek could, he definitely wouldn’t have minded taking a little break from the pack to fly to Russia for a few days. He could have even just taken the gamble and bid online like Derek must have done to have bought it.

The only reason Stiles hadn’t asked Peter instead of Derek was because Derek was the alpha and he got weirdly huffy whenever someone other than him tried to ‘provide for the pack’ in ways he could very easily do himself. Although he apparently didn’t think buying Stiles an incredibly old and expensive book that Stiles was going to use specifically to help the pack fell under his duties as alpha.

But Stiles wasn’t going to feel bitter about that because Derek had bought the book in the end.

He smiled at the little slip of paper sticking out of the top of the book. It had his name and a little note of encouragement on it. ‘ I’m sure you’ll make something delicious .’

He couldn’t wait for the meeting to be over so he could get home go through the recipes. He wanted to find the easiest to make first to prove that the book had been worth it.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed Lydia coming into the loft or when she leaned over his shoulder to see what was so thoroughly holding his attention. She reached out of pick the book up and Stiles’ hand flew out without conscience thought. He caught and held her wrist to stop her from actually touching the book.

“Don’t be rude Stiles.” she said, sounding annoyed.

Stiles glared at her, strangely angry at the thought of her touching the book, reading it before he could. “ You don’t be rude. This is my book.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed at his tone and she jerked her wrist away from him.

“It’s in Derek’s loft, why would it be yours ?” she asked snottily, reaching out to again try and pick the book up.

Stiles snatched the book up and pressed it to his chest protectively. He slipped the little piece of paper that had been sticking out of the top of the book and held it up to Lydia. “See,” he said smugly. “It’s got my name on it.”

Lydia glared at the paper and then at Stiles. “Fine,” she said, pointedly turning away from him, “I can wait for you to finish with it.”

Stiles tried to calm his oddly rankled nerves as he watched her walk out of the living room towards the kitchen. It didn’t make any sense for him to be possessive of the book. Derek had been the one who bought it, Stiles knew he couldn’t keep the book forever. There were other members of the pack that deserved to try their hand at the recipes in it. Even if none of the others were technically able to use magic and cast spells that didn’t mean that they couldn’t combined inherently magical foodstuffs to make at least a few of the things that had to be mentioned in the book. Stiles knew if anyone other than him could make something magical it was Boyd, who’s baked goods were amazing enough to be magic all on their own.

He was probably just caught up in the newness of it. No doubt once he was finished going over the book he wouldn’t mind the others using it too.

Derek stepped out of the kitchen holding his cellphone and frowning down at it. Stiles went over to him, wanting to thank him sooner rather than later.

“Hey, Derek.” Stiles said brightly.

Derek didn’t look up from his phone but his frown got deeper. “What.”

Stiles was a little taken aback by the shortness of his tone but he figured the problem the pack had been having with the gnomes was finally getting to him. Two weeks of chasing them from garden to garden was bound to put even an alpha werewolf in a bad mood.

“I just wanted to say thanks for the book.” Stiles said in a rush, barreling through Derek’s frowny face.

Derek finally looked up from his phone and stared at Stiles in confusion. “I didn-” he started but the loft door being slammed open by a furious and soaking wet Scott cut him off.

“Deaton gave me ten more raccoon traps!” Scott yelled.

Stiles took this to mean his and Peter’s suggestion to just poison the little shits still wasn’t being considered. Oh well, he and Peter would no doubt end up being on pick up duty. They could do it then, when Scott wasn’t around to give them the judgy and disappointed eyebrows.

Stiles looked around to see if Peter was in the loft, wanting to know if he was as annoyed with Scott’s inability to accept humane pest control alternatives as Stiles was. Peter was sitting in his usual spot on the spiral staircase, looking even more angry than Stiles was expecting. Stiles cocked his head in question at him. Their eyes met and Peter’s expression softened a little before he abruptly jumped to his feet and took a step towards Stiles. Before he could take another step someone grabbed the back of Stiles jacket and started pulling on him.

“Come on Stiles!” Scott said. “I’m going to catch these little tyrants if it’s the last thing I do.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and twisted to brake Scott’s hold on him. “If you just listened to me last week we wouldn’t still be-”

Scott growled and cut him off. “Murder is not an acceptable answer to every problem!”

“You won’t call a pest exterminator a murderer.” Stiles said in exasperation as he followed Scott towards the door.

“They’re human shaped Stiles!” Scott grumbled tiredly.

“They’re the supernatural world equivalent of rabbits.”

Scott turned his big puppy dog eyes on Stiles and whispered “They wear overalls and hats.”

Stiles had to admit that one was a bit harder to explain away and it was, honestly, a little creepy. He just shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture and closed the door to the loft, not noticing the absolute furious looks Peter and Derek were exchanging behind him.

***

Stiles practically bounced into the loft with his cheesecloth wrapped bread. He was literally vibrating with excitement - and possibly three different energy drinks - as he held the bread aloft and crowed “I finally made one that’s edible!”

His tiny kitchen looked like a flower bomb exploded in it but it was worth it for the… bored glances Derek, Isaac, and Allison shot him. Scott and Lydia didn’t even look up from the map they had spread over Derek’s table.

Stiles sighed deeply and stepped forward to put the bread down on the coffee table with the other neglected snacks.

Before he could reached the coffee table Peter was suddenly in front of him. He looked interested at least. Stiles knew Peter found him amusing most of the time, of course Peter would want to know what Stiles had brought.

“It smells delicious.” Peter said with a little smirk. “What is it?”

Stiles grinned and unwrapped the bread, holding the misshapen - and slightly crispy in places - loaf out to Peter. “It’s got cheese in it.” Stiles said in reverence.

Peter’s smirk turned into an actual smile and he said “Did you use one of the recipes from your new book?”

It was no surprise that Peter knew about Stiles new book. Derek might have talked about it with him, or more likely, he’d overheard Stiles talking about it. Peter very much enjoyed his eavesdropping.

“It’s not one of the poisoned ones is it?” Peter asked in amusement.

Stiles wondered if Peter had gotten his hands on the recipe book before Stiles had. As much as the thought of Lydia reading the book before him had rankled the thought of Peter reading it first was actually a bit reassuring. He would know better than Lydia or Stiles if there was a curse on the book, or something in it that was particularly dangerous.

Stiles pulled a fully cooked, but not crispy, piece off and popped it into his mouth. It was still warm and the cheese in it was wonderfully gooey. He moaned pointedly, making Peter chuckle.

“May I?” He asked, oh so politely.

Stiles nodded, knowing Peter would just frown at him disapprovingly if he said anything with his mouth full.

Peter pulled a small piece off, twisting his wrist to wrangle a strand of cheese into submission. Stiles fought back a giggle at the expiration of concentration on Peter’s face. Finally Peter ate the piece of bread and gave Stiles another smile. “It tastes very nice, is it your first one?”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah right. It took four freaking tries to get everything to work the way it should. The first one wouldn’t rise, the second one burnt, and the third literally exploded.”

Peter’s confidence with Stiles’ nonexistent baking skills filled Stiles with more warmth than it really sure. Stiles didn’t need Peter’s approval but he had such exacting standards that when Stiles met them, or surpassed them, it made him happier than was advisable.

It probably said a lot about Stiles that he preferred to get actual feedback from a formerly psychotic serial killer than empty platitudes from his friends.

“Does this one do something special or were you just trying your hand at baking?” Peter asked, reaching out to take another piece.

Stiles made a mental note to make a tear-away loaf next time for easier sharing. Or he could make muffins next time. Actually, why hadn’t he just made muffins this time? Muffins were much easier to make, he’d made them before and they’d tasted alright. How much harder could magic muffins be to make?

His train of thought was cut off when Peter gently touched his shoulder. “Stiles?” he asked, a little frown on his face.

“Oh, it’s just the adrenaline setting in.” Stiles said with a grin. “For humans this is basically like eating an entire bag of chocolate in one sitting but in like a single bite and the crash is really really gradual compared to a sugar rush. I managed to get a bite of the second loaf and wrote three essays in an hour.” Stiles didn’t pause for breath once during his speech. Peter was now looking mildly concerned.

“What do you think it does for werewolves?” he asked.

“It should be just a bit of a pick-me-up because of your metabolism. I very much doubt you’ll get very hyped up.” he paused for a moment to imagine what a hyper Peter Hale would look like and burst out laughing. What would a hyper Peter even look like? Stiles was a little disappointed he wouldn’t get to see it. Stiles wiped at the tears in his eyes and said, breathlessly, “Although I’m sure that would be hilarious .”

He looked up to find Peter was staring at him with more intensity than Stiles was used to. For some reason Stiles felt himself start to blush under Peter’s stare and he quickly backed up, realizing that they were standing closer together than was probably socially polite. He turned to finally set the bread down onto the coffee table. Once he hands were free he turned back to Peter to ask him if he was feeling any different only to bump right into him.

“Stiles.” Peter said, his voice even more intense than his eyes. “I wanted to-”

“Stiles!” Scott yelled, cutting Peter off. Stiles jumped in surprise and turned to look at Scott, having completely forgotten that there were other people in the room other than just him and Peter.

“What?” Stiles asked. He was reeling a little and he wasn’t exactly sure why. He thought he heard Peter growling quietly behind him but when he glanced back Peter just looked his normal annoyed self. He lightly pressed his hand to the small of Stiles back before sauntering back to sit on the spiral staircase. His touch was so light in fact, that Stiles wasn’t even sure if Peter had touched him at all.

Stiles absently chewed his lip as he wandered over to a very frustrated looking Scott. No doubt he was slowly being worn down to accepting Stiles and Peter’s extreme pest control suggestions.

***

After three weeks of chasing around gnomes and trying - and failing - at catch them the pack had finally decided to take a vote on what to do. With a 6 to 5 vote in favor of just killing the terrible little beasts Scott finally relented and let Stiles whip up a batch of poisoned granola.

Because the granola didn’t smell the least bit poisoned, which was the entire point, Stiles wrote on the three ziplock bags of gnome bait: POISON YOU WILL DIE IF YOU EAT THIS . He then very pointedly did not bring any non-poisoned granola just to be on the safe side.

After reassuring Scott for the third time that the poison was specifically tailored to supernatural creatures so that any regular forest critter that got a hold of some wouldn’t die, Stiles and Peter, along with Derek, Cora, and Jackson - the ones who had voted in favor, except Erica, who had to work - set out into the preserve to spread the granola out around where they thought the gnomes main hidey hole was located.

45 minutes along a hiking trail and another 10 stumbling - on Stiles’ part - through the preserve they made it to the gnomes’ hideout. They spread the granola around and where just about to start back to the trail when a sudden wave of gnomes sprang out of the ground and threw themselves at them.

The wolves stared at the little monsters for a few seconds before glancing at each other and shrugging, realizing that Scott wasn’t there to yell at them started to tear the little shits to pieces, completely ignoring the blood spray and body parts flying around.

Stiles cursed in annoyance at himself for not bringing a leaf blower like he’d wanted to and jumped out of the way, letting the wolves deal with them. He did pull out his truncheon and snapped it open, just in case the little fucks got too close to him he could swat them away.

After several minutes of pure carnage and Stiles putting gnomes back into the fray like large golf balls they finally fell back to their little gnome holes.

The wolves were all breathing deeper than usual and Stiles was panting from exertion. He was about to congratulate them on their massacre skills when there was a sudden sharp stinging pain in his ankle. He shrieked and stumbled forward, turning to glare down at the gnome digging it’s needle sharp fangs into his skin. He was about to bat the pest away when Peter stepped forward, prying the things jaws open and then ripping it in half.

“Sit down.” Peter said through his fangs, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist to help him sit on a convenient root.

Stiles slipped his backpack off his shoulders and held it out for Peter to pull out the first aid kit Stiles always took with him when he went into the Preserve.

Peter pulled out water bottles, wet wipes, a bag of granola bars that had NOT POISON (probably) written on it - because Peter thought he was so funny - and the first aid kit out before setting to work cleaning, disinfecting and bandaging Stiles’ ankle.

Stiles watched him hands, fascinated at the juxtaposition of them. Peter had literally just torn a living creature in half but now he was being so gentle with Stiles. He was vaguely aware of Derek hovering over Stiles’ shoulder while Cora and Jackson were eating the granola bars and drinking water, looking over the battlefield with satisfied looks on their faces.

“We could have had this whole thing cleared up three weeks ago.” Cora grouched with her mouth full.

Jackson nodded in agreement. “That was fun, too bad Erica wasn’t here, she would have loved it.”

Derek growled softly. “No one tell Scott. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

There was murmurs of agreement before the clearing fell silent except for the sound of chewing.

Finally Peter had finished wrapping Stiles ankle. He reached out for Stiles’ hand and helped him stand. Stiles tried putting weight on both his feet but his knees instantly buckled. He would have fallen except Peter easily caught and held him up. Obviously the irritant from the gnomes’ fangs was affecting him, making his ankle swell. He glared at Peter in annoyance at being the only one affected by it.

Peter sent him a little amused smile before scooping Stiles up into a bridal carry. Stiles squeaked in surprise and wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck to hold on tight. Peter gave him a knowing smirk.

“I wouldn’t drop you, Darling.” He purred in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles fought back a gasp and shiver at Peter whispering endearments right in his ear. He heard laughter and looked over to see Cora and Jackson leaning against each heads thrown back and arms around their stomachs as they laughed at him.

He felt Peter’s chest vibrating as he growled deeply and heard Derek growling from behind him.

Cora and Jackson quickly straighten up before Cora yelled “First one back gets all the hot water!”

She took off with Jackson one step behind her.

“No fair!” Stiles whined just because he could and it would amuse her.

“You don’t even have any blood on you!” Cora yelled over her shoulder.

“It’s the principle of the matter!” Stiles yelled back, but she was already gone.

He felt Peter breath against his cheek as Peter said, “You know my house is closer than Derek’s loft…”

Stiles turned his head to look at Peter and there noses brushed. Stiles’ eyes widened at how close together their faces were.

Someone pointedly cleared their throat and Stiles twitched away from Peter in surprise. Peter growled again, but this time Stiles couldn’t hear it, only feel it in Peter’s chest.

Stiles looked at Derek and raised a pointed eyebrow. “Yes Derek? Can we help you with something.”

Peter chuckled and lightly trailed his nose across Stiles’ cheekbone. This time Stiles definitely shivered.

Derek was glaring at them. “I’ll take you back to the loft.” he said, reaching out for Stiles.

Stiles tightened his grip on Peter’s neck and Peter said, “There’s no need nephew. I’m perfectly capable of carrying Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Stiles chimed in. “I barely weigh anything to him.”

“Just a couple of grapes, really.” Peter said, completely deadpan and straight-faced.

Stiles whipped around to glare suspiciously at him, but Peter had what was no doubt supposed to be an innocent expression on his face. Of course, on Peter it didn’t look at all innocent.

“Stiles-” Derek tried but Stiles cut him off, not at all interested in dealing with Derek’s alpha posturing or manpain.

“Really Derek, I’m fine. Peter can drive me to my jeep, or drive me home. Right Peter?”

“It would be no trouble, sweetheart.” Peter said.

Stiles whipped around to look at him through narrowed eyes. Two endearments in 10 minutes was very odd.

“Stiles-” Derek tried again but this time Stiles wasn’t having it at all.

“Derek go .” Stiles growled.

Derek took a step back in surprise at Stiles’ anger. “Fine.” he spit out and turned on his heel, disappearing between the trees.

Peter hummed a “Nice job.” but Stiles ignored him. He wiggled around a little in Peter’s arms, trying to get comfortable in his slightly twisted position. He finally settled with his chest pressed against Peter’s chest and his chin resting on Peter’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around Peter’s neck and the other across Peter’s back. A bit like he was giving Peter a very long hug.

The walk to Peter’s house was 15 minutes shorter than the walk to the loft. They were both quiet during it, each lost in their own thoughts.

Stiles was actually almost asleep by the time they got to Peter’s house. Peter’s steady gait and warmth lulling into a light doze. Between work, classes, baking, and chasing after gnomes he hadn’t gotten much sleep the past three weeks.

“We’re here.” Peter rumbled quietly.

Stiles hummed sleepily. Peter shifted his grip on Stiles a little to open his front door and Stiles’ chin lost it’s perch on Peter’s shoulder. Stiles tiredly buried his face into Peter’s collarbone.

Peter chuckled softly. “Tired?” he asked.

Stiles grumbled nonsensically and Peter chuckled again. “Alright, give me a minute.” he murmured.

Stiles felt Peter going up a staircase before Peter tried to sit Stiles down onto something. Stiles clung onto his werewolf heater. Peter gently cupped the back of Stiles’ neck and whispered “Stiles, I’m covered in blood.”

Stiles sighed in annoyance, forced to let go in the face of Peter’s logic.

“I’m going to get you some pajamas. Once you change you can get into bed and sleep, alright sweetheart?” Peter asked, voice low and rumbly.

Stiles opened his eyes and squinted at Peter, taking in his bloody cloths, soft expression, and the weight of his hand on Stiles’ neck. “Okay.” he agreed quietly.

Peter squeezed the back of Stiles’ neck gently before letting go and moving over to a dresser on the other side of the large bedroom.

Stiles had actually never been in Peter’s house before, let alone his bedroom. If he wasn’t so exhausted he’d be poking his nose into everything. As it was he settled for taking in a slightly blurry cursory look. Dark hardwood floors, soft tan carpet under an even softer king sized bed, a large window with a window seat and three different doors, probably leading to a walk in, an en suite, and the hallway. It was done in all soft dark colors. It was cozy. It felt like a den . The thought that Peter had let Stiles so deeply into his home so easily woke Stiles up a bit.

Over the years they’d gotten comfortable with each other, calm in each other’s space. It was usually them against Scott and Derek with the rest of the pack waffling around depending on the subject. Being in Peter’s room, in Peter’s bed made him feel safe and special in a way he couldn’t quite decipher. He just knew not many people, if any, got to take such liberties with Peter and his space that Stiles got.

Peter came back over to Stiles with a small pile of clothes. He handed some to Stiles before saying, “I’m going to take a shower, there’s another bathroom down the hall if you want to clean up too.”

Stiles blinked up at Peter in surprise. He was going to let Stiles wander around his house unsupervised ?

Peter smiled at Stiles’ expression and gently stroked his hand through Stiles’ hair. “If you’re hungry there’s food in the kitchen.” he said before walking off to supposedly the en suite.

Stiles felt a little dazed but considerably more awake. He picked up his pile of clothes and stood up, carefully putting some weight on his ankle to check he could actually walk on his own before he made his way out of Peter’s bedroom. He wondered down the hall, opening doors as he came to them. One spare bedroom later he found the guest bathroom. He tidied himself up, washed his face and hands, checked his ankle and saw that the swelling had already gone down. The medical section of his recipe book was just as helpful as the cooking section.

Once he was satisfied with his cleanliness he pulled off his dirty clothes and tossed them into the hamper before pulling on the clean clothes, Peter’s clothes . The pair of black drawstring sweatpants and soft wine red henley were nice enough but what really caught Stiles’ attention was the ridiculous soft gray sweater. It was like he was holding a rain cloud and it smelled amazing.

Stiles frowned as he realized he’d seen the sweater before, and not just because it was Peter’s sweater. Peter had been wearing it the day before and it did not look like a sweater that could be washed in a washer. He absently pressed the sweater to his nose as he thought. Peter had very deliberately given Stiles this sweater to wear. Why had he given Stiles this one? Was it so he could scent mark him? Peter did sometimes scent mark him, they were pack after all, but usually he was much more subtle about it. A brush of his hand here, a shoulder bump there. They shared a blanket on the few times they managed to be at pack movie night at the same time, and even when there was only one of them there they still had their own blanket.

Sudden realization hit Stiles and he sat down heavily on the closed toilet lid. They shared a specific blanket. No one else in the pack used it. It was fleece with little galaxies on it. Stiles had no idea where Peter had gotten it but it was warm and soft and it smelled like both of them.

It smelled like both of them and Peter had given Stiles a sweater saturated with Peter’s scent so Stiles would smell like Peter even more than he already did.

Stiles’ heart was pounding at the implications of his thoughts. But it was just speculation on Stiles’ part. He had to be sure, he had to-

Food. Wolves liked to provide for each other. Stiles couldn’t go out and chaise down a deer for him and Peter to eat but he could make dinner.

He quickly finished getting dressed before hurrying down to the kitchen to start making something for them both to eat. Something delicious.

Stiles skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs as he suddenly remembered the note that had been in his book when he’d first been given it-

No, when he found it sitting on the coffee table.

Stiles facepalmed. God, he was such a fucking idiot. Derek hadn’t been the one to get him the book.

Stiles’ determination grew as he raced carefully down the stairs and through the downstairs of Peter’s house looking for the kitchen. Stiles knew Peter would be in the shower for a while yet, perfection that he was, so he wasn’t too worried about his plan being foiled by Peter trying to cook for him.

Stiles paused through his search of Peter’s pantry as he realized that whenever Peter made anything at Derek’s loft he only made enough for two and always gave Stiles the second plate. Stiles was so obvious it was seriously embarrassing.

***

Stiles managed to set the hamburgers onto the table just as Peter walked into the kitchen.

Peter gave Stiles a very deliberate once over and Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. He cleared his throat and gestured awkwardly to the kitchen table. “I made some dinner…” He glanced up at Peter and chewed his lip nervously.

Peter stared at him for a long moment before prowling over to Stiles in a few long strides. He cupped Stiles’ face in his big hands, chest rumbling in a growl, and gently brushed a kiss against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles sighed in relief and easily kissed back, keeping the kiss chaste but still actively participating.

Stiles carefully pulled away and whispered, “I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I thought Derek got me that book.”

Peter, smug bastard that he was, smirked at him. “I can’t either.”

Stiles glared at him but easily moved closer when Peter pressed a hand to the small of his back.

“It certainly took you long enough to figure it out.” Peter said, nipping lightly at Stiles’ bottom lip.

“Do not push your luck.” Stiles said threateningly.

Peter just hummed and kissed Stiles again.

Stiles knew they should probably have a discussion about proper communication at some point but he was far too distracted by the feeling of Peter’s tongue slipping into his mouth to care.

Suddenly remembering something Stiles pulled back to ask, “Wait, did Derek know you liked me before I did?”

Peter growled softly and rolled his eyes. “Yes, for once my nephew was quicker on the uptake than you were. Let’s not make it habit.”

Stiles shuddered at the very suggestion. “I promise I’ll pay more attention next time you try to show me affection.”

Peter chuckled darkly and whispered in Stiles’ ear, “Oh baby boy, I promise you won’t be paying attention to anything but me when I show you affection.”

Stiles was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be getting any sleep any time soon, if the way Peter’s hand was sliding possessively down his back to cup his ass was anything to go by.

#oh god this took so long #steter #my fics

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