#uhhhh so listen as my first decree to bring vic back it was this? drabble?

[humanitysbridge]

(not) another lonely christm.as

@pnkfox : uhhh surprise?  

He doesn’t want to go into the school. For one, as good as his tech is, he doubts he can make himself look slimmer, shorter, older, and put on a good impersonation. He’s not an actor, he’s a tired vigilante. Instead, he rolls up in the empty bus lane in front of the building and readjusts his thick coat. It’ll shroud his size, even if just a bit. He can’t go into the school. The smell of lockers and the mocking athletic trophy case will spiral him into a bitter, unapproachable mood.

Victor adjusts his hat in the rearview mirror as he waits for the front doors to open. The reflection that stares back is not his. The skin is smooth and a rich brown, no metal meets flesh along his jaw or at his eye. Grey peppers his eyebrows and the back of his head. The longer he stares, the more he thinks of Silas. He hasn’t seen him in nearly a year...He’ll have to make a trip back home soon. It’s only appropriate. The thought makes him feel on edge. Victor imagines the pokes and prods that his father will insist on. His tech learns every second which makes him an invaluable research project. Maybe he’ll ask Kori to come along with him. No, no, no, she’ll be busy. Maybe Gar--

Knock. Knock. Knock.

A gloved finger knocks on his tinted window. Damn. He didn’t even hear them approach. There are two heartbeats outside the vehicle. One is beating off the charts, and he doesn’t need his sensors to know who’s more nervous. He sighs and rolls down the window, stopping at the shoulder so the woman has to crouch down to look at him. 

“Mr. Fox--thank you for coming at such short notice.” The principal says, breathless. Is she concerned with pissing off a guy like Lucius? Hell. Victor would be, too, if he was in her position. “We simply can’t condone this behavior, she’s not to come back till after break.”

Victor’s expression pinches, he glances over the woman’s shoulder to check over Tiff. Her anger is quiet and seething. This wasn’t fair, then. She usually owns up to her mistakes. 

“And will this be on her record?”

“Of course--we have to document this--” Her cheeks redden. 

“I don’t think that would benefit your school very well.” He hopes it’s the sort of threat Fox would make. “To ruin my daughter’s record for something as trivial as this. What did she do?”

Arms crossed, defiant. “She was backtalking a teacher!”

“--A wrong teacher.” Tiff pipes up for the first time, locking eyes with Victor. 

“Do you see what I mean?” The woman sighs heavily, expecting Lucius Fox to agree with her. Victor doubts he would if he were here. He hopes he wouldn’t, anyway.

“Well, was she?”

“Was she what?”

“Was she wrong?” He inquires, looking at her over the rim of his glasses. 

Tiff snickers as the principal stumbles over her pitiful response.

 ___

“That was awesome.”

“You’re lucky I was in the area.” He sighs, then shoots her a crooked smile. “They’re hard on us. You know that. They’re gonna expect you to act like you’re grown.”

She huffs, looking out the window. “But I’m not.” 

“I know. That’s why I bailed you out.” Pulling into the driveway of the beautiful manor, he shuts off his car. “And,” He draws out, “You were probably in the right. They’re not equipped to handle big brains like you.”

“Like us.”

The mechanism that he pretends is his heart simulates warmth. “Yeah, like us. Black geniuses are too much to handle in school.” 

“S’dumb.”

He laughs, loud and genuine as he steps out of the car. “Alright, kid, then how about I show you how to stop that stun-whatever from shocking you twenty-nine percent of the time?”

A gasp. “How did you--”

“You mentioned it last time. I’m not spying.”

Then, softer, as though she’s surprised. “Oh...Okay, yeah. Let’s do it!”

”--After we clean.”

“But--”

“I’m already connected to the speakers. We’re cleaning.”

__

The house, it turns out, is dreadfully free of any holiday ornaments. Vic had expected this, but he hoped to be wrong. He grew up in a home with too-busy parents who decorated on rare occasions and often sparsely. There weren’t many traditions surrounding the holidays except for a dinner and a few gifts exchanged. It hits him hard to see the bland (but expensive, never forget that it’s expensive) decoration. Laundry is folded and put away, the floors are cleaned, and the mountain of dishes and takeout containers are taken care of; his music is so loud they have to shout to talk to each other, so they settle for singing. They work on her latest gadget. Vic attempts to pretend he’s not radiating with joy when she figures out how to stop a wire from tripping. When it’s late, and she has to get ready for patrolling, he decides to tag along. He might as well--two heroes are better than one most of the time. 

Besides. It feels wrong to leave her on her own.

__

“This tree is stupid big.” Her small voice quips, staring up at the tree that towers Victor. “Like, it ain’t gotta reason to be this big.” 

He nods, understanding. “Biggest tree I could find. Chopped it down myself.”

“Illegally?” Youthful brown eyes sparkle with interest.

He snorts, shakes his head. “Not sorry to disappoint, but I obtained this tree while obeying the law.”

She shrugs, leaning in close to smell the leaves. “Mmm.”

Victor beams. “Right? I figured if we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it right.”

“Seriously?” It hurts him, how unsure she is. He feels a rush of spite toward her parents, his parents for raising children like this. Accustomed to loneliness. Uncertain when attention is directed toward them. “You wanna trim a tree?”

“I’m gonna trim a tree. This tree. And if you’d be so kind as to help me, that’d be pretty fly.”

“Saying fly is so crunchy--”

“If you don’t grab those lights and appreciate how hip I am. You wanna start with Stevie or Luther?”

“Are those the only options?”

“Chile, I have a carefully cultivated playlist that categorically bangs. It statistically slaps. You want some Temptations? Eartha?  Whitney?!” his volume increases with each artist. “I got Chuck, I got the Five, I got--”

“Okay, okay! Stevie.”

He lets out an exasperated, overdramatic noise of relief. The music kicks on, not nearly as loud as when they were getting the house in order.

“Hey, Vic?”

“Yeah, kiddo?” 

“Thanks.”

“Black geniuses. We gotta stick together.”