#dr. strange x original character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

karolamurdock · 1 year ago

Text

Accidental Marriage Pt.4

Stephen Strange x OFC

Warnings: Implied/referenced sex, light angst and english is not the author's first lenguage

Summary: For the prompt "Accidental Marriage."

“So… Do you put on my last name, or will this get a little Stranger?"

Or: Cassandra Paulssen meets Stephen Strange twice. Once as master and student and once as husband and wife.

Not in that particular order.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Notes: It's been so long. There is literally no excuse. I hope you like it. Any comment is appreciated ❤️

PD: I may come back later to edit a couple of words. I'm very tired, but I wanted to publish this before going to sleep. Enjoy!

The book slipped through Cassandra's fingers and landed with a soft thud on the surface of the table.

She stroked, with slow fingers, the divinely preserved ink on the yellow pages, and scanned out of the corner of her eye the long shadow stretched across the library floor: its abnormally elongated form occupying the previously empty space just behind her back.

De Motu Cordis, she read to herself. Contemplating the taste of the other presence in the room; the miasma, thick as cold wax of ancient magic, and the heavy silence that occupied the once serene, earthy atmosphere of the London library.

Would Stephen be interested in something like this? She wondered. She considered the weight of the antique binding, the precious preservation of an original copy, and opted to add it to the pile. He's an avid reader, she reminded herself. Surely he has mastered Latin by now.

And if not... well, Cassandra was used to reading to her children.

The figure shifted, and Cassandra's gaze finally landed on the deep dark eyes of Kaecilius, Ancestral's famous renegade apprentice.

"Master Rama is not at the Sanctuary," Cassandra told him. Turning slightly to check another book on the shelf to her left, her face far away but her senses well oriented towards the dark Sorcerer.

"I know," he replied. His voice was husky, and his words flexed with a certain curious accent. "His presence would not present a setback, in any case."

Stephen's voice is deeper, she hummed in her head.

"Should I be worried?"

"That depends," Kaecilius replied. Cassandra felt his appraising gaze sweep over her profile, noting her plain clothes, her coiled hair, and the lack of artifacts on her person. "What is your role here, woman? Are you another one of Ancestral's blind lambs?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was the librarian?" she asked, and allowed a slight glance at his wary expression, at his intense greenish eyes, obscured by his scowl and the stern tilt of his head.

"Are you?"

Cassandra's fingers wrapped around a small piece of metal, hidden by the stack of books on her desk:

"Would you cut off my head if I were?"

The sling ring slipped over her fingers with ease, and Cassandra's voice was accompanied by an impassive stare as she turned her body slowly to confront the sorcerer completely.

Kaecilius sneered, and walked in a slow circle around her as she remained immobile, both hands behind her back: "I should have figured that trying to get answers from one of her puppets would be fruitless. None of them have an entity of their own and are incapable of responding on their own account."

"You have come to steal knowledge," Cassandra shrugged, lazy in her movements and sardonic with her smile, "Why should I give it away so freely?"

And from his back emerged two cutting daggers that the shelves around them reflected coldly: "Less painful."

"Your self-preservation instinct is admirable," Cassandra replied, and raised a hand in the air as one of his daggers was thrown into the space between her eyes.

The dagger passed through the portal conjured by Cassandra, and met its end at Kaecilius' feet as another portal materialized above his head.

"But you're right," Cassandra conceded, watching the man's frown through the space between her golden fingers.

"I'm not the librarian. They couldn't afford me."

Cassandra's eyes darted around the room. With a hop, she threw herself out of the way of the projectiles, and rolled down the hallway to take cover behind one of the bookshelves. She heard footsteps approaching behind the corridor, and stood up quickly as the man appeared with two orange, crackling whips in his hands.

She successfully dodged the first whip aimed at her right ankle. The second, unfortunately, wrapped around her waist and sent her staggering a couple of steps forward. She evaded the blow to her jaw and ducked, landing two quick blows to his forearm, opening his hand and breaking free of his grip.

She backed up a couple of steps. Kaecilius looked at her, frowning as he opened and closed his tingling fingers experimentally, and questioned again:

"Who are you?"

Cassandra bent down, picking up one of the thick tomes that fell to the floor with the commotion, and quoted, not looking away from the man's icy gaze:

"Per me si va nella città dolente. Per me si va nell' eterno dolore. Per me si va tra la perduta gente. Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore: Fecemi la Divina Potestate. La somma sapienza e il primo amore. Dinanzi a me non fur cose create, se non eterne, ed io eterno duro."

"Dante would be proud of all of his minstrels," he replied dryly.

"Do you think so?" Cassandra fanned her face dramatically with her hand, blinking languidly as she replied in a quiet, demure voice: "I practice every day before I go to sleep."

Kaecilius moved forward, and Cassandra lifted the book to stop the descending forearm, wielding a long dagger that the man unsheathed from the straps at his back.

The sharp point buried itself in her shoulder. With a grunt, Cassandra slammed her palm into the wizard's neck, twice, until his hand staggered and Cassandra was able to turn around, turning her back to him and twisting the man's offending wrist with both hands.

The dagger flew away from his grip. She spun around again, and hit him in the jaw with the book's top edge, just before raising both hands and making use of her borrowed ring.

The portal opened behind her back. With a flick of her wrist, the rippling space swallowed them both, and the landscape around them changed to a green field, far away from civilization.

"Running away from your fights like rats on a sinking ship. You really do work according to your master's teachings, non-librarian Miss."

His lip twitched slightly, and Cassandra noted a certain arrogance in his expression. Did the man really believe she would put up so little of a fight? Now, she was fully aware of her simple robes, her lack of weapons and her slim figure. The previous months, hard as they had been, had managed to take their toll on her previously firm and agile body. However, such arrogance was frankly conceited. Cassandra would use it to her advantage.

Nevertheless, Cassandra had to grant some reason to the graveled-voiced, deep eyed and grim-faced man. Eventually, Death was bound to come to her. Immortal Mutant or not.

"To hate her as much as you claim, you sure do remember all of her teachings, don't you?

The instant she perceived his scowl, Cassandra spun around, landed quickly with both hands planted on the ground, and landed a kick that violently threw Kaecilius a couple of feet in the air.

Rising with a twist, she untied with nimble fingers the belt around her waist; she dodged the blows of the sorcerer, who struggled to sit up as he gestured with sparking hands, and, avoiding the circles summoned on his wrists, she quickly wrapped it very harshly around the man's neck.

Then she leapt into another portal, conjured just below their feet.

From the black mountains of Kathmandu, the icy winds of the night were still slipping away when she left her quarters. Her dark form dodging the pools of moonlight, her footsteps stifled by the dense curtain of the night noise.

Emboldened by her apparent mischief, she stretched against the outer wall of the hallway. She hooked her toes into the reliefs of the ornate construction, and, propelling her body with her feet shod in smooth slippers, she soared up the side of the building, climbing with cat-like skill and dexterity. Perhaps, she thought with a hum, she had been wrong about her mutation all along.

Sneaking through the monastery at such ungodly hours of the early morning, with an ear alert for nocturnal students as she climbed the balustrade erected a few rooms above Ancestral's study, Cassandra felt like a wild animal scurrying and hunting in the middle of the night. The dark traces under her pale eyes flashing in the dim light, the shadow cast by her hooded figure...

At the feel of the cold wind against her exposed face, Cassandra smiled slightly, and exhaled softly as she propelled her legs to rise over the low stone pillars and land with a twist on the hidden balcony where Ancestral awaited her.

As Cassandra rose to her feet, the dark hood; blue as the new horizon and warm as Ancestral's brief smile at her wary expression, fell over her shoulders and revealed her measured face, her loose braid and the yellow bruise coloring her right cheekbone.

"Good morning, Cassie," The Sorcerer Supreme greeted. Unlike her, Ancestral didn't look sleepy at all. She looked as fresh as ever.

"Good morning," Cassandra slurred the words, not without affection.

Ancestral's eyes remained in the night sky. Cassandra observed her profile briefly: her tangerine-colored tunic, her clasped hands behind her back, and the knowing glow in her clear orbs. She followed her gaze, as if captivated by the flickers of brightness in the distance, and remembered the warmth of the campfire in the skáli, the crackling of the red wood and the sparks that lit up the dry logs they touched with smoldering wisps.

Cassandra remained at X-Mansion for more than 25 years. While her knowledge of the mystic arts was severely limited, Cassandra was no less than an excellent storyteller, and she was a master at the art of babysitting. Dealing with volatile youngsters and teenagers who could literally burst into flames and shatter windows in an apotheosic tantrum had given her considerable mastery in reading the emotions of those around her. Therefore, ready to dispel the melancholic state into which they were plunged, prey to that almost dreamlike landscape, Cassandra spoke.

"Have you ever witnessed how the sky lights up during the winter in Svolvær? The high peaks of the islands can bring out the poetic side of any warrior. Born of awe at the dazzling beauty, or provoked by the terror that the luminous imposition provokes in the most sorrowful hearts."

Her voice was a feather, dancing with the morning breeze, soft and silent, oblivious to the noise of the early morning, unperturbed in its own space of stillness. A hand rose in the air, and Cassandra drew with an imaginary brush the colorful strokes of the Northern Lights.

"One could not help but wonder... Would those lights be the reflections of the armor of the valkyries, leading the fallen warriors to their king? Or would the dawn be honored as the last breath of brave soldiers who died in battle? I know now, that it is not, in fact, the Bifrost, nor does it blind the unborn children of the pregnant women who gaze upon it.

A smile broke across her face, and she watched Ancestral's serene and pleased expression, attentive, as she asked:

"Would it be wise to think of those lights as the souls of spinsters who danced in the skies, greeting those below? Perhaps! But we, the Raven Warriors, had little or no intention to stop and look at the spinsters and spouses; to divide our feast and hard-earned glory. We were too busy shaping the world and molding its paths to our convenience."

Cassandra interrupted herself, and fell silent as the air brushed aside the unruly locks that clung to her cold cheeks.

She felt Ancestral's hand clasp her own trembling fingers, and squeezed back the soft palm of her old friend.

Was Ancestral older than Cassandra? She didn't know. Sometimes, on occasions like that, it seemed so. Perhaps remaining so oblivious to the tribulations of the mortal world had finally taken its toll on her.

(Or perhaps, she told herself, living with so many children had changed Cassandra a bit, too. What supernatural power could she possess, to disavow the comfort that she herself lent so freely?)

Be that as it may, Ancestral's presence was a valid support for Cassandra's tempestuous emotions. Ever since The Raft, ever since the battle at the airport, ever since those first discords between her companions, Cassandra had felt anxious, on the edge of her seat, as if waiting for the second shoe to drop. Unable to take a step away from the conflict, and unable to look away from the storm.

With a deep sigh, Cassandra closed her eyes , doubtful: her son was safe, her companions were safe at the Mansion, and she would no longer worry about the fate of the Avengers. She knew, for she had been present, that Steve had freed the rest of The Raft, and Tony was taking responsibility for the repercussions of his actions in New York. She had control of her body, and she would learn to pick her battles with more assertiveness.

"I am impressed."

Ancestral examined her at length. Cassandra felt the heat creeping up her neck, and barely resisted the urge to stroke her bruised cheek with her free hand.

"He was your student," she replied, lips pursed as she tugged at the patch of sore skin.

"Well, I am the Sorcerer Supreme, isn't that right?"

Cassandra smiled at her enlightened expression. Ancestral's face gently took on a serious tone.

"I would not impose this battle on you, Cassandra."

"He attacked, and I defended myself," she countered, "Besides... I am not doing a very good job at keeping my distance by getting involved with one of your students."

"Knowing oneself is a virtue," Ancestral laughed. And then she looked at her with an affectionate expression.

Cassandra repressed the urge to cover her face. She prayed to her gods to hide the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks and over her ears as she commented:

"When do you think he will return? Surely our little fight has not deterred him from his ambitious aims."

"There is no way of knowing. Sooner rather than later, possibly. " Ancestral replied, exhaling a soft sigh. "You did a good job containing him, Cassie. I thank you."

"It's unbelievable. Even here, at the Crossroads of the World, trouble manages to find me." Cassandra sulked.

"If it weren't for you, Kaecilius would have stolen more precious books, possibly at the expense of the lives of the sorcerers of the London monastery."

"He was alone," Cassandra reassured, "At least at first. By the time his followers arrived, we were a far way from the Monastery, and his interest in the library had already been diverted."

"And for that, I thank you again, Cassie," her friend answered.

Cassandra finally nodded, accepting her words. They watched the sun rising behind the mountains. The sky, colored in lilac softly turning blue as day took over from night.

Somehow, the wind of that new day felt warmer.

~ • ~

To Cassandra's utter bewilderment, the days passed in the blink of an eye: one moment she was eating quinoa and apricot porridge for breakfast as she strolled through the sacred storehouses side by side with Wong, the next she was browsing the monastery's copious library, the next she was tracing the fine angles of her companion's aristocratic face in the training yard.

Cassandra watched with tempered delight the smooth curve of his short grayish beard. The flutter of his eyelashes; his fine nose, his lips pressed together in concentration. She admired the damp curls that clung to his furrowed brow, and cataloged every crease and wrinkle under the burning blue gaze of her apprentice.

It was during those days that, in an unexpected turn of events, Cassandra found herself looking forward to her scheduled sparrings with the man. She enjoyed their sessions, the various books they argued between breaks, his dry humor and cheeky wit.

Stephen was stern. Cassandra could already predict the sharp reversal of his judgment as if warned by the white sky that heralds the dispersal of thunder. He was a highly intelligent man. She wondered... how much longer he would mourn the loss of his old life, of his acclaimed vocation?

What was it like for him to accept the expansion of his perceptions of reality? How long would he, with his extensive mastery of the arts that heal the body, bow to an invisible wound?

What was the attack on New York City like for him, was he safe, was he in the hospital, in surgery, or did he watch the aliens making their way across the sky from the wide expanse of his window?

Was he with someone else?

She wanted to know him better. She wanted to understand the biting language with which he enunciated himself: his sarcastic manner, his confident movements, and the softness in his eyes when he approached her for directions, for correction and recommendations.

As these ponderings clouded Cassandra's thoughts, she didn't notice the fist until the lapels of one sleeve fluttered inches from her face. Too late to deflect the blow, Cassandra turned her face to the right and staggered slightly as the blow to her cheekbone reverberated across her cheek and rattled her teeth.

She took a step backward. Although she had reduced the momentum of the blow by turning in the opposite direction, she could feel her pulse on the left side of her face.

She caught Stephen's startled expression: torn between a pernicious pride and a very severe mortification that silently delighted her.

Without giving him time to feel sorry for her, (or gloat over his small victory). Cassandra dodged Stephen's outstretched arm, landed a hard backhand to his jaw with her elbow, and came out of his guard to deliver a swift kick behind his knees.

Stephen fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut, massaging his chin and holding onto the earthy floor with trembling hands.

Gently groping his stinging cheek with her fingers, Cassandra smiled and held out her hand. Stephen accepted it, after a few brief moments of hesitation, and allowed his wife to support him to stand.

"Good job," Cassandra praised, "I would recommend, however, that you take a bigger step forward when you extend your arm: that little bit of momentum can add even more force to your stroke. And watch your feet.”

Stephen cleared his throat, rubbing his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, and muttered under his breath: "Yes... thank you."

Cassandra smiled. She watched his rosy cheeks, his fast breathing, his narrowed eyes, the extension of his arm: where it connected with her hands, still clasped together.

The sky clouded in shades of purple over their heads. In the distance, Cassandra saw the warm blanket of the sun uncovering the mountains, and watched as the outline of Stephen's figure obscured the red horizon. His eyelashes lit up in pale oranges, and through his shadow-darkened expression, she felt his bright gaze cataloging into her own sunset-colored features.

Cassandra's pale eyes traveled the path of night rising to blot out Stephen's red silhouette against the mountains. Frowning at the sting in her eyelids, she noted the surprise in her husband's clouded expression before becoming aware of the path she traced with her fingers on his wrist. She took note of every vein under his flesh, of the peach skin on his forearms, of the wrinkles in his training shirt: where it folded over his elbow, where the collar brushed against the soft skin of his throat, how his pulse felt against Cassandra's little finger.

Stephen's breath vibrated against her fingers.

Cassandra glimpsed the curve of his Adam's apple, his dry lips, his short beard...

Could Stephen explain to her what it was that made her different? What aspects of magic remained hidden to his analytical mind? Perhaps it would not be rash to attribute the depth of his gaze to the bewilderment regarding his very presence, nor the natural inclination of his neck in the direction of the palm she held over his shoulder..

She felt Stephen's warm breath against her wrist, and the dark canvas of his face remained veiled by the growing night. In profile, with his face turned in the direction of her palm, she watched her husband's clear pupil colored with the last remainings of the afternoon sun: bright blue, intense ink, as if the color of the sky had escaped from the celestial vault and pooled in his eyes. The morning would look pale in contrast to his deep gaze.

The sun faded with a last ripple of red robes over the monastery. The tall lamps placed at the corners of the courtyard were illuminated, and Stephen's face was revealed in the artificial light of dusk.

Cassandra withdrew her hand. Stephen exhaled a long breath, and his dark brows furrowed as Cassandra took a small step backward. Stephen closed his mouth, and massaged his jaw with fingers still wrapped in black bandages as Cassandra hummed to herself and turned to pick up her bottle of water, still on the bench.

She ran her hand through damp, dark locks that fell over her forehead, and took a long drink of water as she gazed out of the corner of her eye at Stephen, mimicking her actions.

Finally, and with a deep sigh, she took a seat on the bench as she fiddled with the edges of the rolled towel over her legs.

Stephen's grave words cut through the silent stupor Cassandra was reveling in as he asked:

"Who taught you to fight...like that?"

Cassandra hummed evasively, tracing with her fingertips the stinging shadow of the bruise she knew would not leave a mark over her cheekbone "Who taught me to fight...?"

Crossing her legs to lean back gently on the bench, she admired her husband's smooth face as she pondered his words:

"Well, I guess... a lot of people, really. I've been fighting since I was born."

Her fists clenched and unclenched, and a numbness unrelated to the cold of the night bristled the skin on her arms as she reluctantly murmured:

"I was raised within an implacable creed. I have traveled the world, over all the roads on land, and I met the war on the other side of the sea…"

She contemplated her own words, and frowned at the blurred memory of more remote times. Squinting at the tall, erect posture of the man in front of her, Cassandra's thoughts wandered. She thought of the roads of Anatolia: tarnished with memories of the crusades. The passage to Byzantium, from Latakia, and the dry skies before the bloody reality under their pale suns.

Cassandra did not enjoy traveling by ship: however, the quickest way from Mersin to Nidge had been a two-week sea route to the Taurus mountain range, and that way had always been easier than sailing over the sand, skirting mountains, valleys and routes through the snows. Cassandra knew the shadows beneath her own mountains as she knew the creases in her hands strained by the years; from the mountain passes that linked the Otta River valley, with its high pastures, to the trade routes that skirted the Lendbreen.

"I know the war." She admitted, unable to hold her husband's sly gaze as she squelched the impulse that urged her to seal her lips, for this man was a stranger to her, and she did not know his ways, and he discovered her name on a document. Cassandra did not know his family, and he did not know anything about her ways, nor her culture.

And yet, against her better judgment, Cassandra traced the thin edges of her husband's lips with her eyes, unable to hold the piercing gaze with which he focused her, as she continued to recount her life as if it had not been a forbidden tale to less portentous minds in the past: "When I left the Northern kingdom, and after several years of stealth and reserve learning more about the societies that were located further south, I participated in a small project under the supervision of His Majesty's army, and for several years I remained as a… consultant member."

She thought about the Avengers, Xavier's school, her time as Temis, the X-men, and she decided to keep quiet about her years as a member of those teams. Her involvement, however, was implicit in the precursors or her new name: "Then I became Eternity."

One detail Cassandra was always going to appreciate about Ancestral's abode atop the Alps was the crown of stars glittering above the black peaks on the horizon. It made her think of her youth: of the library books of Scotland, and she smiled as she contemplated the path Hera traced in the night sky with the coveted drops of her own milk. Nevertheless, and despite her delightful, silent amusement, at that moment Cassandra missed the evening: Stephen's eyes sparkled brighter in the sunlight.

Stephen's wrists jerked. Though the man tried not to look away from her own contemplative face, attentive to the short words she spoke with reserve, Cassandra noticed the man trying to unwrap the black ribbons from his hands, to no avail.

Enraptured by his apparent struggle, she raised a hand of her own, firm and smooth, and touched his trembling palm, first tentatively, watching Stephen's rigid profile and wide eyes out of the corner of her eye, watchful to catch any sign of refusal from her husband. When no resistance was met, she proceeded firmly; spreading her fingers under the taut palm, her flat hands holding the weight of his tremors entirely as she pulled the tape away from her husband's knuckles.

Cassandra felt the strength of his tremors in her arms: with one hand she held his palm still, and with the other she stroked the revealed red lines, thin and hard against her own immaculate skin, feeling his sweaty, warm hand against her smooth fingers...

She heard the halting sigh that escape her husband's lips. Suddenly, Cassandra noticed she was holding her breath. Stephen's hand was large; his fingers long, covered with thin, shiny scars. Black tape hung from his strong wrist, veins running across the path of marred skin and up his forearm, climbing to where they were lost over the crook of his elbow and under his clothes.

"Then I became Eternity," she repeated in a hoarse whisper. Suddenly, she felt thirsty, and noticed the Adam's apple on Stephen's neck bobbing as he swallowed surreptitiously.

"Eternity." He repeated. Stephen's voice was low: it vibrated in his chest and delighted Cassandra's almost numb senses. She wondered how that voice would sound, calling her name, asking her questions, laughing with her…

Cassandra nodded softly, and murmured: "I have learned to fight in many places, at different times, and from different people I have learned something new."

She looked away from his short nails, a bit jagged from lack of skill with the small device that trimmed them, and looked at his stern face. His frown, the deep look in his eyes, his parted lips, noticing how his gaze roamed her own hands still touching his warm skin... And she thought that she didn't know him very well, and perhaps she will never get to share with him almost a millennium of stories regarding her own life, but…

"I wonder, Stephen..." she whispered finally, watching as his face bent over hers, and noting absently that the courtyard had been suspiciously cleared, and they were the only two people in the light of those wavering stars, "What will I learn from you?"

#marvel #doctor strange x oc #dr strange #dr strange x fem!reader #dr strange x original character #dr strange x reader #mcu imagine #mcu #stephen strange x female reader #stephen strange x original character #stephen strange x oc #stephen strange x ofc #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange

9 notes · View notes

tylerxrbtwhp · 10 months ago

Text

heheheh- OMFG- THIS IS SO GOOD- LIKE BRUH THIS IS SO GOOD-

Teacher’s Pet

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDN, porn with(out) plot, oral (f receiving), power imbalance, slight daddy and doctor kink (I don’t know if it even exists), Also I wrote this instead of sleeping so forgive any mistakes, tell me if I miss any

Summery: Stephen Strange is your tutor and you’re his student, only that today there will be a different kind of lesson

‘’I can’t do this’’, you said with a huff and let your hands fall on the sides. Stephen had been trying to teach you a new spell for almost an hour and for almost an hour you had been failing to do the movements right.

Keep reading

#sinister strange #dr strange x reader #dr strange x you #dr strange x reader smut #dr strange x fem!reader #stephen strange x reader #sinister strange x reader #stephen strange x original character #benedict cumberbatch #stephen strange x you #dr stephen strange

1K notes · View notes

diejager · 1 year ago

Text

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

1K notes · View notes

tateshifts · 3 months ago

Note

i promise i’ll stop with the questions (i won’t) but WHAT DO THEY SOUND LIKE ??? cause since everyone pictures matt as marcus lopez i guess he has an american accent but it doesn’t really make sense at the same time

SLYTHERIN BOYS & pansy⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ how they sound

i love this question holy (don’t stop w the questions pls🙏) there are over 100 accents in the UK and i tried to label and match their accents as best as i could 😭

mattheo is not american… obvi! he actually has a north london / MLE (multicultural london english) mixed. i think this accent suits him so much and i honestly can’t listen to anything else now 😭 hearing ben / watching marcus is so strange now bc im so used to him being english LMAO

enzo sounds like louis partridge so you can just look that one up!! kinda north london / posh to me

blaise’s voice is SO deep, and he actually has an italian accent, it’s very faint but when he talks fast or when he gets lost in conversation it’s more noticeable. again north london with a hint of italian

theo has the deepest voice and although he’s italian he doesn’t have an italian accent, he has an MLE accent (multicultural london english). this mostly comes from him actually being in the muggle world often, he’s always interacting and meeting people with different accents so this has influenced his a lot. when he was you get he had a south london accent.

draco sounds the exactly as he does in the movies, so i guess he has the posh accent LMAO

pansy has a fucking north london / posh accent 😭😭😭 shocked me the most holy shit

rant : i absolutely hate what this fandom has done to mattheo, they’ve ruined him 😭 they’ve ruined his nationality, his accent, his name pronunciation.. EVERYTHING! and this isn’t even because of what ive seen in my dr?? they’ve just completely changed his character from his original fic and it pisses me off

ok rant over😇

thanks for reading ❦｡･:*:･ﾟ follows, likes & reblogs are appreciated x

#reality shifting #shifting motivation #shifting #hp shifting #slytherin boys #harry potter dr #shifting community #shifting stories #reality shifter #desired reality #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys react #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle #theo nott #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #enzo berkshire #blaise zabini

59 notes · View notes

cillianmesoftlyyy · 10 months ago

Text

I Can Fix That... Pt. 2 | Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

author's note: I decided to make a pt. 2 purely for my own enjoyment, though I hope there are others out there as sadistic as myself. I finally watched the Batman trilogy and did research on DC fan pages to write this. It follows the plot of Nolan's DC adaptation so all characters mentioned (like Ra's Al Ghul) are from the comics and movies.

Summary| She gave into Crane because she needed to survive, at least that's what she's tried to tell herself, but there was something about this man that just felt so painfully... right. Now Crane has a proposition and he doesn't intend to take no for an answer because he's starting to like her -- uh oh-- too much. Where will their new agreement lead them when Gotham devolves into chaos?

Warnings| Based on an DC action movie- drugging, slut shaming, fear and terror, dubious kidnapping, restraints, drugs, physical violence, spitting, toxic relationship, mentions of a gun, chaos, and needles. I know- it's a lot.

word count: 8596k (lol oopsies?)

Wires- The Neighborhood 🎶

Where did you sleep last night- Iridium, Salazar, Liam Marks 🎵

Caesar on a TV Screen- The Last Dinner Party 🎶

The detective nodded her head, surprised that she’d so easily forgotten her plan. Dr. Crane sniffed and spun his set of keys around his finger casually.

“Now the best thing about being the creator of my fear serum,” he started, moving to the shelf of vials he had previously sorted, “is that I have an endless supply and every opportunity to use it whenever I want.” She could hear him smile but she could no longer see him. Crane admittedly liked the girl and he’d fucked her as a minor pivot in his original plan for the night. Now, it was time for business. He pulled a dish of powder from a locked drawer and hid it away from sight as he crossed back into the girl’s view. “You may think you understand what my serum can do, but you’ll never truly know until you try it.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head, wishing that she could back away from him but she couldn’t move. He changed the subject swiftly, not giving her a moment.

“I applaud you for your performance tonight. I was more than willing to humor you and of course, your present state did you many favors. I like my women tied down…” he joked and chuckled darkly. “But now, we need to get practical.” He removed his glasses and folded them slowly. He slipped them into his breast pocket. “You know too much, Miss —, and we both know that your current allegiance to your job would prioritize a crude sense of justice over your affection for me. We can’t have that, can we? So, I’d like to propose a solution or a treatment of sorts.” He clenched his jaw, angling his head down so that he was looking up at her through his eyelashes. “You’ve already proven to yourself tonight that the mind has complete control over the body. Desire rules judgment… and I want to rule you.” He smiled darkly. Before she could speak, powder was thrown into her face, blocking every orifice with a sickening gas.

The anxiety was immediate. She saw strange creatures approach her from all sides, poking and prodding her with dirty nails. She saw the walls leak a disgusting fluid, like blood and fecal matter and it spilled over the floor. People sorted through the liquid for scraps, children screamed and cried around her. She’d been one of those children, raised in an orphanage because her parents couldn’t afford to keep her. Strange men swarmed the children, offering toxic treats and money for favors which the children shied away from. She screamed, pulling at her restraints as she tried to fight off the assailants. She shook her head violently side to side, and she screamed involuntarily with raw terror at what she saw. In the midst of a nightmare of Gotham’s poverty and dark underbelly, Dr. Jonathan Crane stood calmly before her. He watched her, his arms crossed against his chest. He cocked his head to the side.

“What do you see,” he asked calmly. She turned her attention to him like he was a beacon of light in a horrible storm.

“Jonathan, help me!” She cried.

“Tell me what you see,” he said again and clucked his tongue to calm her. She looked around again at the people she saw, rummaging through mountains of trash.

“Horrible… horrible poverty. The things… the things I saw as a child. People starving, children crying…” she whimpered. Rats scrambled across her body and she screamed again, shaking against the table. “Jonathan, please!” She called for him and he waded towards her, oblivious to the horror around him. He stood above her and stroked her face. He removed the restraints from her waist and her wrists and helped her sit up. The things she saw darted out of her peripheral vision, distorted now and hard to understand. She couldn’t run because she couldn’t tell where she was anymore, where her body was in relation to her perspective. Did she even still have a body?

Dr. Crane grunted as he helped her off the table and held her up beside him. She fainted in his arms and he carried her out of the secondary lab into the corridor. He punched the elevator’s call button with his free hand and dragged her inside. As the large steel doors closed, he fished for his cellphone in his pocket and called his driver, telling him to meet him outside the hospital immediately. Crane hushed her, gently patting her head though she was still unconscious. The elevator dropped them at the floor she’d entered on originally and Crane carried her to the side door, ignoring the looks the night attendants gave the strange couple. A sleek black car waited outside in the alley, the engine running and dispelling smoky exhaust into the air around them. Crane opened the car door and helped her inside, smirking at the security guard at the door.

“Our meeting was successful, thank you officer.” He waved goodnight to the security guard who shifted awkwardly in his seat at the side door. Climbing in after her, Crane leaned over the console to speak with his driver.

“My apartment, please.” He gave the order sternly, even with the addition of the ‘please,’ and the driver nodded, speeding off into Gotham’s dark streets. His hand rested comfortably on her thigh as he watched her. She started to come to in the backseat, though the effects of the drug had still not worn off. Her breath was fast and she leaned deliriously into Crane’s shoulder, seeking protection from what she saw outside the tinted windows. She was so afraid that she felt safer in the arms of the man that had drugged her, and it would take hours to realize that, but by the time she did, the psychological effects would have already taken root.

The car stopped outside of a dark apartment building in one of the only nice parts of town in Gotham city. It was raining as he helped her back out of the car and into the large lobby of his apartment building. She clung to his arm as he led her into an elevator, playing a soft melody that sounded like shrill screams to her intoxicated mind. As the elevator doors opened, effects of the drug began to wane though her heartbeat was still racing. She looked up at Crane’s sharp jaw and how he clenched it as he opened the door to his apartment and pushed her gently inside.

“I pay my people extra to turn a blind eye to everything that I do. I understand these circumstances appear even more nefarious, being that I have admittedly drugged you and brought you to my apartment. What can I say, I’m a bad feminist.” He smiled darkly and locked the door.

“When do I stop seeing… these things?” She collapsed into a chair behind her and cradled her head in her hands.

“The effects will be gone in an hour,” he responded coolly and switched on some of the lights in his modern apartment. The apartment was two stories with a spiral staircase and an elevator that led to the upstairs. She looked around, trying her best to ignore the hallucinations and study the actual apartment itself.

“You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t have a lab here, it’s against the building’s codes. I spend very little time here actually, I’m always at Arkham or dealing with detectives… like you. I’m a busy man. Like I already told you, I have plans to ‘treat’ Falcone tomorrow so I’ll need that room free. This is the next best option and I think you’ll find it more comfortable in comparison.” He smirked and flicked a switch, immediately two restraints looped tightly around her wrists, emerging from a panel in the arms of the chair that she hadn’t noticed. Second restraints looped around her ankles, reminding her as her ankles were spread apart that he had removed her underwear. She turned her knees inward, hiding her crotch and scoffing with frustration.

“Again?” She groaned and pulled at the strong leather material holding her to the chair.

“You sound disappointed,” Crane observed with a small smirk. “It’s only temporary. I didn’t get a chance to question you back at the lab, so we’ll do that here.” He gestured to his empty apartment and started to walk toward her slowly. His lips curled cruelly as he looked her up and down, strapped to the chair. “So tell me, what do you know?” He whispered and she stopped struggling for a moment. She still felt jumpy and nervous but having him so close relieved some of those feelings. The effects of the drug wore off more but the underlying sense of anxiety and loss of control prompted her to answer honestly.

I know that you are trying to make a powerful drug that mimics fear and so far, you’ve put it in a powder form. It works when ingested in some ways and immediately elicits a response that incapacitates the victim. You want to use it widely, to control Gotham…”

“Right, what else.” He leaned on the arms of the chair, his hands grasped around her wrists.

“You don’t work for Falcone but you work with someone else. You’ve just been using Falcone’s drug operation to move your own prototypes of the fear serum. You want to be in charge and you know that fear can do whatever you want it to. The mind controls the body,” she recalled a sentence that he had used before he had thrown the powder in her face. “You’re also somehow connected to the missing micro-wave emmitter. I don’t know why but it may help you in some way, how?” She was breathing heavily like she was going to fall asleep.

“Good work, detective.”

“What are you using the micro-wave emitter for?” She asked. He chuckled and removed his hands from her wrists, backing up. He approached a small liquor cart and poured himself a drink, straight gin. She continued as he drank.

“Who are you working with and how do you expect to control Gotham when everyone loses their minds?” She could barely contain her voice, anger and confusion rose into her throat like bile.

“So many questions…” he swallowed and set down his glass, turning back to her slowly. “Aren’t you supposed to figure that out for yourself?” He raised his eyebrow.

“The mirco-wave emitter would dry out any water supply that it comes into contact with. Wouldn’t it be easier to poison the water supply, you would reach more people… unless it doesn’t have the same effect when administered in water.” She looked up at him but his face was hard. “That’s why you’ve been using it in a powder, it only works in a powder form. If you dry up the water supply and release the powder into the air, there isn’t a way to combat the effects, is there?”

Crane smiled and nodded slowly, “right again.”

“How can you control people who have lost their minds on the serum? You can’t control chaos.” She furrowed her brow and leaned forward, questioning him. Crane cocked his head and studied her for a moment, noticing the last traces of the fear serum leaving her body.

“Control has many forms, Y/N. The chaos that will come from my serum is planned, its existence is strategically executed.”

“But why are you doing this?”

“I love it when you get flustered,” he chuckled darkly at her and licked his lips, his eyes rolling before returning to her face. “It’s not just me, I work for a large organization that has been responsible for all historical catastrophes throughout history. We deal in balance, balanced chaos. They hired me because I can control fear, I know how to use it and weaponize it. Gotham needs to be balanced and it cannot be balanced without it first destroying itself. Create a closed environment with the population’s problems and confront them with chaos, the balance will soon be restored.”

“Who do you work for?” She whispered, her eyes wide.

“Don’t you mean, who do we work for?” He crouched at her feet and placed his hands on her thighs. He smiled crazily up at her and she leaned away from him.

“What?” She whispered.

“I work for the League of Shadows, and now, so do you.” He dug his finger into the soft bottom of her chin and pushed her head up so that she could see the second floor more clearly.

Standing at the rail were men clad in dark armor. One man stood out from the rest. He wore a black suit and carried a gold-tipped cane. He had long whiskers of gray hair like a mustache and steady cool eyes, deadlier than Crane’s.

“Good work, Dr. Crane.” The man kept his focus on her and her blood went cold. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Miss —. We’ve heard so much about you and of course, you’re the one that has caused us so much trouble!” He laughed sarcastically and descended the spiral staircase.

“Who are you?” She growled.

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” he smiled and the wrinkles on his face creased, pulling against his eyes. “I see you’ve already become acquainted with Dr. Crane, our very own criminal mastermind.”

“You’re too kind,” Crane smarted back, watching the girl’s face as she tried to take in all of the new information.

“Now, I have a job proposition to offer you, Miss —. You seem to have figured most of our plan out but I don’t think you understand the complexity of our organization. You see, the League of Shadows is an ancient organization that has balanced the harmony of every major city in the world since the beginning of time. Gotham has gone bad, to the point of no return. Your ‘Batman’ as you call him can’t reverse what has been brewing for years. He never saw what you did, how the people of Gotham live in filth and poverty while the elite few enjoy the spoils. This city needs to be reborn, it needs chaos to restore the balance.”

“But wouldn’t you be killing thousands of innocent people?” She interjected and Al Ghul shrugged slightly.

“Nobody’s innocent,” he answered quickly and then inhaled, clarifying, “Anyway, that’s not what we want to do here. If we take control of the city and hold it for ransom, we can work out a deal to replace the crooked government with some of our people. I’m offering you a role alongside my people. You’re smart, all that evidence you collected against Crane- none of the senior officers could have held a match to it. We destroyed it of course, as soon as Crane told us about your little visit.” She looked past Al Ghul to Crane who leaned against the wall calmly. Had they destroyed the copies? How could she be sure that they were telling the truth? “The box of evidence you had put aside for Sgt. Gordon was the hardest to find but we found it. What made you suspect Dr. Crane? Was it a gut instinct?” He drew on before she interrupted him.

“You want me to help you kill people?” She furrowed her brow and nearly laughed in disbelief.

“We want your help to save Gotham from itself and establish a new and better government.” He corrected, fixing his posture. Crane watched her closely and spoke up from the back of the room.

“She’ll do it,” he answered and she opened her mouth to interject but his smirk silenced her. “She’ll do it because whether or not she wants to admit it, Miss —, is like us.” Crane reached into his breast pocket and removed his glasses. He cleaned the panels with a dish towel and pushed them onto his nose. She looked between Crane and Al Ghul, her heart beating quickly in her chest.

“Will you join us, will you help us save Gotham?” Ra’s Al Ghul placed both of his hands on top of his walking stick and shifted his weight evenly between his feet. Crane folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side, a knowing smile played on his wide pink lips. Her decision surprised her but the serum had already changed her chemistry, Crane had revealed her true self to herself and there was only one choice left.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Crane nodded, “good girl.”

iii

She was released from her restraints and she rubbed her wrists where the leather marked them. Ra’s Al Ghul snapped his fingers and a map was rolled out on Crane’s dining room table. The map was of the entire city of Gotham, showing the sewer and water lines. They explained the plan, showing her where the micro-wave emitter would be placed in the city and how it would be moved through each neighborhood.

“What about the police?” She asked and gestured to the map of the city. Crane laughed and shook his head.

“You were the only cop that suspected this, the rest will have no idea until it's already started. The person we really need to worry about is Batman,” he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced up at Al Ghul, “luckily for him, an old friend is coming by to visit.” Al Ghul nodded and smiled kindly at her.

“Batman and I go way back. I’ll take care of him.”

“What am I supposed to do?” She asked, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. Crane caught himself staring and cleared his throat.

“You’ll help me with the production of the powder, ensuring that your cop friends don’t figure out too much and keeping Sgt. Gordon away from Arkham or leading him astray… anything,” Crane answered, setting his face as he spoke. She nodded.

Though they had asked her to join their efforts, they also obviously didn’t trust her completely. They wouldn’t tell her everything, she knew. Her night had gone in a completely different direction than how she had imagined it. Everything had changed after the fear serum, it had shown her that what she feared most had already happened. The police were corrupt, run by small-time gangsters and criminals and crime continued to run rampant as the state lost more and more money, forcing social service organizations to close and more families out on the streets. This whole time she thought that the police could solve the problem but they only caused it. Crane was right, she was like him and she would do anything she could to change the city. After the meeting, Crane poured her a drink and dissolved a packet of powder into the liquor. He stirred it in front of her and Al Ghul before sliding it across the table’s surface.

“This will put you to sleep for a few hours, twelve at most. It’s only a precaution to make sure that you have truly promised your allegiance to us. Everything that you say will be monitored from this point on.”

“Everything?” She looked at Crane who clenched his jaw, a faint tease of blush spread on his cheeks.

“Everything. Do as we say and follow our rules and you stay alive,” Crane finished and tapped the rim of the glass. “Now drink.”

“How do I know that you aren’t just poisoning me?” She asked the men around her.

“We’re learning to trust each other, but you have to go first.” He smiled and when Al Ghul said nothing, she took the glass and drank it slowly. The last thing she saw were Crane’s eyes, set perfectly on her.

She was conscious enough to set her glass down before falling back onto the couch. Crane approached her quickly and checked her pulse, monitoring her reaction to the drug.

“Did it work?” Ra’s Al Ghul asked behind him and he nodded.

“Yes, she’s out. Because of all the drugs in her system already, this one may take longer to wear off.”

“All the other drugs?” Al Ghul raised his eyebrow and Crane chuckled.

“I couldn’t help myself and besides,” he turned to Al Ghul, “you wanted her alive.”

“I’m not convinced that we can trust her,” Al Ghul shook his head and pointed at the map for his men to clean up.

“Oh, I’ll make sure we can.”

“With your mind tricks?” Al Ghul teased and Crane sighed, rolling his beautiful eyes.

“Don’t insult me, Ra’s. I know what I’m doing.” He warned the man calmly and nodded to the men. Two men helped carry her body as Crane led them back down the elevator into the lobby which was deserted at that time in the early morning. They climbed into Crane’s waiting car and pulled away from the curb. The girl’s body was limp against the seat and Crane resisted the urge to stare at her, fascinated by her sleeping body. The men carried her up to her apartment on the third floor of a small walkup. Crane rummaged through her coat pockets for the key into her apartment and unlocked the door.

Her apartment was small and cozy, furnished with minimal couches and chairs. Books and art decorated the walls. Crane pushed through the door and directed the men to lie her down in her bedroom, the small room off of the main living area. They men looked back at him expectantly as he stood by the doorway, watching her sleep. He rolled his eyes and shooed them away. What did they think he was going to do? He’d already fucked her. Alone in her apartment, he stood by her bed and stroked her cheek. She slept on, engulfed by unconscious darkness. He leaned over her slowly and grasped her throat gently, exhaling across her face. He said nothing but looked her up and down and smirked, pleased at the sight of her. He’d won another spoil: her.

She woke up in her bed, twisted in the sheets as if she had been restless all night. She was sweaty and hot, the air stuffy around her. Crane and Al Ghul were nowhere to be seen. She checked her watch and hurried out of bed, stripping off her clothes from the night before and into black trousers and a dark blue sweater. She stumbled into the living room and wound her hair up into a claw clip, moving towards the door when a voice startled her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Crane spoke from the couch. He was in a fresh suit and looked well-rested. He was taking notes in a file on Falcone, his briefcase sat on the coffee table in front of him. She jumped, gasping from shock.

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you to wake up. We have work to do today. That bitch at the DA’s office wants to speak with me. I'm supposed to meet with her this afternoon. She’s questioning Falcone’s transfer.”

“I ordered the transfer after you did Falcone’s interview, maybe I could meet with her instead.”

“No, I need you to take this file to the judge on Falcone’s case. I can handle her questions.” He stood and held out Falcone’s file. “I already gave my statement at the hearing but this file will confirm my medical opinion, hopefully that will get her off my back.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you think Falcone will talk if she speaks with him?”

“Possibly,” he bent his head side to side and shrugged, “but we aren’t going to find out. Let’s go,” he snapped his briefcase closed and made for the front door. She glanced from the couch to her bedroom.

“Were you watching me all night?” She flushed angrily and followed him. He closed the door suddenly and spun her around, forcing her back against the front door.

“I can only say this once because they aren’t listening now but as soon as we get in the car, they’ll be monitoring you. I am keeping you alive, Miss —. I will do everything in my power to keep you alive but the second you step away from me, you’re on your own. I know we have an understanding so believe me when I say that I would prefer very much if you didn’t die. Follow my directions because they’re following you.” He said in a harsh whisper, a strand of hair falling into his face. They stared at each other in silence, exchanging breath when he kissed her harshly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned softly against his lips. He bucked into her hips and she gasped softly against his jaw. And just as quickly, he pulled away, breathing heavily and led her out the door and down the stairs into the waiting car.

“I’ll need my gun back,” she pointed out as they settled on the backseat. Crane sighed, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He opened a small compartment in the car door and retrieved her gun. As he held it out, he took her jaw in his other hand, his thumb pressing into her fleshy cheek.

“This is where that trust would come in handy, detective.” He whispered darkly. She looked at his lips and then up to his eyes, speechless around him. He watched her struggle for words and chuckled, handing her the gun. “Be careful, Y/N, and remember Ra’s plan.” He looked at her lips and sniffed, slapping the roof of the car. “This is her stop.”

She met with the judge who oversaw Falcone’s case and gave him the thick folder. He looked at it briefly before recognizing the information.

“I appreciate you coming out to speak to me about Falcone’s transfer to Arkham but I cleared everything with Ms. Dawes yesterday. She’s already scheduled a second psychiatrist to meet with Falcone first thing tomorrow morning. She mentioned that she’s also requested Dr. Crane’s case file. Has she seen this?” He waved the folder and she clicked her tongue, shocked that she had scheduled a second opinion and that Crane didn’t know about it.

“I’m not sure, sir. I was the detective working with the prosecution and I was the one who oversaw Dr. Crane’s examination and request for transfer. I can attest to Falcone's mood at the time as well. He screamed nonstop as Crane was trying to conduct a test of sanity. Anyway, I wanted to make sure that you saw Dr. Crane’s diagnosis in the aftermath of his transfer. This has updated notes that Dr. Crane shared with me. It might be useful in your deliberation.” She smiled and the judge looked down his nose at the folder.

“Good point. Thank you, detective. This is helpful.” He opened the folder on his desk and put on his rounded spectacles.

“Well now that we’ve spoken, I’ll try to catch Dawes and save her the trouble.” She pushed back her chair and brushed off her trousers.

“Miss —?” The judge called from his desk.

“Yes, sir?” She looked back.

“Dr. Crane has committed many of Falcone’s men to Arkham in the past few months, is that correct?”

“Yes,” she nodded and her heart raced.

“That must be a pretty crazy group.” The judge laughed and went back to the folder, completely missing the pattern. She sighed in relief and left quickly. She started to walk to Arkham, moving so quickly she felt like she may have been running. Dawes had already scheduled a second opinion, meaning that she was probably at Arkham pressuring Crane for his detailed diagnosis. It would take Dawes one second to figure it out so she hoped she could get there quickly enough to do something. She had no plan which she knew was stupid but whatever was bound to happen in the next few hours would be bad and she needed to help Crane. Her phone began to ring and she put it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N.”

“Ra’s?”

“Are you on your way to Arkham?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Turn around and go back to your precinct. I want you to stick close to Sgt. Gordon, go where he goes. You’re his top detective so run with it. If anything happens at Arkham, he’ll be there and I want you there with him. Crane will be fine.”

She slowed to a stop, skeptical but wanting to believe what her new boss was telling her, “ok, sir.”

After a second of silence, Ra’s added, “It’s Batman’s birthday and what better way to celebrate a playboy than with chaos?” The call ended before she could respond.

She spun around and headed straight for the precinct. She spotted Gordon at his desk, working on paperwork. She hurried over and knocked on the door, letting herself in when he waved.

“Good, I’m glad to see you. I need to run some ideas by you for the Falcone case.”

“I just dropped off Crane's diagnosis for the judge but he said that Dawes may be seeking a second opinion.”

“About that -” The intercom went off with a loud screech.

“Attention all units! Attention all units! Batman was spotted at Arkham Asylum. He is believed to be armed and dangerous. Backup is requested at this time.” The voice repeated with a robotic drone. Sgt. Gordon looked from the speaker to her and grabbed his coat from his chair.

“We need to get to the asylum right now.” Gordon yelled and she followed him closely, checking that her gun was still secured to her hip. She clipped her badge to her front pocket and pretended to sound confused.

“Why are we going, Sgt? Do you think this is about Falcone?”

“It might, I’d feel better if I was there to find out; and if Batman is there, someone’s in trouble.” They hurried down the stairs and climbed into a car. Gordon sped away from the precinct and ran red lights. The tires bled across the roads as they came to a screeching halt behind a row of police cars parked outside the Asylum.

“Why is everyone waiting outside?” She yelled over the noise. An officer standing with his gun aimed at the building yelled back.

“We’re waiting for backup!”

“They’ll be here soon, sir. We should wait!” She yelled over the noise at the Sgt.

Gordon looked up at the building and pulled his gun from his holster. He started moving towards the building, looking back to wave her on.

“I’m going in. You coming?” He called.

She groaned anxiously beneath her breath before responding, “yes, sir!” They raced up the stairs into the lobby which was left completely vacant. Gordon held up his gun and she followed suit, staying close behind him. She felt the urge to kill him now and find Crane but her gut warned her that someone else was in the room, watching. They walked slowly through the main corridor, past the abandoned security checkpoint, creeping closer to the wide atrium. When they stepped beneath the enormous domed ceiling a loud noise broke through the top of the building. She looked up and covered her face with her forearm to protect her eyes from large shards of falling glass. She saw a large dark blur surround Sgt. Gordon and pull him up to the roof.

“Sgt. Gordon!” She yelled after him. She knew immediately that the blur was that bastard Batman. A small laugh escaped her mouth as she shook her head and lowered her gun. A group of SWAT ran in seconds later. She pointed at the ceiling with her gun and called them over.

“He came down and took Sgt. Gordon!”

“Who?” Someone yelled at her and she shook her head, pretending to be unsure.

“I don’t know! I think it was Batman.” She yelled, adding to their panic.

“Batman!” Someone shouted and in the moment of distraction, she slipped away into a side corridor. She bolted towards a staircase and stopped at every floor, looking for signs of activity. Her body burned with soreness as she sprinted down each corridor. She wanted to scream his name but her lungs wouldn’t allow her the extra air to do so. She rounded a corner and ran into a group of police. They all started shouting at her until she showed them her badge.

“I’m a detective- What the hell is going on here?” She yelled.

“We’re looking for Dr. Crane!”

“Have you seen Sgt. Gordon?” She asked, panting and trying not to panic when they mentioned Crane’s name. “He disappeared and I've been looking for him.”

“No, we haven’t. We got a call that they found drugs in the building and then Batman showed up. Crane was running the operation.” One police officer responded and jerked their head to the side where they were going to run next. “It's down this corridor!”

“I’ll come with you,” she shouted and led the unit, her gun pointed at the ground. Two large doors were falling off their hinges further down the hallway. The room itself was smokey and gaseous. She looked down from the doorway where there were stairs leading into a cement lined room like an empty indoor pool. Tables were littered with Crane’s fear serum and men that she assumed were dead. Huge vats of liquid marked with a toxic symbol sat on their sides by an open waterline.

“This is it,” she said to the officer beside her and started to descend the staircase. The smoke made it hard to see so she moved slowly, looking around the floor for Crane’s familiar face. The men she saw were all part of Falcone’s posse who had been hired to help the drug operation run. Something snapped beneath her food and she looked down, seeing Crane’s scarecrow mask which she recognized from his drawing. She picked it up and looked around anxiously, her fingers around the gun shook. Then she saw him. Crane was propped up against a wall and bleeding slightly from the head, a thin trail of blood oozed on the wall behind his head. He was panting and flailing around, his pupils were mere penpoints. He’d been attacked with his own fear powder. She looked around before dropping into a crouch beside him. He recognized her but continued to shake, his eyes darting around her head.

“Jonathan,” she whispered, “it's me.”

“Did you find him?” Someone shouted and she yelled back that she had. He raised a judgemental eyebrow, his mouth forming a cuss word. His glasses were gone.

“Trust me, Crane.” She whispered against his ear and held his wrists together. She took her handcuffs from her belt and handcuffed him.

She leaned against the wall and tapped her foot anxiously as they strapped him into a white straightjacket. She crossed the room and helped the officer secure the last belt, thankful for any excuse to touch him and remind him that she was still there. Looking up at her, he spat and she flinched slightly. His light eyes were ringed with red swollen skin and she wondered if he really felt betrayed by her. She wiped his spit from her cheek and returned to her place by the wall.

“So this is the scarecrow,” Sgt. Gordon entered the room and let the door slam shut. Crane jumped from the noise and closed his eyes, taking a deep shaky breath.

“Scarecrow… scarecrow.” Crane whispered with his eyes closed and shifted within the straightjacket. Sgt. Gordon pulled up a chair, the metal scraping against the floor, bristling Crane into opening his eyes.

“What was the plan, Crane? How were you going to get the toxin into the air?” Gordon asked calmly and fingered the scarecrow mask. Her stomach turned watching Crane struggle to regain control over his mind. He shook and his eyes darted around the room, landing once or twice on her. She kept a straight face, giving no sign that she was terrified that something would happen to him or she would accidentally reveal something about him that they didn’t already know. When Crane didn’t respond, Gordon continued, his voice rising.

“Who were you working for?” Gordon pressed and Crane’s eyes snapped to his, a crazy smile pulling at his lips.

“Oh, it’s too late. You can’t stop it now.” He spoke through shivers, cutting up his words. He smiled at the end and Gordon shook his head. He stood and shoved the mask into her hands.

“Here. Stay with Crane.” He growled and left the room, his footsteps echoing through the heavy steel door. She looked down at the mask in her hands and hid her smile. There was only one officer left in the room with them and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to come up with a quick plan.

“Are there any officers outside?” She asked the cop by the door who peeked his head outside the door.

“No, ma’am.”

“Good,” she smiled and raised her gun when the door snapped behind him. “Then this should be easy.” She cocked the gun and cornered the officer. “Face the wall,” she ordered and when he turned, she hit him over the head with the butt of her pistol, knocking him unconscious. She quickly handcuffed him and checked outside one last time before running over to Crane. He was still recovering from the toxin, his face set in a deep frown. She began to free him from his restraints, glancing at the door every few seconds. His eyes stayed on her face and he kept muttering things below his breath. When she undid the last restraint he jumped up and it fell from around his shoulders to the floor. She started to smile when he lunged at her and pushed her up against the tiled wall. Her hair clip cracked against the tile and clattered to the floor in pieces. She gasped beneath his hands, one holding her throat and the other grabbing the slack in her sweater, exposing her navel.

“You betrayed me,” he growled, “you told Gordon... I saw you.” His eyes were wild and glazed, he looked right through her.

“What?” she gasped out though his hand was crushing her windpipe.

“I saw you two! You fucked him. You fucked him!” He yelled, his body shook with anger like he was coming down from an adrenaline high.

“No, I didn’t!” She struggled beneath his hands, “this is the toxin talking, Jonathan! I didn’t betray you-”

“But you fucked him,” his voice twisted into a heatbreaking whine, an image flicked before his eyes and he closed them quickly, shaking it from his head.

“No!” She coughed and she could feel herself getting light-headed.

“You love him,” his voice was breaking beneath him and his eyes darted between hers as the toxin showed him more and more; everything of which included her.

“Jonathan!” she screamed and hit his chest hard with closed fists, “I can’t fucking breathe!”

His eyes snapped open wider and he released his grip around her throat. Her feet landed on the ground and she coughed, sinking into a crouch against the wall. Crane stepped back and watched her silently. He was still shaking as he ran a hand anxiously through his hair.

“Why would I save you if I loved him?” She cried in frustration, rubbing her bruised throat. “It’s the toxin, Jonathan… I didn’t do the things you think I did,” her voice softened. She looked up at him and stood slowly, grabbing onto the wall for support. Crane cradled his head in his hands and whimpered.

“What do you see?” she asked quietly and stepped closer. He shook his head and created more distance between them. “Jonathan, tell me.” She pressed and he exhaled with a soft shutter.

“You… fuck,” he started through heavy breaths, working himself up again. “I see you and Gordon…” He rubbed his eyes and looked back up at her. “It’s been so long since…”

“Since what?” She furrowed her brow, questioning. His eyes darted away into the corner and he shook.

“Since my father last used it…” he took a deep breath and finished his sentence with a lengthy exhale, “on me.”

“The fear toxin?” She whispered, slowly starting to understand what he was suggesting. He nodded and flinched as if something had attacked him. Was he saying that his father used a prototype of the fear toxin on him? She grabbed onto the sleeve of his suit jacket and tugged his attention away.

“It’s just me. There’s no one else- nothing else in here except for me,” she gestured to the nearly empty room (the officer was still unconscious in the corner). “And I’m here for you,” she whispered and closed the distance between them, her hands slipped around his small waist beneath his suit jacket. She felt his body tense beneath her embrace before slowly (very slowly) releasing its tension. He didn’t hug her back but rested his forehead on her shoulder. She stroked his hair, and found the shallow wound on the back of his head. She ducked her head as she pulled away, finding his mouth and kissing him gently. The toxin was slowly wearing off and she could tell he was only beginning to return to his normal self.

“We need to get up to my office,” he muttered and looked at the door. “They’re releasing the patients.”

“What?” She furrowed her brow. Crane sighed and shook his head.

“Ra’s gave orders to open all of the cells. The patients will be let loose into the city.” He licked his lips and looked down at her. “We need to get upstairs.” His expression was tense as she could tell he was trying to fight the lingering effects of the toxin. She nodded.

“Show me where to go.”

He pulled her through the door and they ran down the corridor to an elevator. When the doors opened, Crane used his key to override the system, preventing anyone else from calling the elevator. He pressed the button for the floor with his office, not realizing that his other hand was squeezing tightly around hers. When the doors opened again, they rushed down the hallway and into Crane’s office. He sighed when the door was locked and the blinds closed.

“What are we going to do?” She asked him quietly and he inhaled slowly.

“I need to inject you with the antidote so the toxin doesn’t affect you when we leave the building.” He murmured, more to himself.

“We’re going out there?” She tried to keep the fear from her voice but he detected it instantly, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you scared?” He asked automatically.

“Of both of us dying out there at the hands of one of your old patients, yes, yes I am.” She nearly laughed.

“Don’t you want to be part of the fun?” The Jonathan Crane she knew was definitely coming back.

“I’d rather not become the ‘fun’,” she quipped and he smirked.

“As you wish.”

She followed him into his lab and he rummaged through a collection of vials arranged on one of the counters. Finding the right one, he slipped it inside a cartridge of what looked like an epipen.

“Pull down your pants,” he ordered and then it was her turn to raise her eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that and do what I tell you,” he said sternly and she did as he asked, pulling down her trousers where he had access to her thigh. “This will hurt,” he warned her before immediately plunging the needle into the fat around her thigh. She hissed in pain and heaved out a breath.

“The good news is that you don’t have to ever do this again,” he patted her leg and buttoned her pants for her. “Now me,” he changed the vial and unbuckled his pants. He raised the hem of his boxers and punctured the needle into his upper thigh. He grunted in pain and closed his eyes for a moment and whistled out a tight breath. A large explosion shook the ground below their feet. She jumped and winced as she landed on her sore leg. Without opening his eyes, Crane nodded.

“And that would be the patients leaving the building now.” He withdrew the needle and tossed it to the side, buckling his pants.

“Let me see your head,” she touched his arm and he leaned forward slightly, turning his head where she could see it clearly. She carded her fingers through his dark hair and parted the dark roots away from the shallow wound. “It's a small cut, you’ll live.”

“Thanks, doctor.” He smirked. Her fingers shifted through his hair as he straightened and she tried not to look disappointed when they were no longer twirled around his black locks.

“Are you back now?” She looked up into his eyes, looking for trances of fear.

“I think so,” he responded and traced his index finger around the collar of her sweater. There were small bruises where his fingers had been when he forced her against the wall in his state of panic. “Was I terrible?” He whispered.

“Not more than usual,” she laughed lightly and covered his hand with hers. “I’m ok.” She insisted and he furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips.

He was going to apologize, he was going to tell her how much he loved her and that was why he had reacted so strongly to the toxin, but the words died on his lips so instead he said, “We should leave before the city goes all the way under.”

“They’ll raise the bridges so no one can leave, it’s too late.”

Crane chuckled and leaned against the lab table behind him, his fingers grasping around the edge. “And once again, you severely underestimate me. Come on.”

“Get on,” Crane held the bridle and gestured for her to mount the large black steed.

“You’re kidding right?” She looked around at the burning city and then back to the police horse who’d lost its rider.

“I wish I was,” he sighed and tugged her closer by her waistband, “now giddy-up, Miss —.” He joked flatley and pushed her up onto the saddle. He hoisted himself up after her and sat in front, taking the reins in his hands. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed her thighs around the horse's stomach, holding on for dear life.

“Where the hell did you learn to ride a horse?” She yelled over the panic and she felt him chuckle.

“Oh, there are a lot of things that you don’t know about me, detective.” He smirked and kicked the horse into action. She gasped and held him tighter as they flew through the violence-strewn streets. She couldn’t imagine how ridiculous they looked to the people of Gotham but under the influence of the fear toxin, she hoped people were more afraid than amused seeing a man in a full suit riding a horse. Crane focused on the route ahead, navigating them through the broken city.

“Where’s Ra’s?” She yelled into his ear.

“Forget about him.” He growled and urged the horse faster.

“Why? What happened?”

“He tricked me. He didn't just want to impose an arguably better government, he wanted to kill everyone and to kill us too. He tipped off Batman and that’s how Batman found me. He didn't need me after the toxin had been released. He kept you away from me, didn’t he?” He called over his shoulder, leaping over a crashed car.

“Yes, he told me to go to the precinct instead when I tried to warn you about the DA.”

“He wanted Batman to find me and he assumed that you’d get stuck here after you followed Gordon. Two birds with one stone. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” He growled and turned the horse onto a side-street and into an alley.

“Where are we going?” She asked, her grip tightening around Crane as she saw people screaming in the streets.

“To my father’s house.”

“How?” His father’s house? After his father had probably done something horrible to him?

“Just hold on,” he warned and flicked the reins again. She closed her eyes, wanting to block out the terror in the streets. While some of it gave her pleasure to see the raw side of humanity express itself, it reminded her of what she had seen as a child- the side of people that came out when they needed to survive.

They rode to the edge of the city and Crane slowed the horse to a stop beside a tall building that looked abandoned. He hopped off of the horse and helped her down, catching her as she forced herself to slip over the saddle. The building was far enough away from the inner-city that it looked like it hadn’t been touched yet by the chaos, though the toxins had definitely reached it.

“We need to get to the roof,” he informed her calmly and pointed her to the elevator.

“Another elevator…” she whispered beneath her breath, knowing it wasn’t the right time to mention how much she hated the idea of going into one when the world around them was ending. Crane pressed the button labeled “20R,” and the elevator began to soar up. The elevator had windows that opened into the city. As the elevator climbed, they could see the destruction of Gotham and right across the bridge, normalcy.

“Ra’s is moving the micro-wave emitter by the high speed rail. If his plan goes accordingly, the emitter will poison the other side of the city beneath Wayne tower.” He pointed out the tall Wayne building from their vantage point. “I hate Gotham and I hate Batman, but I think I hate Ra’s Al Ghul more.” He sneered distastefully. “We could have run Gotham…” he sighed and shrugged, “maybe another day.”

She couldn’t help herself but laugh. Being with Crane had opened her eyes to a new side of herself, one that was dark and masochistic. She liked this side better, way better. She liked thinking that one day she could be in charge, force out all of the government officials that were too dumb or sexist to listen to her. She could lead beside Crane…

When the elevator doors opened a gust of wind met them. The doors opened onto the roof of the huge building. A helicopter stood in the center of a large bull’s eye, its blades running in circles above their heads. Crane’s hair ruffled in the wind and he squinted his eyes against it. Her mouth fell open in shock and Crane chuckled at her reaction.

“That’s the funny thing about, trust, detective. I don’t believe in it,” he smirked and beckoned her to the helicopter’s doors.

“You planned this?” She yelled as he gestured her to climb onto the landing gear.

“Of course,” he smiled, "I always have a backup plan." Her mary janes slipped across the bars as she climbed and Crane supported her back, guiding her back into the body of the machine. He pulled himself inside after her and collapsed in one of the seats. She tried to orient herself, looking around the small helicopter, landing on the pilot. The pilot nodded at Crane, he was wearing a thick mask and goggles to keep the toxin away.

“Ready doctor?” The pilot called from the front and Crane nodded breathlessly. He looked at her and clenched his jaw, returning to the version of Crane she knew so well.

“Yes.”

#cillian murphy #fanfiction #cillian fanfic #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane #dc scarecrow #hot scarecrow #young cillian murphy #cillian fluff #robert fischer #batman begins #long reads #multi chap fic #cillian x fem!reader

154 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 2 months ago

Text

Sweet Dreams - Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Alexandria starts to attend classes while also struggling with insomnia.

Word Count: 15.2k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x Original Female Character (platonic relationship)

Notes: i meant to update yesterday, but imma be real, college is no joke, especially when you're like me and have chronic insomnia and get 4 hours of sleep on a good day.

anyways, quick note. when dialogue is italicized it means alexandria, or other characters, are talking in a different language, usually russian. some words i kept in russian only because alexandria uses them often (they're pretty much just curse words).

i had no idea this chapter was 15k, oops

Series Masterlist - Chapter 1 → Chapter 3

AO3 Link For Chapter

Alexandria looked down at the paper schedule in her hand. There were 4 classes for the day, each to be repeated every day.

She thought HYDRA was bad? This was almost the same thing. Or maybe she was just exaggerating.

After a week of getting used to the environment, Professor Xavier thought it best for her to start classes. Kitty was taking her to her first period, which was chemistry taught by Hank.

“Mr. McCoy isn’t a bad teacher.” Kitty said, as they walked, “if you end up taking any sort of biology or mutant physiology, then you’ll get Dr. MacTaggert. She’s a bit harsher.”

Kitty continued to talk as they walked down the hallway, her tone light and conversational. Alexandria appreciated that Kitty didn’t try too hard to make her feel at ease, but instead just talked about things that might be useful. It was a different approach than what Alexandria was used to, and it made her feel slightly less on edge.

“Mr. McCoy—well, Hank, really—he’s great with chemistry. He’s one of the smartest people I know,” Kitty said with a small smile. “And he’s really patient, which helps if you’re, you know, new to all this.”

Alexandria nodded, though she wasn’t sure how much that would matter. She had a lot of catching up to do, considering she didn’t even know how a computer worked until last week. The thought of trying to keep up with the other students in a subject as complex as chemistry made her stomach twist, but she kept her face neutral.

As they neared the classroom, Kitty paused, turning to face Alexandria. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in. I was pretty overwhelmed when I first got here too. But if you need anything—help with classes, or just someone to talk to—I’m around.”

Before Alexandria could respond, Scott walked in between the two of them, placing an arm around each of their shoulders. Alexandria furrowed her brows at the action.

“Don’t worry Kitty. I’ll help her, I have chemistry too.” Scott raised a hand in front of Alexandria as she stared at it.

Was this an American gesture? She doesn’t think she’s seen this in HYDRA before.

Alexandria stared at Scott's raised hand; her expression blank as she tried to decipher what he wanted from her. It took her a moment to realize it was a gesture meant to be friendly, maybe even encouraging. Slowly, she lifted her own hand and awkwardly slapped it against his, feeling utterly out of her depth.

Scott chuckled. “High five! We’ll work on that.”

She didn’t respond, unsure of what to make of the entire interaction. It felt forced, unnatural. She’d spent the last week trying to figure out how to exist in this strange new environment, but every day felt like she was trying to wear someone else’s skin. Nothing fit right.

Kitty noticed Alexandria's discomfort and shot Scott a look that was a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Come on, Scott, don’t scare her off before her first class.”

Scott grinned, stepping back and giving Alexandria some space. “Relax, Kitty, I’m just being welcoming.”

“Yeah, well, maybe ease up on the enthusiasm a little,” Kitty suggested, rolling her eyes before turning back to Alexandria. “Like I said, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Sure,” Alexandria replied, her voice clipped, but not intentionally. It was just how she spoke—short, to the point, without the usual pleasantries most people added in. She wasn’t used to them, didn’t see the point.

Kitty seemed to understand that and didn’t push for more. “Alright, see you later then.”

As Kitty walked off, Scott led Alexandria into the classroom. The room was filled with lab tables, each equipped with the standard chemistry setup—Bunsen burners, glassware, and various other tools that Alexandria was only vaguely familiar with.

The other students were already seated, some chatting in low voices, others reviewing their notes. Alexandria felt their eyes on her as she followed Scott to a table near the back. She hated the scrutiny, but she was getting used to it. It seemed like everyone here was curious about the new girl.

“Here we are,” Scott said, pulling out a stool for her. “Hank’s a cool guy. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded stiffly, taking the seat and glancing around the room. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She didn’t have any notes, didn’t even have a pencil. The realization made her stomach twist again, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. No one needed to know how out of place she felt.

Scott noticed her empty hands and frowned. “You didn’t bring anything?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t given any supplies.”

Scott frowned, glancing at his own neatly organized notes and pens. “Don’t worry, I’ve got extras. Here.” He handed her a pen and a blank notebook.

She took them, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. She hated relying on others for anything, but she didn’t have much of a choice right now. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Scott said, leaning back in his seat just as the classroom door swung open.

Hank McCoy, or Mr. McCoy as everyone here seemed to call him, strode in with a calm and confident air. “Good morning, everyone,” Hank began, his voice reassuring. “I hope you all had a restful night and are ready to dive into the wonders of chemistry.”

The class responded with a mix of murmurs and nods. Hank’s gaze swept over the room, landing on Alexandria for a brief moment before he gave her a small, welcoming nod. She returned it with a curt one of her own, not sure how else to respond.

“We have a new student joining us today,” Hank continued, gesturing towards Alexandria. “This is Alexandria Sokolova. Let’s make her feel welcome.”

There were a few more murmurs, but nothing too intrusive. Most of the students just gave her a brief glance before turning back to their own work. That was fine with her. She didn’t need or want their attention.

Hank moved on quickly, diving into the day’s lesson. He explained the concept of chemical bonding with a level of detail and enthusiasm that would’ve been impressive if Alexandria had any clue what he was talking about.

As it was, she found herself lost within the first five minutes, the terms and equations swirling in her head like a foreign language. She tried to keep up, scribbling down notes as best she could, but it felt hopeless. She’d never had formal schooling like this. Everything she knew was learned in HYDRA’s training facilities, and none of it involved covalent bonds or molecular structures.

Scott noticed her struggle and leaned over, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the class. “Don’t stress about it. Hank’s really good about explaining things if you need help.”

She gritted her teeth, hating that she needed help in the first place. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey, no pressure. Just letting you know you’ve got options,” Scott said, his tone light and nonchalant.

The rest of the class went by in a blur. Alexandria spent most of it trying to make sense of what Hank was saying, but it was like trying to catch water with a sieve. By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, she was exhausted. Mentally, at least.

As the students began packing up, Hank approached her table. “Alexandria, how did you find the lesson?”

She hesitated, not wanting to admit how much she hadn’t understood. But lying didn’t seem like a good option either. “It was... a lot to take in.”

Hank nodded, his expression kind. “That’s perfectly understandable. You’re adjusting to a lot of new things. If you ever need extra help, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here to make sure you succeed.”

She nodded, though she didn’t quite believe him. Success wasn’t something she was used to, and she doubted it would come easy here.

“Thank you,” she said, the words feeling foreign on her tongue.

“You’re welcome,” Hank replied with a warm smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded again, then quickly gathered her things and followed Scott out of the classroom. They walked in silence for a bit, and she was grateful that Scott didn’t try to fill it with more idle chatter. She needed a moment to collect herself.

Finally, Scott spoke up. “Next up is math. It’s with Ms. Frost.”

Hank she had met when she’d first got here, but this Frost woman she hadn’t heard of yet.

"Who’s Ms. Frost?" Alexandria asked as she and Scott walked down the hallway toward the next classroom. Her tone was flat, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it. After the chaos of the last class, she wanted to know what she was walking into this time.

Scott glanced at her sideways. "Emma Frost. She’s… well, she’s different. She teaches math, but she’s also a telepath, one of the most powerful ones here. She doesn’t exactly have a soft touch."

"Great," Alexandria muttered under her breath. A telepath. Just what she needed.

Scott caught the tone in her voice and tried to reassure her. "Don’t worry. She’s tough, but she’s fair. If you put in the effort, she’ll respect that."

Alexandria wasn’t sure if she cared about earning anyone’s respect, especially not from a teacher who could read her mind. The idea of someone poking around in her head made her uneasy, but she wasn’t about to show that to Scott.

When they reached the classroom, Scott pushed open the door, revealing a sleek, modern room with large windows letting in plenty of light. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and at the front was a large whiteboard filled with complex equations.

The students were already seated, and Alexandria noticed immediately how different the atmosphere was from the last class. There was a tension here, an unspoken understanding that you didn’t mess around in Ms. Frost’s class.

Emma Frost stood at the front, her presence commanding without needing to say a word. She was tall, blonde, and dressed impeccably in a white suit that looked like it cost more than Alexandria’s entire wardrobe. Her expression was cool, almost indifferent, but her eyes were sharp, taking in everything with a single glance.

Scott led Alexandria to a seat near the middle of the room. As she sat down, she couldn’t help but feel like she was under a microscope. Emma’s gaze flicked toward her, and for a moment, Alexandria wondered if the woman was already inside her head.

“Class,” Emma’s voice was smooth, cutting through the quiet murmur of the students, “we have a new student joining us today. Alexandria Sokolova.” She said the name as if she were tasting it, evaluating it. “I expect you all to help her catch up, though I’m sure she won’t need much assistance.”

The way she said it, it was hard to tell if it was a compliment or a challenge. Alexandria kept her face impassive, refusing to give anything away.

“Open your textbooks to page 157,” Emma continued without missing a beat. “Today we’ll be covering logarithmic functions. For those of you who found last week’s lesson difficult, I suggest you pay close attention.”

As Emma began the lesson, Alexandria tried to follow along, but the pace was relentless. It was clear that Emma Frost didn’t waste time with handholding. She expected everyone to keep up, and if you couldn’t, that was your problem. The students around her were focused, scribbling down notes with a speed that made Alexandria feel like she was moving in slow motion.

She gripped her pen tightly, trying to force herself to understand the equations on the board. Numbers and symbols blurred together, and she could feel frustration building in her chest. The last thing she wanted was to fall behind, to look weak, but the material was completely foreign to her.

Scott glanced over at her again, noticing the tension in her posture. “If you need help, just ask,” he whispered, his voice low so Emma wouldn’t hear.

“I’m fine,” Alexandria replied through gritted teeth, her pride refusing to let her admit how much she was struggling.

Emma paused in her lecture and turned her icy blue eyes directly on Alexandria. “Miss Sokolova, since you’re new, why don’t you come up to the board and solve this equation?”

Alexandria felt her heart skip a beat. She wasn’t prepared for this, but there was no way out. Standing up, she walked to the front of the room, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. She stared at the equation Emma had written on the board, trying to make sense of it, but it was like looking at a foreign language.

After a long moment of silence, Emma spoke again, her tone calm but with an edge to it. “Take your time, Miss Sokolova. We’re all waiting.”

The pressure was suffocating, but Alexandria refused to back down. She raised the marker to the board and began to work through the problem, her mind racing to piece together the bits of information she understood. The room was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat, and she knew that every mistake she made was being scrutinized.

Finally, she stepped back, unsure if what she had done was correct but unwilling to admit defeat.

Emma studied the board for a moment, then turned to face Alexandria. “Not quite,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. “You’ve missed a crucial step here. Let me show you.”

With a few swift strokes, Emma corrected the equation, explaining where Alexandria had gone wrong. The explanation was clear, precise, but there was no warmth in her tone, no encouragement.

“Understand?” Emma asked, fixing her gaze on Alexandria.

“Yes,” Alexandria replied, though she wasn’t entirely sure she did. It was more of a reflex, a refusal to show any more weakness than she already had.

“Good,” Emma said, her expression neutral. “You may sit down.”

As Alexandria walked back to her seat, she could feel the eyes of her classmates on her, judging her performance. She hated the feeling, but there was nothing she could do about it. She just had to get through this class, through the day, and keep her head above water.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur, with Emma moving quickly through the material, barely giving anyone time to breathe. By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Alexandria felt like she had been through a battle.

Scott waited for her as she gathered her things, his expression sympathetic. “That was tough. But hey, you didn’t completely bomb it.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, not sure if she believed him. She knew she had messed up, and she hated how it made her feel. But at the same time, is it really her fault? She’s never done any of this in her entire life. Never done math, or science, the only learning she did was learning 10 different languages.

“Next up is English,” Scott said, trying to keep the mood light. “Storm teaches it.”

Alexandria furrowed her brow at the mention of English class. "English? You need a class to learn about the language we're already speaking?"

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite. It’s more about literature, reading, writing—stuff like that. Storm—well, Ms. Munroe—teaches it. She’s cool. A lot more relaxed than Frost, for sure.”

She nodded, though the concept still seemed odd to her. In HYDRA, language classes meant learning multiple foreign tongues for intelligence purposes, not sitting in a room discussing stories or essays. But then again, everything here was different. She’d just have to adapt.

Scott led her down the hallway, and soon they were standing in front of the English classroom. The door was propped open, and the room inside was much less intimidating than the previous one. Natural light streamed in through large windows, and the walls were lined with bookshelves filled with various novels and texts. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, clinical feel of Emma Frost’s classroom.

Ororo was already at her desk, her silver-white hair cascading down her shoulders. She exuded a calm presence that immediately put Alexandria at ease, at least compared to what she’d just experienced.

“Good morning, Scott. Alexandria,” Storm greeted them with a gentle smile as they walked in. She had a way of making everyone feel seen, like they mattered, even if they were just two of many students.

“Morning, Ms. Munroe,” Scott replied with a nod, heading to a seat near the middle of the room.

Alexandria hesitated for a moment before following him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but at least this room didn’t make her want to turn and bolt in the opposite direction. She took a seat next to Scott, placing her borrowed notebook and pen on the desk in front of her.

Ororo stood up and walked to the front of the class, her movements graceful and deliberate. “Today, we’ll continue our discussion on ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’ For those who are new or need a refresher,” she glanced at Alexandria, her smile kind but not patronizing, “we’re exploring themes of morality, justice, and prejudice through the lens of this classic novel.”

The title was familiar, though only in passing. Alexandria had never had the chance to read it—HYDRA had no use for novels in their training regimens. She sat stiffly in her seat, trying not to let her unease show. The other students began pulling out their copies of the book, and she felt another pang of anxiety. She didn’t have the book, and even if she did, she doubted she’d understand what was going on.

Ororo seemed to sense her discomfort. “Alexandria, would you like to borrow a copy? I have an extra one right here.” She held up a well-worn copy of the novel.

Alexandria hesitated before nodding. “Yes, please.”

Ororo handed her the book, her expression calm and understanding. “Take your time with it. We’re here to discuss and explore, not to rush through anything.”

Alexandria nodded again, grateful for the teacher’s measured approach. As the class began discussing the novel, she opened the book to the marked chapter and tried to follow along. It wasn’t easy—there were a lot of references and concepts she didn’t fully grasp—but the discussion was lively and engaging, with students sharing their thoughts and interpretations.

Ororo encouraged everyone to speak, even if their opinions differed. It was a strange concept to Alexandria, who was used to a rigid hierarchy where differing opinions were seen as dissent. Here, though, it was almost expected. She remained silent for most of the class, taking in the way others interacted, the way they expressed themselves without fear of reprimand.

About halfway through the period, Ororo posed a question to the class. “How do you think the events in the novel reflect the moral dilemmas we face in our own lives? Are there parallels between the story and the challenges we encounter today?”

The students began discussing, some drawing connections between the novel’s themes and issues of justice or prejudice in modern society. Alexandria listened intently, trying to piece together the context and the relevance of the conversation. It was so different from anything she’d experienced before, where morality was dictated, not debated.

Ororo turned her gaze to Alexandria, not in a way that put her on the spot, but more as an invitation. “Alexandria, do you have any thoughts on this? I’d be interested to hear your perspective.”

Alexandria blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected to be asked to contribute, especially when she felt so out of her depth. But there was no hostility in Ororo’s expression, only genuine curiosity.

“I… don’t really know,” Alexandria began, choosing her words carefully. “I’m still trying to understand the story. The idea of… debating morality like this… it’s new to me.”

Ororo nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s okay. It’s a complex topic, and it’s perfectly fine to take your time with it. We’re all here to learn from each other.”

The class continued without any further pressure on Alexandria to participate, and she was grateful for it. As they discussed the novel, she began to see the value in these kinds of conversations, even if they were unfamiliar and a bit uncomfortable for her.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, Ororo gave the students their assignment—a short essay on the moral dilemmas faced by the characters in the novel. Alexandria inwardly groaned at the thought of writing an essay. She wasn’t sure she even knew how to write one, let alone analyze something as nuanced as morality in a fictional story.

As the students began to file out of the classroom, Ororo called out to Alexandria. “Could you stay for a moment, Alexandria? I’d like to have a quick word.”

Scott gave her an encouraging nod before leaving the room, and Alexandria walked up to Ororo’s desk, trying to keep her nerves in check.

“You’re doing well, Alexandria,” Ororo said, her tone warm and reassuring. “I know this is all new to you, but you’re adjusting. I wanted to offer you some additional help if you need it. We can work together after class or during free periods to go over the material. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable.”

Alexandria was silent for a moment, her pride warring with her need for help. She didn’t want to appear weak, didn’t want to rely on anyone, but she knew she was out of her depth. Finally, she gave a small nod. “I… might need that.”

Ororo smiled, a genuine one that reached her eyes. “There’s no shame in asking for help. We all need it from time to time. Just let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll go from there.”

“Thank you,” Alexandria said, her voice quieter than she intended. It felt strange to be treated with such kindness without any ulterior motive. She wasn’t used to it, but she was beginning to see that maybe, just maybe, not everyone was out to use her.

“You’re welcome,” Ororo replied. “Now, don’t worry too much about the essay. Just try your best. We’ll work on it together if you need to.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a bit lighter as she left the classroom. This day had been overwhelming, but at least she knew there were people here willing to help her navigate it all.

As she stepped into the hallway, she was met with the gruff voice of someone she’d rather not have run into at that moment.

“Looks like you survived Frost’s class.”

Alexandria turned to see Logan leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His usual scowl was in place, but there was a hint of something else in his expression—maybe concern, though she wasn’t sure he was capable of it.

“Barely,” she replied, her tone flat. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in,” he said, though it didn’t sound like something he’d normally do. “How’s it going?”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of his sudden interest. “Why do you care?”

Logan shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Don’t, really. But Chuck asked me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re not causing trouble.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes. He always seemed to be right in front of her when all she wanted was to be alone. Instead of coming up with a retort to his ‘causing trouble’ quip, she went with something else. “I have to go to my,” she took the folded piece of paper out of her jacket’s pocket, “US History class.”

“Come on then, kid.” Logan pushed himself off the wall and started to walk down the slowly emptying hallway.

Alexandria blinked in response before walking to catch up to Logan. “Kitty already showed me where the class was,” she said.

Logan grunted, glancing at her sideways. “Yeah, well, I’m sure Kitty did. Doesn’t mean I can’t walk you there.”

She looked at her schedule as they walked, noticing the letters next to the class periods where the teacher’s names were. Alexandria looked up from her schedule, her gaze meeting Logan's. "You teach history?"

Logan’s expression didn’t change much. “Yeah, I teach history. Got a problem with that?”

“No,” Alexandria replied, her tone clipped. “Just surprised.”

Logan shrugged. “Most people are. History’s not exactly a popular subject around here.”

As they walked down the hallway, Logan's steps were quick and purposeful, and Alexandria found herself having to match his pace. “You might want to pay attention. History’s not just about dates and events. It’s about understanding what led to those events.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Alexandria said, though her voice was laced with sarcasm.

Logan didn’t seem to notice or care. “Yeah, well, just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Alexandria shot back, her tone challenging. “I’ve had enough of that.”

Logan grunted, glancing at her sideways. “You know, you might actually fit in better around here than you think.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How’s that?”

“You’ve got that look,” Logan said. “The one that says you’ve been through some crap and come out the other side. People here have been through their own share of it.”

Alexandria didn’t reply immediately. She’d always prided herself on keeping her emotions in check, but there was something in Logan’s observation that made her pause. “And what makes you think I’m interested in fitting in?”

“Just a hunch,” Logan said with a shrug. “Sometimes it helps to have someone who gets it.”

The hallway ended, and they reached the door to the history classroom. Logan opened it and motioned for Alexandria to go in. “There you go. Don’t get too comfortable. History’s not going to be any easier than the rest of your classes.”

Alexandria stepped inside, glancing around the room. It was less intimidating than Emma Frost’s classroom but still had an air of seriousness to it. Logan followed her in and gestured to a seat near the front.

“Take a seat,” Logan said gruffly. “Class should be starting soon.”

Alexandria sat down, feeling a bit more settled now that she was in a familiar environment. Logan walked to the front of the room and began arranging his notes. The classroom started to fill up with students, their chatter a low hum in the background.

As Logan started the lesson, his gruff demeanor didn’t change. He dived right into the topic, talking about significant historical events with a no-nonsense attitude. Alexandria tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting back to the earlier classes. The pace of everything was overwhelming, and she was still trying to catch up.

“Alright, enough with the small talk,” Logan said abruptly, drawing Alexandria’s attention back to him. “Today we’re starting with the American Revolution. Anyone want to tell me why it was significant?”

A few hands went up, and Logan called on a student to answer. Alexandria found herself struggling to keep up with the discussion. She’d never had to study this kind of history before, and the different context made it even more challenging.

Logan’s eyes flickered toward Alexandria occasionally, as if assessing her. “You’ll need to do your reading,” he said at one point, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “The textbook’s on the shelf in the back. Grab it if you need it.”

“Thanks,” Alexandria said, though her voice was tinged with frustration. She stood and walked to the back of the room, grabbing a textbook and flipping it open to the right section. She tried to immerse herself in the material, but the words seemed to dance around on the page.

She didn’t even know who these people were: George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams- why did they all look the same?

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Alexandria felt a sense of relief. She packed her things and prepared to leave, but Logan stopped her before she could walk out.

“Hey,” he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. “Stick around for a minute.”

Alexandria paused, turning back to him. “What is it?”

Logan leaned against his desk, his expression slightly less gruff. “You’re struggling, and that’s fine. If you need any extra help or if you’ve got questions, just ask. I’m not gonna hold your hand, but I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so she stuck with a nod before leaving the classroom.

---

After 4 days of school, the weekend came along. Which was great because she was exhausted. Who knew school could be more exhausting than 20-hour torture and experimentation sessions?

A knock came on her door around 11 o’clock on Saturday as she opened it to find Natasha and Wanda outside.

“Want to come on a shopping trip?” Natasha asked, her arms crossed but a small smile on her face.

Wanda looked into Alexandria’s room, “you don’t have many clothes, and it would be good for you to get out.”

Alexandria glanced around her sparse room, taking in the few clothes she had and the bare walls. She knew Wanda was right. She was still adjusting, and her wardrobe was a testament to that. But the thought of going out, especially on a shopping trip with Natasha and Wanda, felt daunting.

But she did like their company more than some of the others she had met.

“I don’t know,” Alexandria said, her voice a mix of uncertainty and irritation. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Natasha’s expression softened a bit, though she still had that usual edge about her. “We won’t be gone all day. Just a few hours. It’ll do you good to take a break.”

Alexandria hesitated, feeling torn between her need to keep up with her studies and the urge to escape her small, confining room. She knew she should take a break, but the thought of facing the outside world, even for a short while, made her uneasy.

Wanda chimed in, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s not just about clothes. It’s a chance to get to know the place better, to get out of your head for a bit.”

Alexandria sighed, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Alright, fine. I’ll go.”

Natasha and Wanda exchanged a quick look of relief, and Natasha’s small smile widened slightly. “Great. Let’s get going then.”

As they walked out of the mansion and headed towards Natasha’s car, Alexandria couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension. The streets outside were bustling with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet, controlled environment she was used to. She kept close to Natasha and Wanda, trying to ignore the growing sense of discomfort as they made their way to a nearby shopping district.

The shopping center was filled with people, the noise and activity almost overwhelming. Alexandria’s eyes darted around, trying to take it all in. She felt out of place, like she was on display in a world that was too vibrant and unfamiliar.

But, she felt a small amount of excitement ramping up. Last night, after Jean and Kitty helped her with homework, they showed her a website called Pinterest, and told her to look up whatever she wanted. Clothes, nail designs, outfits, hair styles. It was definitely a weird and new experience, but considering two weeks ago she didn’t know what a computer was, she supposed it wasn’t that weird.

Alexandria pulled out her phone, one Tony had shipping over a few days ago and logged into the account she made with Jean and Kitty’s help before showing a few outfit pictures to Natasha and Wanda.

“That’s a wide variety, kid.” Natasha commented.

“I… wasn’t sure what would look good on me. I’ve never been shopping.”

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, the corners of Wanda's lips twitching into a small, sympathetic smile. "You don’t have to worry about that. We’ll figure it out together," Wanda said, her tone reassuring.

Natasha nodded, her voice steady and matter-of-fact. "The first time can be a bit overwhelming, but it's not as complicated as it seems. Just think of it as trying on different versions of yourself until something feels right."

Alexandria hesitated, feeling a bit awkward admitting her lack of experience. "I just… I don’t want to look stupid. I’ve never had to do this before."

Natasha’s gaze softened slightly, though her expression remained cool. "No one's judging you here. And if anyone does, they’ll have to deal with us," she added, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

Wanda chuckled, her laugh light and warm. "And trust me, nobody wants to mess with us."

Alexandria found herself relaxing a little at their words. She was still on edge, but at least she wasn’t alone in this. “Okay,” she said, her voice steadier. “Let’s do this.”

The three of them walked through the mall, navigating the crowded corridors with ease. Natasha led the way, her sharp eyes scanning the stores while Wanda stayed close to Alexandria, offering quiet reassurance when she noticed her discomfort. They eventually entered a large clothing store, racks of clothing and mannequins on display creating a maze-like environment.

Natasha motioned to a section of the store that was filled with casual clothes—jeans, t-shirts, hoodies. "We can start here. Try picking out a few things that catch your eye."

Alexandria looked around, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of options. She took a deep breath and started walking through the racks, her fingers brushing over the different fabrics. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she tried to focus on what felt right.

Wanda watched her for a moment before stepping closer, holding up a dark green hoodie with a small design on the front. "What about this? It’s simple but has some character."

Alexandria took the hoodie from Wanda, inspecting it closely. “I like it,” she admitted, surprised at how easily the words came out. She usually kept her thoughts to herself, especially when it came to things like this.

“Good,” Wanda said, her smile widening. “Let’s grab a few more things and head to the fitting rooms.”

Natasha was already holding a couple of items she’d picked out—a pair of black jeans and a gray t-shirt. “Try these too,” she said, handing them over. “You’ll need basics like this.”

Alexandria took the clothes, her arms now full, and followed Natasha and Wanda to the fitting rooms. Once inside, she hesitated for a moment before stepping into one of the small cubicles. She tried on the first outfit, the dark green hoodie and black jeans, and looked at herself in the mirror.

The reflection staring back at her was unfamiliar, but not in a bad way. She looked… normal. Like a regular teenager, not the trained operative HYDRA had molded her into. It was strange but also oddly comforting.

“How’s it going in there?” Natasha called from outside.

Alexandria took one last look at herself before opening the door. “I think I like it,” she said, her tone uncertain.

Wanda’s eyes lit up as she saw the outfit. “It looks great on you, Alexandria. You’ve got a good eye.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. “Solid choice. Comfortable but still stylish.”

Alexandria felt a small flicker of pride at their approval. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little more confident. “I’ll try the other stuff now.”

She went back into the fitting room and tried on the other outfits they had picked out. Each time she emerged, Wanda and Natasha offered their thoughts, always encouraging but never pushy. By the time they were done, Alexandria had a small pile of clothes she actually liked, a mix of comfortable basics and a few pieces that added a bit of personality to her wardrobe.

As they walked up to the register, Alexandria couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t just about the clothes—it was about finally taking a step towards something that felt like her own choice.

Natasha glanced at the clothes in Alexandria’s arms and raised an eyebrow. “You did good, kid.”

“Yeah,” Alexandria said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I did.”

After paying for the clothes, they left the store and continued walking through the mall. Alexandria was carrying a few bags, and though the weight of them was light, the significance felt heavy in her mind.

Natasha seemed to notice, her sharp eyes catching everything. “You okay?” she asked, her voice neutral but with an underlying note of concern.

“Yeah,” Alexandria replied, her tone thoughtful. “Just… I don’t know. This feels weird.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her expression gentle. “Weird how?”

“Like I’m doing something normal,” Alexandria admitted, her voice quiet. “I’m not used to it.”

Natasha nodded, her face unreadable. “That’s understandable. But you’ve got to start somewhere.”

Wanda reached out and gave Alexandria’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing great, Alexandria. Just take it one step at a time.”

Alexandria nodded, not entirely convinced but willing to try. “I will,” she said, her voice firmer than before.

As they continued walking through the mall, something caught Alexandria’s eye- a different store with a black shirt that she found… cute.

After picking out a few things from that store, Alexandria looked over at the card Natasha was using. "Whose card is that?"

Natasha looked over at her, “Tony’s.” She said, with a small smirk.

Alexandria gave a small huff of amusement before taking the card Natasha held out to her. She read over the numbers on the back, committing them to memory, which she knows Natasha approved of based on the smile still on her face.

Before she knew it, they drove back to the school with 7 bags of clothes and shoes for Alexandria.

When Natasha, Wanda, and Alexandria pulled into the driveway of the mansion, Alexandria was struck by a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. The shopping trip had been a whirlwind, and though she’d felt overwhelmed at times, she was glad she’d gone. It was a small victory in her new, unfamiliar life.

“Thanks for today,” Alexandria said, her tone genuine despite her usual reserve. “It really helped.”

Natasha gave her a small smile. “Glad you think so. Just remember, don’t let it all go to your head.”

Wanda nodded in agreement. “And if you ever need a break or more shopping, just let us know.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “I will. Thanks again.”

As they headed inside with the bags, Natasha and Wanda left her to unpack and relax, promising to catch up with her later. Alexandria made her way to her room, feeling the weight of the day lift as she finally reached her sanctuary.

She started unpacking her new clothes, trying to organize them into her limited closet space. The process felt oddly satisfying, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to relax, letting her thoughts drift as she worked.

---

As much as she would’ve loved the weekend to last forever, it didn’t. Because it was once again Monday which meant more classes and more work.

This place definitely seemed worse than HYDRA. At least there she didn’t have to learn about useless things like chemistry, math, history, or English.

One good thing did happen during breakfast, where she begrudgingly sat with Kitty, Scott, Jean, and a few other kids. Her and Jean had happened to walk through the lunch line together when Jean had complemented her outfit.

It was the shirt she liked in the window at the mall, with a cut-out in the shoulders, tucked into jeans, and paired with black combat boots.

She liked compliments, Alexandria realized. But she wasn’t sure she was willing to give any out yet herself.

When she walked into her third period, English, Ororo was already at her desk, chatting with a few students. Alexandria took a seat towards the back, pulling out her notebook and trying to focus on the lecture. The class was discussing ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ again, and while Alexandria had made some progress in understanding the book over the weekend, she still felt out of her depth.

In fact, she never had to read much in English. She usually read in Russian. So, some of the words on paper seemed odd.

The class went by in a blur of discussions about morality and justice, and Alexandria found herself half-listening while trying to jot down notes. It wasn’t until the bell rang that she realized just how tired she was.

During the brief break between classes, she found herself in the cafeteria with Scott, Jean, and Kitty. They were gathered around a table, chatting and laughing about the latest school gossip.

“Hey, Alexandria,” Jean greeted her warmly. “How’s the new wardrobe working out?”

“Good,” Alexandria replied, feeling a bit self-conscious but also pleased by the attention. “Thanks for the compliment on the shirt.”

“You looked great,” Jean said with a smile. “It really suits you.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Scott added. “You’ve got a good sense of style.”

Alexandria shrugged, not used to receiving such positive reinforcement. “I guess. I’m still figuring things out.”

The conversation shifted to other topics, but Alexandria found herself feeling slightly more comfortable in their company. The casual banter was a nice change from the more intense atmosphere of her classes.

When the lunch period ended, she found herself heading to her next class—US History, which Logan taught. She was dreading it a bit, knowing that Logan's gruff demeanor might make the class even more challenging.

As she walked into the classroom, she saw Logan at his desk, already preparing for the lesson. His usual scowl was in place, and he didn’t look particularly thrilled to be there.

“Morning,” Alexandria said as she entered, trying to sound casual.

Logan glanced up from his desk, his eyes briefly meeting hers. “Yeah, morning. Take a seat.”

She sat down in her usual spot, trying to ignore the lingering sense of unease. The class was about to start, and Logan began discussing the American Revolution with his usual no-nonsense attitude.

Alexandria struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of the lecture. The details about the Founding Fathers and the various battles felt overwhelming. It was hard to wrap her head around the significance of it all, especially given her lack of background in this kind of history.

The rest of the class continued with Logan’s usual blunt style, which made it difficult to relax. By the end of the period, Alexandria felt mentally exhausted.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, Alexandria quickly packed up her things and headed out of the room. She wanted to avoid any more interaction with Logan if she could help it. But as she made her way to her next class, she found herself unexpectedly intercepted by Logan.

“Hey,” he said, his tone more subdued than usual. “Stick around for a minute.”

Alexandria glanced at him, her brow furrowing. “What’s up?”

Logan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. “You seem like you’re struggling. Just wanted to see if you need any help.”

“Here we go again.” Alexandria muttered to herself, her frustration slipping out in her native Russian. She turned back to Logan, her expression a mix of annoyance and wariness.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say?”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to hide her irritation. “I just… this isn’t what I’m used to.”

Logan nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I get it. History's not everyone’s cup of tea. But if you’re struggling, it might help to get a bit of extra help.”

She eyed him warily. “Why do you care?” She feels like she says this every time she sees him.

“Look, I’m not in the business of coddling students,” Logan said, his tone gruff. “But I’m also not in the business of letting them fail if I can do something about it.”

Alexandria shifted uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just don’t get why it’s so important.”

“It’s important because knowing where you come from helps you figure out where you’re going,” Logan said. “But if you’re not getting it, then let’s see if we can fix that.”

She hesitated, torn between her pride and the reality of her situation. “What would you suggest?”

“Extra help sessions after class,” Logan said bluntly. “I can give you some resources to read up on and go over stuff with you. If you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Alexandria sighed. “Alright, fine. When’s the next session?”

“Tomorrow after school,” Logan replied. “Meet me in my office. I’ll give you some material to work through.”

“Got it,” Alexandria said, though she wasn’t thrilled about it. In fact, she didn’t want to go at all. “Thanks, I guess.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Don’t mention it. Now, get to your next class.”

Alexandria turned and walked away, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. She didn’t really know if she should be grateful or annoyed, but at least she had a plan now. She hoped it would help her catch up, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about the whole situation.

As she walked down the hallway, she saw Scott, Jean, and Kitty waiting near the entrance to their next class. They greeted her with friendly smiles, and she tried to shake off the lingering tension from her conversation with Logan.

“Hey, Alexandria,” Jean said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just had a talk with Logan,” Alexandria replied, trying to sound casual. “Got some extra help lined up.”

Scott gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s good. Sometimes a little extra help can make a big difference.”

Kitty nodded in agreement. “Yeah, don’t stress too much. We’ve all had subjects that we struggled with at some point.”

Alexandria managed a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

---

Using Tony’s card, she found an online course on English. Specifically, how to read it.

She thinks that’s where her problems are coming from, she can speak it perfectly fine, but she can’t read it for shit.

Alexandria might’ve not slept at all that night, mostly due to the fact she was doing the online course, and also due to the fact she can’t sleep properly since she sees what everyone’s dreaming about.

But at some point, her luck had to hit an all-time low. There was a saying she heard in HYDRA a few times, “bez truda ne vytashchish’ i rybku iz pruda.” No pain, no gain.

A loud pounding sounded out from her door, jerking her awake. She was hunched over at her desk, the video she swore she was just watching now a quiz to test her learning.

She rubbed a hand down her face, noting the time was 9:02 am.

“Blyat'.” Alexandria cursed. Somehow the time turned from 6:47 am to 9:02 am. Meaning, she slept through her first period chemistry class taught by Hank.

She looked at the dates in her journal that she wrote down to note how long she went without sleeping.

Two weeks and 4 days. Two days away from a record.

The banging resumed as she blearily stood up from her desk to open her door.

She yanked open the door to find Logan standing there, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern. The faint smell of coffee clung to him, suggesting he’d been awake for a while, possibly dealing with his own set of issues.

“Nice of you to join the living,” Logan said, his tone sharp but not entirely unkind.

Alexandria’s face flushed with embarrassment and irritation. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Logan said, his eyes scanning her disheveled appearance. “You missed chemistry. It’s not like you to just skip out.”

She shrugged, trying to ignore the sting of his words. “I was working on something else. I didn’t mean to—” She trailed off, her head feeling light. But she was able to brush it off as best as she could to seem normal.

Usually after not sleeping HYDRA would give her some sedatives and put her out for a few days before repeating the process.

Just because she was in a specialized cell doesn’t mean she could sleep. In fact, she suspected that sometimes they toyed with her and shut off the power in her cell so she would see everyone’s dreams.

Those sedatives they gave her were her version of candy. She would have done, and did do anything for those sedatives.

Logan’s expression didn’t soften as he surveyed the scene. “Look, Alexandria, you’ve got to get your act together. Missing classes is not an option, especially when you’re already struggling.”

“I know,” she snapped back, her tone defensive. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “It better not. If you’re falling behind, that’s on you. I’m here to help, but I can’t do everything.”

Alexandria bit her lip, trying to quell the irritation bubbling inside her. She knew he had a point, but it didn’t make his bluntness any easier to handle. “What do you want me to do about it? I’ll catch up.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got extra help after school, remember? And I’d suggest you use it. I’m not going to baby you through this.”

She glanced at the clock on her desk, noting the time. “Right. I’ll be there. Just—” She stopped herself, unsure how to finish. Her usual responses felt inadequate, almost childish in the face of his gruff demeanor. And it didn’t help that she had to use her hand to cover up a yawn.

Logan seemed to sense her struggle, though his expression remained stern. “You’re not the only one with problems. But the world doesn’t stop spinning because you’re tired or overwhelmed. You need to figure out how to handle it.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a mix of frustration and acceptance. “I get it. I’ll do better.”

Logan gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but not before casting one last, assessing look over his shoulder. “Make sure you do. I’m not going to keep reminding you.”

He left her room as she looked around. Guess she was going to have to wear the clothes she wore yesterday to make it to Ms. Frost’s class before she’s late.

---

By the time algebra was done and she had got to English with Ororo, she was more exhausted than when she woke up.

She hates even acknowledging that she needs something, let alone something as simple as sleep, but she was going to have to deal with. There were so many people in this mansion, closing her eyes and getting sleep would be impossible. It was like being a radio station with too many inputs.

Alexandria remembers Scott mentioning something about Guinness World Records. She wondered what the record was and if she had possibly beaten it.

English with Storm went by faster than she thought, and before she knew it, it was lunchtime. Jean, Scott, and Kitty were at their usual spots, and Alexandria quickly took her seat, trying to appear as normal as possible despite her exhaustion.

“Hey, Alexandria!” Jean greeted with a smile. “You look like you could use a nap.”

She gave a small smile, “maybe.”

Jean raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “You should take it easy if you can. You’ve been running on fumes.”

Kitty nodded in agreement. “Yeah, no need to push yourself too hard. There’s no shame in taking a break.”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to brush off their concern. “I’ll manage. I’ve got stuff to do after school.”

“Extra help with Logan, right?” Scott asked, looking at her with a mix of sympathy and curiosity.

“Yeah,” Alexandria said, not really wanting to delve into the details. “I’ll be fine.”

They fell into a more casual conversation, discussing weekend plans and upcoming tests. Alexandria found herself drawn into the chatter, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she engaged with her friends. For a brief moment, the weight of her responsibilities seemed lighter.

They split up once again, Jean coming with her to their US History class.

Jean and Alexandria walked into their US History class, both of them looking like they had just come from a particularly intense discussion. Alexandria still felt the weight of exhaustion pressing on her shoulders, but she managed a small smile as she took her seat.

Logan was already at his desk, thumbing through a stack of papers. He glanced up as the students settled in, his eyes briefly meeting Alexandria’s. He didn’t say anything, just went back to his papers with that ever-present scowl. The usual tension hung in the air, thick and unspoken.

Jean slid into her seat next to Alexandria, giving her a sympathetic look. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you could fall asleep right here.”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to dismiss the concern. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

Jean didn’t look convinced but let it go, turning her attention to Logan as he began his lecture. The topic of the day was the aftermath of the American Revolution, and Logan jumped right into it, his voice gruff and unyielding. He scribbled dates and names on the board, making quick, sharp notes as he spoke.

Alexandria tried to keep up, her mind struggling to focus. The material was dense, and her lack of sleep wasn’t helping. Every time she thought she was catching on, her attention would drift, and she’d have to refocus. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay engaged.

The class went on, and Alexandria found herself counting down the minutes until the bell rang. When it finally did, she packed up her things and glanced at Jean, who seemed to sense her exhaustion.

“Need any help with the material? I know Logan can be a bit much,” Jean offered.

Alexandria appreciated the gesture but shook her head. “I’ll manage. I’ve got the extra help session after school.”

Jean gave her a concerned look but didn’t press further. “Alright. Just remember to take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alexandria said, giving her a half-hearted smile. “I’ll be fine.”

After history, which was as hard as before, she headed to her last class of the day before meeting Logan. The hours dragged on, and by the time the final bell rang, Alexandria felt like she was running on empty.

She made her way to Logan’s office, her steps heavy with fatigue. When she arrived, she found Logan sitting behind his desk, his eyes focused on a pile of papers.

“On time,” Logan said without looking up. “Guess you’re not completely useless.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes but kept her tone even. “I’m here. What do you need me to do?”

Logan finally looked up, his expression as stern as ever. “We’re going to go over some of the material you missed. I’ve got a few readings for you to go through and some questions to answer. We’ll start with that and see where you’re at.”

He handed her a stack of papers, and Alexandria took them with a nod. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further. He pulled out a chair and started going over the material with her, his explanations blunt and to the point. Alexandria struggled to keep up, her exhaustion making it hard to focus. But she tried her best, determined not to let her fatigue get in the way of her progress.

As the session went on, Logan’s tone remained gruff, but there was a noticeable shift in his demeanor. He was less harsh than usual, focusing more on helping her understand the material rather than just berating her for not knowing it.

After an hour, Alexandria looked up from her notes, her eyes tired but determined. “I think I’m starting to get it. This stuff is just… a lot.”

Logan nodded, giving her a brief, approving look. “Yeah, it is. But you’re getting there. Just keep working at it.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. “Thanks for the help.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Don’t mention it. Just make sure you don’t fall behind again.”

As she packed up her things and headed for the door, Alexandria couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. The extra help session had been tough, but it had also been a step in the right direction. She was starting to understand the material better, and that gave her a glimmer of hope.

---

A week later

Alexandria learned a way to study better. Since she wasn’t good at reading in English, she found videos online, thanks to Scott’s suggestion, of Russian people talking about algebra, chemistry, and even US History which was surprising.

She still hadn’t gotten any sleep, which meant she passed her previous record and was at 3 weeks and 4 days of no sleep.

But Scott put her onto coffee. Or rather, she tried plain black coffee and didn’t like it, but Kitty and Jean suggested iced coffee which she enjoyed. Her favorite so far was an iced white chocolate mocha. The other thing Scott showed her was energy drinks.

So, thanks to the two new things she discovered, she hasn’t felt tired in days.

She even got a compliment from Ms. Frost about her algebra homework, saying that she did good. It wasn’t a lot, but it meant the world to Alexandria, which was a new feeling.

Alexandria was currently reading a Russian version of the book ‘Brave New World’, which she bought using Tony’s card.

She’s sure he won’t mind, hell, he’s Tony Stark, he’ll probably never notice.

Earlier tonight, Kitty, Jean, and Jubilee came over to her room to help her with some math for chemistry, and they put her onto a few musical artists.

So, at 3:45 am, she had her headphones on listening to a Taylor Swift song, humming along while doing a paper for Ororo’s English class, and drinking a pink can of Monster.

Logan, on the other hand, had noticed that Alexandria hadn’t come out late at night for her nightly smoke breaks for the past week. And while there was a small part of him that was glad she wasn’t smoking, she was eighteen after all, he couldn’t help but be curious as to how she had caught up in all of her subjects.

Even Emma had made a small comment about how she was impressed how Alexandria seemed to have learned all the material she’d taught and more. She had only come by once for after hours and seemed to be doing fine in all of her work in his class as well.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he walked down the quiet hallways to her room, a warm light shining underneath the door.

He knocked lightly and got no response. Logan pushed the door open a crack, peering into Alexandria's dimly lit room. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated her focused face, framed by large headphones.

She was hunched over a spiral notebook, her pen scribbling furiously as a faint melody played through her headphones. The energy drink on her desk was half-empty, a pink can with a flashy design that contrasted sharply with the starkness of her surroundings.

Logan sighed softly, his curiosity overcoming his usual gruffness. He knocked again, a bit louder this time. "Alexandria."

She barely flinched, her concentration unwavering. Logan knocked harder, the sound finally penetrating the bubble of her focus. Alexandria looked up, pulling one headphone off her ear and squinting at the doorway. Her expression shifted from confusion to mild irritation.

"What?" she said, her voice tired but sharp.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "What are you still doing up? It's three-forty-five in the morning."

She sighed and took off her other headphone, rubbing her eyes. "Working on some assignments.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the energy drink and then back to Alexandria. "I thought you were supposed to be resting. You haven’t been out for your usual smoke breaks lately."

Alexandria shrugged, a gesture that seemed half-embarrassed, half-defiant. "I don’t need them anymore."

Logan raised an eyebrow, more intrigued than he cared to admit. "And why's that? You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard. What's with all the late-night studying?"

"It's not just studying. I’ve got a lot to catch up on," she said, her tone defensive. "And the coffee and energy drinks help. I’m getting through it."

Logan’s expression softened slightly, though he tried to keep it hidden behind his usual scowl. "You've been doing well in class, I’ve noticed. Emma mentioned you’ve been on top of the material. Still, burning the candle at both ends isn't sustainable."

Her brows furrowed, that wasn’t a phrase she had heard before. “What does that mean? Is that a…” she grabbed a different notebook on her desk, flipping through the pages, “an idiom?”

“Hell, if I know kid, it’s just a saying.”

Logan's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Alexandria flip through her notebook. He could see the strain in her posture, the exhaustion she was trying to mask with her intensity. He wasn’t exactly the nurturing type, but seeing her push herself so hard without any apparent concern for her well-being did stir something in him.

“You know,” he said, shifting his weight, “there’s a limit to how much caffeine and energy drinks can do. Your body needs more than just stimulants to keep going.”

Alexandria gave him a skeptical look, her fingers tapping impatiently on the edge of her desk. “I’m fine. I’ve managed this far. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Logan shrugged, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “Just curious. You’re doing better in class, but I’m not about to ignore you turning into a caffeine-fueled night owl. It’s my job to make sure you’re not just learning the material but also taking care of yourself.”

“Right,” Alexandria said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’re such a model of self-care.”

Logan smirked. “Don’t mistake me for a role model. I’ve got my own issues. But if I can get you to not collapse from overwork, maybe I’ll sleep a little easier.”

Alexandria sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I’m just trying to catch up. I know it’s not healthy, but I don’t have a choice right now.”

Logan tilted his head, studying her. “Look, kid, you can push yourself to the brink, but at some point, your body’s gonna say enough. You might be able to keep going for a while, but eventually, it’ll catch up with you.”

She rubbed her face, clearly fatigued but trying to stay alert. “I can’t sleep.” She finally admitted.

He snorted, “well, that’s obvious.”

Alexandria didn’t want to add on and tell him it was because of her powers. So, she let him think that it was just pure determination to do better.

Though that sounded fucking stupid. She wasn’t some do-gooder like Captain America. Wasn’t always trying to get everyone to smile. In fact, she wanted to punch his perfect face and teeth to make him look at least a little messed up.

Logan’s gaze lingered on her, his expression a mix of skepticism and concern. “Listen, Alexandria,” he said gruffly, “if you’re not gonna listen to me, at least listen to your own body. You’re pushing yourself too hard, and it’s gonna catch up with you sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well,” Alexandria said, trying to muster a nonchalant shrug despite her exhaustion, “I don’t exactly have a choice. I need to get this stuff done. It’s not like anyone’s gonna wait for me to catch up.”

Logan’s eyes softened a fraction, though he quickly masked it with his usual gruff demeanor. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean you should drive yourself into the ground. You might think you’re managing, but one day, you’re gonna crash.”

Alexandria looked down at her notebook, a frown tugging at her lips. “I know. I just… I don’t really know how to stop.”

“Maybe you don’t need to stop entirely,” Logan said, crossing his arms. “But you should at least try to find some balance. Even if it’s just a few hours of sleep a night. You’re not a machine.”

She sighed, her frustration evident. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just shut it off. And it’s not like I have anyone to help me with this.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. “Look, I’m not saying you have to figure this out alone. If you need help, you can ask. But maybe start by taking a break now and then. Just to recharge, even if it’s for a short while.”

“I’ll think about it,” Alexandria said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “But for now, I’ve got a lot to get through.”

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned to leave. “Alright. But don’t ignore what I said. It’s not just about doing well in class. It’s about keeping yourself in one piece.”

Alexandria watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and irritation. She knew he had a point, but she wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge it yet. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly four in the morning.

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to her work, though Logan’s words echoed in her mind. Maybe she was pushing herself too hard. Maybe it was time to reconsider her approach, even if just a little.

The next day, Alexandria found herself in the cafeteria with Jean, Scott, and Kitty again. Her fatigue was still there, but she was trying to keep up appearances.

“Hey, Alexandria,” Kitty greeted her, her usual enthusiasm tempered with concern. “How’s the studying going?”

“It’s going,” Alexandria replied, taking a sip of her iced white chocolate mocha. “Just trying to keep up.”

Jean gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re still looking pretty tired. Maybe you should consider taking a break.”

“Not really an option right now,” Alexandria said, trying to keep the conversation light. “But thanks for the concern.”

Scott and Kitty exchanged glances but didn’t push further. Instead, the conversation shifted to weekend plans and upcoming events. Alexandria tried to engage, but her mind kept drifting back to her work and Logan’s words.

After lunch, she had a few more classes, and by the time the day ended, she was ready to collapse. But she had promised herself she’d make progress, so she headed back to her room, determined to keep going.

“Sashulya.” A voice sang from behind her. It was a nickname buried deep within her memories. She remembers her mother calling her that, a nickname only she was supposed to say.

“Sashulya, come.” The voice came from a woman wearing a large coat of sorts, draping over onto the hardwood floor.

Alexandria followed, holding her folders to her chest. “Mama has something for you.” She followed the woman to the front doors of the school. The hooded figure turned around, but she couldn’t see her face. It was black, maybe a shadow from the hood.

“Mama is that you? They killed you.” Alexandria finally spoke. It felt almost freeing to speak in Russian again.

The hooded figure opened the door to the school, the sun was setting, casting a pastel glow around them. “Sashulya, everything will be fine. Come with me.”

Alexandra smiled softly at the figure and stepped closer. As soon as she did the figure changed.

“Your mommy is dead, child. Don’t cry. We will take care of you.” The HYDRA scientist, the first one she ever saw appeared in front of her, holding that large needle she hated with a passion.

She suddenly felt cold, “Where is she? Where are they?”

“Dead. Now let's go. The more you resist, the more it hurts, Alexandria.” The scientist tilted her head, “They'll give you a sedative. Makes my job a lot easier.”

Alexandria felt a sting at the back of her head, but it reality it came from her falling down onto the cement, rain pouring heavily around her. “Tili tili bom. zakroy glaza seychas. Kto-to khodit vozle doma. I stuchit v dver'. Tili tili bom.” She felt someone brush hair off her forehead,“nochnyye ptitsy shchebechut. On vnutri doma. V gosti k tem, kto ne mozhet usnut'. On khodit. On priblizhayetsya... blizhe.”

The lullaby brought up old memories, it was the lullaby her mom used to sing to her, because even when she was 3 years old, she had trouble sleeping. That song always seemed to lure her to sleep.

Even though the rain was pouring down around the school, Alexandria fell asleep easily.

The rain, the memory of her mother’s lullaby, and the figure of the HYDRA scientist blurred into a surreal mix that dragged her deeper into unconsciousness.

She hadn’t felt this kind of exhaustion in a long time.

---

Logan found her hours later. The rain had soaked her through, her hair plastered to her face, and her clothes clinging to her frame. She was shivering, her lips slightly parted as she mumbled something incoherent, still half-caught in whatever nightmare had gripped her.

"Kid," Logan growled as he crouched down beside her. He gave her shoulder a rough shake. "Wake up."

Alexandria didn’t respond. Her eyes twitched under her closed lids, and she muttered something in Russian. Logan’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the words, but they were too garbled, too distant.

"Damn it," Logan muttered under his breath. He scooped her up with surprising gentleness, cradling her limp form against his chest. "What the hell are you doin' to yourself, kid?"

Her head lolled against his shoulder, and Logan felt a strange pang of concern. It wasn’t like him to worry about anyone, especially a kid like her, but there was something about the way she’d been pushing herself that gnawed at him.

He carried her back to the mansion, the rain still pouring down around them. By the time he reached the front doors, he was drenched too, but he hardly noticed. His focus was on Alexandria and the way her breath hitched every now and then, like she was stuck in the throes of a bad dream.

"Hank," Logan barked as he pushed through the front doors. "I need ya!"

The sound of Logan’s gruff voice echoed through the halls of the mansion, alerting anyone within earshot that something serious was going down. He didn’t waste time waiting for a response, striding purposefully down the corridor, Alexandria’s limp form cradled in his arms.

Hank appeared in the doorway to his lab, he took one look at Logan and the girl he was carrying and immediately shifted into action mode.

"What happened?" Hank asked, his voice calm but tinged with concern as he stepped aside to let Logan in.

Logan grunted, his face etched with frustration. "Found her outside, unconscious in the rain. She's been pushing herself way too hard. Barely slept in weeks, if at all."

Hank's brow furrowed as he quickly cleared a space on one of the examination tables. "Lay her down here."

Logan carefully placed Alexandria on the table, her soaked clothes clinging to her body. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow and irregular. Hank immediately started checking her vitals, his fingers moving swiftly and expertly as he assessed her condition.

"Her heart rate is elevated," Hank murmured, more to himself than to Logan. "She's dehydrated, and her temperature is dropping. How long has she been like this?"

Logan crossed his arms, watching Hank work with a tense expression. "She's been running on fumes for at least three weeks, maybe more. I told her to take it easy, but you know how stubborn she is."

Hank nodded, not taking his eyes off Alexandria. "I see. We'll need to get her warmed up and stabilized first. Then we can address the underlying issue." He glanced at Logan, his blue eyes sharp. "She's been pushing herself to stay awake, hasn't she?"

"Yeah," Logan replied, his voice laced with frustration. "Said she can’t sleep. Didn’t go into detail, but it’s clear something’s been messin’ with her."

Hank frowned, his mind already racing with possibilities. "If she's been unable to sleep for that long, it could be more than just physical exhaustion. We might be dealing with a psychological or even a neurological issue."

"Get her fixed up, Hank," Logan said, his tone gruff but underlying it was a note of genuine concern. "She needs help, but I’m not the one to give it to her."

Hank nodded, his focus returning to Alexandria as he prepared to administer a sedative to help her body relax. "I'll do what I can, Logan. But if she's been pushing herself to this point, there may be more going on than we realize."

As Hank worked to stabilize Alexandria, her breathing started to even out, and her shivering slowly subsided as her body began to warm up. Logan watched, his expression hardening as he thought about what Alexandria had been through. He wasn’t one to get emotionally involved, but seeing the kid in this state stirred something deep within him—a mix of anger at her stubbornness and a grudging respect for her resilience.

After a few minutes, Hank spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "Logan, we need to figure out what’s causing this. If it’s a neurological issue, it could be dangerous if left untreated."

Logan nodded, his jaw clenched. "Got any ideas?"

Hank hesitated for a moment, then said, "I'll need to consult with Charles. If there’s something more complex going on, like interference with her mind or dreams, he might be able to help. We also might need to reach out to someone with expertise in neurological conditions."

Logan frowned. "You think it's somethin' like that?"

Hank met Logan’s gaze, his expression serious. "It’s possible. If she’s been avoiding sleep because of nightmares or intrusive thoughts, it could be related to her powers—or something else entirely. We need to investigate all possibilities."

Logan didn’t like the sound of that. He knew Alexandria was tough, but if there was something messing with her mind, they needed to handle it carefully. "Alright," he grunted. "Get Charles and do what you gotta do."

Hank nodded, already reaching for his communicator. "I'll get Charles down here. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to keep her stable."

As Hank sent the message to Charles Xavier, Logan lingered by Alexandria’s side, his usual tough exterior cracking just a bit as he looked down at her. She was a fighter—he could see that—but even the toughest fighters needed help sometimes. He just hoped they could get to the bottom of this before it was too late.

---

Charles arrived within minutes, his expression calm but alert as he wheeled into the lab. "Hank, Logan," he greeted them, his eyes immediately going to Alexandria. "What happened?"

Logan gave a brief rundown of the situation, his voice clipped. "She’s been pushing herself to stay awake, and now she’s out cold. Hank thinks it might be more than just physical exhaustion."

Charles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I see. If she's been avoiding sleep, it’s possible that her mind is reacting to some form of trauma or external influence. I’ll need to delve into her thoughts to see if I can determine what’s causing this."

Hank stepped back to give Charles room. "I've stabilized her physically, but if there's something affecting her mind, we’ll need to address it quickly."

Charles closed his eyes, reaching out with his telepathic abilities to gently probe Alexandria's mind. He moved carefully, not wanting to cause any further distress. As he delved deeper, he encountered a chaotic swirl of emotions, memories, and fragments of dreams—some of them dark and unsettling.

After a few moments, Charles opened his eyes, his expression grave. "There’s significant mental strain here. She’s been suppressing her ability to rest due to a fear of her own dreams—or rather, the dreams of others. Her telepathic abilities are interfering with her sleep, causing her to experience the dreams of those around her."

Logan’s frown deepened. "So she’s been seein’ other people’s dreams instead of her own?"

"Yes," Charles confirmed. "It’s likely that her powers have become more sensitive, perhaps due to stress or recent trauma. She’s been overwhelmed by the influx of other people's subconscious thoughts, making it impossible for her to rest."

Hank's eyes widened slightly. "If she's been experiencing the dreams of others, that could explain why she's been so desperate to stay awake. It would be incredibly disorienting and exhausting."

Logan ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "So what do we do about it?"

Charles looked at Hank, then back at Logan. "We need to block the telepathic interference so she can get the rest she needs. Hank, I suggest you work on a device that can shield her mind from external influences while she sleeps. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to calm her mind and help her enter a restful state."

Hank nodded, already formulating a plan in his mind. "I can modify a version of the telepathic inhibitors we’ve used before. It might take some time, but I can create a device that will allow her to sleep without being affected by the dreams of others."

Logan exhaled, relieved that they had a plan. "Alright. Do it."

Charles turned his attention back to Alexandria, his expression softening. "I’ll begin now. Logan, would you mind staying with her? Your presence might help keep her grounded."

Logan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I’ll stay."

As Charles began his telepathic work, Logan pulled up a chair beside the table and settled in. He wasn’t the comforting type, but if his presence could help in any way, he’d do it. He owed it to the kid, after all she’d been through.

For the next few hours, Logan watched as Charles and Hank worked tirelessly to help Alexandria. Charles used his telepathic abilities to calm her mind, creating a mental barrier to keep out the intrusive dreams. Meanwhile, Hank tinkered with various devices, modifying and fine-tuning them to ensure they would work as intended.

Finally, as dawn began to break, Hank approached Logan with a small device in hand. "This should do it," he said, holding up what looked like a sleek headband with several intricate components embedded in it. "It’s designed to block out telepathic interference while allowing her to enter a normal sleep cycle."

Logan eyed the device skeptically. "You sure it’ll work?"

Hank nodded confidently. "It’s based on existing technology, but I’ve made some modifications to suit her specific needs. Once we put this on her, she should be able to sleep without being affected by the dreams of others."

Logan sighed, his fatigue starting to catch up with him. "Alright. Let’s give it a shot."

Hank carefully placed the device on Alexandria’s head, adjusting it to fit snugly. Charles, who had been monitoring her mind, nodded in approval. "It’s working. Her mind is starting to settle into a normal sleep pattern."

Logan watched as Alexandria’s breathing evened out, her expression relaxing for the first time in days. She looked peaceful, almost as if she was finally finding the rest she so desperately needed. The tension in the lab seemed to ease slightly with the sight of her calm.

Charles looked over at Logan, his expression softening. "It seems the device is working as intended. Her mind is starting to settle."

Logan nodded, though his eyes remained focused on Alexandria. "Yeah. She looks like she might actually get some real sleep for once."

Hank, busy with the final tweaks to the device, glanced up. "She needed it. The lack of sleep was probably making her hallucinate. It’s a miracle she was still functional."

Charles turned to Logan, a thoughtful look on his face. "You stayed with her the entire time. That’s not like you."

Logan shrugged, his expression a mix of irritation and fatigue. "She’s a kid who’s been through hell. Didn’t want to leave her alone."

Charles nodded, understanding but keeping his comments to himself. "Well, it’s good you were here. Sometimes, people need more than just physical care—they need reassurance."

Logan grunted in response and stood up, stretching his stiff muscles. "Right. Guess I’ll leave you guys to it."

Hank looked up from his equipment. "Logan, you should probably get some rest yourself. You’ve been working hard too."

Logan gave a curt nod. "Yeah, I’ll grab a nap. Let me know if she wakes up or if you need anything."

As he made his way out of the lab, Charles’s voice followed him. "Thank you, Logan."

Logan didn’t turn back, just gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Whatever."

---

When Alexandria woke up hours later, the first thing she noticed without even opening her eyes was a metal headband around her head.

Immediately she started to panic.

She was back at HYDRA, and they were going to punish her with electroshock. Track her brainwaves while doing it.

Hank noticed her waking up and in a hazy, frantic movement, she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and jabbed it into his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Logan was in his quarters, trying to catch up on some much-needed sleep. He barely managed to drift off when his communicator buzzed. He groaned, rolling over and picking it up.

"Logan," came Hank’s voice, slightly distorted through the device. "Alexandria’s waking up. You might want to come back to the lab." Logan heard a clanking sound coming from Hank’s side. “Now.”

Logan sat up immediately, throwing on a shirt and heading back to the lab. The fatigue from his earlier shift was still heavy on him, but he pushed through, knowing Alexandria’s well-being was more important.

She tried to pull off the headband from her head, but her hands were far too shaky to accomplish that goal. And for some reason, she was freezing. Alexandria was used to the cold, thanks to the HYDRA base being in snowy Russia.

The cold was biting, and her teeth chattered despite the warmth of the room. Her heart raced, the memories of her captivity with HYDRA clouding her mind.

“Hey, easy,” Logan’s voice cut through the fog of her panic. He entered the lab, his expression a mix of irritation and concern. “Put that down. It’s not what you think.”

Alexandria’s eyes darted around, trying to piece together the situation. Her gaze locked onto Logan, and she could barely make out his gruff features. The familiar face was not comforting; it was just another reminder of how out of control everything felt.

Hank, wincing from the screwdriver jab, was already on his feet, his eyes shifting between Alexandria and Logan. “She’s disoriented. We need to calm her down.”

Logan approached slowly, keeping his hands visible. “Kid, listen. You’re not in HYDRA. You’re safe here. That headband is just to help you sleep without those... dreams messing with you.”

Alexandria’s breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. She tried to sit up, but her body felt heavy and uncooperative. “No... not safe... they’re coming for me...”

Logan sighed, his patience wearing thin. “It’s not them. No one’s coming for you. You’re at the mansion. Hank’s here to help.”

Hank took a cautious step forward, his demeanor calm but his voice firm. “Alexandria, I need you to listen to me. You’re in a safe place. The headband is to block out any external telepathic influences. It’s helping you get the rest you need.”

Alexandria’s gaze flicked to Hank, then back to Logan. Her mind was a whirlwind of memories and confusion. “But... I...”

Logan’s tone softened, “I know it’s hard to believe right now, but you gotta trust us. We’re trying to help you. You need to calm down.”

Alexandria’s hands trembled as she struggled to push the headband away, her vision blurring with tears. “I don’t want this... I don’t want their dreams...”

Logan took a deep breath, his frustration giving way to a rare moment of empathy. “I get it. I really do. But this is the only way for you to get some damn rest. You can’t keep going like this.”

The sound of the door opening caught their attention. Charles wheeled in, his expression serene yet serious. “How is she?”

Hank, still nursing his shoulder, looked over. “She’s awake and disoriented. She’s been pushing herself too hard, and now she’s struggling to accept the help we’re offering.”

Charles nodded, approaching Alexandria with a gentle presence. “Alexandria, I need you to focus on me. You’re safe, and we’re here to help you. Can you try to calm down and listen to what we’re saying?”

Alexandria’s eyes met Charles’s, and she could see the sincerity in his gaze. It was hard to ignore, despite the whirlwind of her emotions. Slowly, she began to ease her grip on the headband, though she still trembled.

Charles continued in a soothing tone. “We need to make sure you’re comfortable and can get some restful sleep. This headband is a part of that process. It’s not a punishment or a trap. It’s a tool to help you recover.”

Logan stood by, his arms crossed, watching Alexandria with a mix of annoyance and concern. He was used to dealing with his own issues but seeing her like this stirred something different in him. “Look, you don’t gotta like it. Just try to relax, alright? We’re on your side.”

Alexandria’s breaths began to slow, her mind still foggy but gradually clearing. She hated the headband on her head, hated the fact that she felt like a lab experiment once again being surrounded by and all-white room and medical equipment.

Charles watched her with a soft expression, hoping to convey reassurance despite the sterile environment. "You're doing well, Alexandria. Just focus on calming down. We’re not here to hurt you."

Alexandria’s eyes met his, though her expression remained guarded. "Why... why are you doing this?"

Charles took a moment before answering, his voice calm. "We’re trying to help you. The headband is designed to block out any telepathic interference so you can sleep without being disturbed."

She shook her head slightly, her eyes still darting around the room. “I don’t want to be a burden...”

“You’re not a burden,” Charles said gently. “You’re part of this team, and we want to make sure you’re healthy. If you don’t get proper rest, it’s going to make everything worse.”

“Listen, kid. We don’t do this for fun. You’re here because you needed help. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll start feeling better."

Alexandria looked at Logan, her expression a mix of wariness and frustration. “Why do you even care?”

Logan’s face hardened, though there was a hint of something softer in his eyes. “I don’t do this for everyone. But you’re pushing yourself too hard, and it’s not gonna do you any good.”

Hank, having finished tending to his shoulder, approached the table with a fresh gauze pad. “I need to tend to this wound,” he said, gesturing to his shoulder. “We’ll be here to keep an eye on you while you adjust.”

Alexandria nodded, though her body was still tense. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, and she was shivering despite the warmth of the room.

“Hey, we need to get you warmed up,” Hank said, moving toward a cabinet to fetch some blankets. “Logan, can you help me with this?”

Logan, who had been standing by with his arms crossed, grunted in response. He moved closer to the examination table, his eyes scanning Alexandria’s shivering form. “You alright, kid?” he asked, his voice gruff but laced with concern.

Alexandria looked up at him, her expression a mix of fear and exhaustion. “I’m cold...”

“We’re gonna fix that,” Logan said, grabbing a blanket from Hank and draping it over Alexandria’s shivering shoulders. “Just try to relax.”

Hank quickly followed suit, adding more blankets to ensure she was adequately covered. “It’s important that we keep you warm while you adjust to the device.”

Alexandria’s gaze flickered between Logan and Hank, her eyes still filled with unease. “How... how long do I have to wear this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Hank offered a reassuring smile, though it was clear he was still concerned. “Just until we’re sure your mind is calm and stable. It might take a bit for you to get used to it.”

Charles, still monitoring her condition, spoke up gently. “Alexandria, the headband is designed to block out the telepathic interference you’ve been experiencing. It will help you get the sleep you need without being disturbed.”

She nodded in response before looking over at Hank, “can we make it smaller?” she asked quietly. “I… don’t like the headband.”

Hank gave another reassuring smile, “of course. I can have it done by the time you wake up.”

Alexandria nodded, though her eyes remained wary. The blankets were warm and comforting, but she still shivered from the cold that seemed to seep into her bones.

“Try to relax,” Hank said as he finished adjusting the blankets around her. “It’s going to be alright.”

Alexandria’s eyes fluttered shut, her exhaustion winning over her anxiety. Charles gave a final nod of reassurance before stepping back to monitor her condition from a distance.

Logan, having witnessed the entire ordeal, leaned against a counter, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “You sure this is gonna work?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Hank glanced over. “It’s our best shot. We’ve got to get her mind settled and give her a break from all this telepathic noise.”

Logan grunted, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Just hope it doesn’t take too long. We’ve all been running on empty lately.”

Charles wheeled closer, his expression serious. “We need to be patient. Alexandria’s been through a lot. The sooner she can rest, the sooner she’ll start to recover.”

Logan sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just wish she’d stop makin’ things harder on herself.”

---

A few hours later, Alexandria began to stir. The headband was still on her head, but it felt less intrusive now that she was used to it. Her breathing was steadier, and she was no longer shivering.

“Hey, kid,” Logan’s voice broke through her haze as he approached. “How’re you feelin’?”

Alexandria’s eyes opened slowly, meeting his gaze. “Better,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. “The cold is gone.”

Logan nodded, looking around the lab. “Good. Hank said he’s workin’ on makin’ that headband smaller for you.”

Alexandria gave a slight nod. “Thank you.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t mention it. You were givin’ us a scare. Figured I’d check in.”

She managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

Logan’s expression softened just a bit. “You’re not a burden. Just try to keep it together, alright? We’re all in this mess together.”

“Yeah,” Alexandria said, her voice still weak. “I’ll try.”

Charles, who had been observing quietly, spoke up. “Alexandria, you’ve made great progress. We’ll continue to monitor your condition, but for now, try to get as much rest as you can.”

Alexandria nodded, closing her eyes again. “I’ll do my best.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x oc #logan howlett x original character #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x oc #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x alexandria sokolova #marvel fanfiction #sweet dreams #project reverie

47 notes · View notes