Of course she had been afraid - or at the very least disgusted - of it, of him; especially at the first sight - well, that wasn't exactly true. No; at first she had simply wondered from what planet he came; after all, it wouldn't do for her to be xenophobic towards (anyone, but especially) her new teammate. It's when she learned he was a (freak, monster, abomination, horror, mistake?) mutant that her disposition towards him changed.
Not that he knew; they'd never met at that point, she'd just been one of the legionnaires attending his swearing in. He'd been picked up and brought home like a discarded pound dog; Imra dotting over him like a mother hen, but she knew. Oh yes, Tinya knew what Legionnaire Timberwolf was.
A mutie freak.
Even in their time, with all the advances - scientific as well as sociocultural - they'd made, some things just never changed. That wasn't to say she was heartless, but unlike the real heroes, who everyday tested their compassion and sense of justice, mutants couldn't control themselves. Even the name implied something was off, missing. For natural mutants - mistakes of nature - they could potentially learn to obey societal rules despite their disposition. Timberwolf, however...
She'd read the file; kne whis story. She didn't care for his bleeding heart because no matter how much he baked or meditated... He was quite literally a wolf in sheep's clothing. His father - the sick bastard, sunuvabitch - had engineered him to make, and she quotes "the general of [his] army; the perfect killing machine." And if that didn't indicate a violent predisposition, she didn't know what did.
She supposed it was lucky - or careful planning - that Legionaire Timberwolf spent most of his time assisting Imra; she trained him like a dog. Soft words and he would pick the heavy crate up. Tinya was more or less (definitely less) content with him when he stayed with Imra. She could control him, supress his mutant urges. And she was glad Imra knew she was needed with him at all times.
Or so Tinya thought.
Maybe it was a cruel joke devised from reading Tinya's mind, or the delightfully enraging randomness of life; but she found herself paired with him on multiple occasion. She loathed him, now, for more than just what he was. Gosh, she hated his attitude!
She so was not a princess! How dare he?! Tinya had joined as soon as she could, risking her life to help those in need. She didn't completely shy away from didt and mud and muck. She was just polite (sort of). It wasn't her fault he was literally raised in a barn! Ugh!
"No! For the last time, Legionnaire Timberwolf," she ground out. "I don't want to train with you!" Now if he offered to be her punching bag, she might reconsider. "Now, go. Away!"
He looked at her oddly - in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end - and sighed. Halfway through his expression hardened though. "I can't believe you," he simply said, and did as she told him. He went away.
She didn't hear much of him, or at all, if she was being honest. Timberwolf was not exactly her preferred subject of conversation. "You like him!" Trip had once said. She never joked like that again. Tinya had almost never been so outraged - her dealings with supervillains excluded.
"EW! How can you even say that?!" she had shrieked, whacking her rather harshly on the shoulder. "And why on Earth would you think that?!"
Rubbing her sore shoulder knowingly - what, was she a telepath too? "Tin, girl, you keep eating his pastries and cookies. You literally ate a handful of his macaroons just no-"
"What do you mean his pastries?"
She had forgotten that dog baked - forgotten he could entertain the mere thought of it. She didn't, and she loved domestic hobbies. It must have been a ploy. Or a plan; an idea planted by Imra?
"Nope," Trip said, doing her nails. "Before we left he packed up two boxes; one had a bunch of recipes."
Well, Tinya thought. She mulled over what her friend had told her as she did two-thirds of her thirty figner nails, then as they did her's. If it wasn't a ploy - apparently the recipes had been written down, like by hand and were old and yellowed - and it wasn't a planted idea; maybe he picked it up from his mother or maybe a sister. Did he have more family? Would they want him back? Questions for later, she told herself; he certainly hadn't picke dit up from his loving father, so maybe, just maybe he did it because it calmed him. Because he knew that he would otherwise snap. At the end of her girls' day, she conceded one thing.
"Well, at least he can bake."
The mission against Drax confirmed some things, as well as unsettle others. She'd seen Timberwolf throw himself in front of other people, taking Drax's pets head on; fighting them with honed skill and instinct. An animalistic display but in name only. She could see the training, the restraint underneath it. She had been surprised with his disposition towards her in the sewers. Keeping as much distance between herself and him, he felt content doing quips about her and seemed to only be casually sweeping the area - not that she could blame him, she wouldn't want a superwhiff of sewer either.
"I was just trying to be polite," he had growled at some point. She had frozen for a nanosecond. Crawling on all fours in the sewer, his eyes aglow and growling.
He looked like an animal. And for a moment, she remembered his father did this to him. But now he was a mutant. And he acted like one.
Until they got to the Phantom Zone and he was so adamant about finding another way, trying to fight off the hordes that attacked them - attacked her she would later notice. Why did he care? Sure she was a fellow Legionnaire, and loss of any kind was a burden to them - and she was the daughter of the President of the United Planets; but for one damn time h seemed to be wearing his heart on his sleeve.
It was endearing. Truly like a dog; even a bad owner gets love and loyalty, she thought.
Christmas time came around, and many Legionnaires left on vacation or to be stationed closer to home. The UP headquarters were close enough for Tinya to stay at the Legion HQ. As usual, the building was full, yet around this time of year it always felt quieter, calmer; more empty in a odd way. It meant more monitor duty, more lounging in the common room, more food in the fridge.
It also meant gingerbread men cookies. She loved those above all other desserts - except her mother's special cake - and they were only sold at this time of year. Storebought were okay at best, and the ones at the local bakeries were too expensive to buy more than three at once. This all meant she was suffering from a very grave case of gingerbread-manitis, and was in withdrawal from the five or six ones she ate.
More time for her had also meant more time for other Legionnaires as well. And while she wallowed in self pity at the outrageous lack of Christmas pastries, others occupied themselves working and doing their hobbies. This meant that Timberwolf, who worked double shifts everyday because he could - she knew nothing of his nightmares at this point - and spent the remainder baking and maybe an hour or threee sleeping if he could spare the time.
This meant she walked in to the kitchen to again check the pantry in vain for her cookies just a she was taking some off the cooling rack. Still warm.
She squealed. Then regained her composure. "Are those-"
"Yes."
Rude. "For someone special?" She justified her curiosity by telling herself she was only socializing with a fellow Legionnaire.
"No."
"So..."
"Yes."
She quickly made herself a tall glass of milk and started munching on the cookie. Having nothing better to do, she spent her snack observing him as he worked. Timberwolf moved like he owned the place - probably had marked it, she joked to herself, rather funnily - but there was tension in his frame. Not that she cared much, he still made damn good gingerbread cookies. Best ones she had ever tasted as a matter of fact; not that sbe'd tell him.
But, he had been rather nice lately, if a bit high-strung and irritable. And Imra had given her a talking to after hearing a strag though. So, telling herself it was the time of year to be nice, she asked him, "You seem high-strung. What's wrong?"
He had stopped, turned slightly away from her; decorations for the cookies about to be used. After a beat, he returned to his task and dropped the first one - gorgeously decorated with matching buttons, but clumsy icing-drawing - on her plate in an irate manner.
"You're speaking to me." He paused, and she realized that had hurt her. "You hate me. You just want my cookies."
Had anyone else said that, it would have been funny. Cute, even; but the way he said it. Resigned, disappointed like he'd been proven right. He stood tall like he always did when Rock was there; stiff, on standby. "Well, I-"
"You don't even know my name."
She clicked her jaw shut. What was that? He just cut her off, and it didn't have anything to do with their conversation! Her mouth did a splendid imitation of a fish's flopping open and closed. "T-Thagt's not true! And I bet you don't even know mine! So there!"
"Don't lie to me, Tinya," he deadpanned. "Just fucking say it already; you don't know my name, and you don't care to."
He had a point. But now she wanted to know it out of spite. "I'm not lying!" She paused; she had read his file, saw his name. It had a "B" an "n" and an "i"... "Benjamin..?"
"Take your cookies and leave me alone."
That night, she reread his file. Brin Londo. Hill; she found out after a brief research. It came from what the Terrans called Welsh - though she knew it was an alien language millenia old. She knew, because of Brin's file that his mother had been a speaker of that race, he wrote it as maternal tongue.
Satisfied that she knew Brin's name, Tinya left the archives, floating around aimlessly for a while. She didn't feel sleepy, and was still on the high from a succesful research. So she headed to the kitchen for a late night snack; Brin's cookies.
She saw him in passing. He was sitting in front of the main door, looking out into the night sky. Maybe he was a nocturnal creature, with eyes like his she reasoned it was a possibility. Shrugging, she went to get a cookie. Finally, when she began her third cookie, the satisfaction wore off a bit - she had been talking to herself using his name. She would show him she knew his name. Right now in fact.
He smelled her pass by earlier. She had been floating just like she was now, deathly silent. "Don't do that."
He heard her feet softly touch the ground with all the grace of a trained politician. "You ruined my surprise, Brin!"
He snorted derisively. "Cute. You can read files. Next time, don't try to sneak up on me."
She'd expected more. Maybe like a pleasantly surprised expression; some good-natured ribbing at her expense. Sarcasm? Not really. Usually people were pleased when you learned their names. Also, she hadn't expected the veiled threat. He never spoke like that; either his intentions were fully hidden, or in plain sight.
"Fine, I-" she stopped when she walked around to look at him in the eye - she had wanted him to see her disappointment. But he looked so... Bad. His fur was matted and knotted; like he had sweat and thrashed about during training... Or in bed. Definitely in bed; she knew bedhead when she saw it. Also, despite the inky black eye marks, she could see the moonlight on his bags. Heard his breathing.
She never heard him breathe. She had been told his heart was so healthy it could pump less than half the time hers did in a minute without him having low blood pressure; his breaths were long and low; or far apart. He only breathed loudly when in distress or during physical exercise. "When was the last time you slept?"
"What do you care." He let his head hang wearily. "I don't have to watch anyone's back."
"Are you trying to kill yourself? Sleep, you idiot!"
"Why do you care if I am?!" He was breathing heavily. "It's not like we're friends or even acquaintances!"
"Because-!" No, wait. He was right. Why did she care? "I... I..."
He scoffed, and stood to leave. "If you can't be honest with yourself, how could I expect you to be with me..." He didn't care, really, he was just so damn tired. He needed to sleep, to relax, to unwind. But she'd been here and he had been meaning to tell her off. "You're a close-minded princcess."
"You're a mutant." He stopped in his tracks - his breath hitched. "And you're right. I'm close-minded; you're a mutie and I hate you for it." He bristled. "But you're good in the kitchen. You don't leave a mess in the bathroom. You don't make a racket like Garth. You try not to scare little kids... Even if they want to play with the 'big scary dog'," she chuckled despite herself at the memory. It was one of the first few times she had seen Brin smile. "You put your hundred and ten into the missions. You care for others. You don't care for yourself. But you're in the Legion, so we care for you."
He turned to look at her. A strange look in his eyes. For the first time she let herself appreciate them. The golden yellow, like two stars; the crimson slits, like the fire that burned in him. They were watery too, she saw, reflecting so much more light than they had been a moment prior.
"I'm not..." She stopped, searching for words. "You're still... A mutant, but... You're not a monster, I guess, and... It'll be a while, but maybe we can work... On being more than just teammates? Maybe if we're friends I'll... Change."
He was silent. This girl, this one girl who had been all but a painful reminder tof what the world - what his father - thought of him; she just shattered that. She hadn't said mutants weren't monsters; but she acknowledge he wasn't a monster. She acknowledged she needed to change. She challenged his entire world in the span of two sentences.
And he would challenge hers.