Hey, hey Capers! How's everyone doing tonight?
I realize that I have never written a fic based upon the first episode of The Cape. Mostly this is because I highly doubt there would be a lot of Vinwell action in that time span. Well, I've changed my mind. Subtext ahoy! We got plenty of it in the last few chunks of the episode. Just gotta know where to look for it.
Anyway, I'm rambling here. I do not own The Cape.
Avoiding the Truth
After she disconnected her headset, the brunette blogger sat back in her computer chair. She sighed. She did it; Orwell was really one step closer to bringing down her father. It felt good to know that she wasn't alone. That she wasn't the only one with a vengeance against the billionaire.
The blogger wasn't happy to know that Peter Fleming had caused another person so much pain. He had ripped Vince away from his home, his family; everything.
If he was determined to stop her father, she would be willing to help him in any way she could. Orwell wouldn't allow another family to be torn apart. Not like hers; not like Vince's.
The brunette's eyes trailed down to the empty coffee mug that sat on her desk, a sigh drawing from her lips. It looked like a sleepless night for her, again. This was her fifth full mug of coffee this evening. Sure she was tired, but the moment she lay her head down she would just stir around in bed. Why waste her time anymore?
A knock echoed through her home, startling Orwell out of her thoughts. She jerked her head back to see if she was just hearing things. Almost a millisecond later, her question was answered by a second steady knock.
As she opened the door, the blogger was thrown aback. Her partner stood on the other side, a perplexed look in place.
"Vince," Orwell began lightly, keeping the door pressed to her chest. "What are you doing here?"
"You know," the vigilante began, rubbing at the back of his head. "You really don't answer questions all that well, do you?"
The brunette held her mouth open for a minute, at a loss for words. "Okay, so what are you getting at?"
"I'm getting at you, Orwell. I've been trying to figure you out since I first ran into you by the docks. Why are you trying to help me? Obviously you didn't wake up one day and decide to run an investigative blog on Peter Fleming," Vince began, looking his partner over.
"It's complicated, okay?" the brunette snapped, her expression giving way into her distress. "Just don't over think it. You'll be wasting your time," she paused, bringing her door back to reveal her hideout. "So are you coming in or not?"
The Cape shrugged as he followed the blogger into her hideout. It still amazed him at how fancy of a hideout she lived in. Even he could live in there without it being over-crowded. The vigilante looked across his shoulder at his partner. She was doing something. As he focused in on her, he noticed that she was making coffee.
Vince checked his watch. It was nine-thirty at night, and she was making coffee. Well that was one clue he was given about his mysterious partner. She obviously loved her coffee.
"Take a seat Vince," Orwell smirked to herself. "I won't bite."
"Well that's good to know," the vigilante murmured under his breath. He made his way over to her and sat down at the nearby table, a grunt escaping his lips.
The brunette placed two coffee mugs in front of the pot and easily sat down next to her partner. "Why are you here, Vince?" she asked, a little more than defensively.
Vince sighed, leaning against the table to look at Orwell. "Well, I dunno Orwell. Maybe it's because we're partners? I'm just supposed to go away and phone you whenever I need help?" He paused to take in the brunette before him. She wouldn't look at him directly, she was focused on the grains of the wooden table, rather than her partner. Or at least, that was what he thought.
The vigilante soon added after that. "I'm sorry if that's what you thought would happen. If you're going to be helping me get back home, I want to know that you're here to help me. Not to screw me over, or turn me over to Fleming."
Orwell let out a sigh., picking her head up to meet with the vigilante's eyes. "I don't know what you expect me to say, Vince. I like long walks on the beach or I hate the color yellow. I don't have a story to tell, I'm just Orwell."
Vince leaned back into his seat and folded his arms, a furtive look in place. "Now, that's only making me think that you've got something to hide."
"Everyone has secrets," the blogger began, rising to her feet. The vigilante's eyes followed her as she walked over to the coffee pot and poured its contents into each mug.
"I can't afford to have a partner with secrets," he fought back.
Orwell turned around in a whirl, gnawing at her bottom lip in aggravation. "Well good luck finding a new partner!" she turned back around to the mugs, murmuring under her breath. "I'll write you a get well card…"
Vince stared back at his partner. Thick headed as he may be, he still caught that murmur. "Orwell, I don't want another partner," he sighed, running a hand across his mop of sandy blonde hair. "Look, I just want to get to know you first."
She wasn't sure whether it was the lack of sleep talking or not, but her heart was hammering loudly in her ear. Very distracting, to say the least. "There are very few people in this world that I will trust," she made eye contact with her partner again, a shiver traveling up her spine.
The vigilante gave her a gentle smile. At least he was getting somewhere. Now that he knew his partner had things to hide, it only made him question her even more. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Vince was drawn to her from the moment they first met. How to interpret it was just as mind boggling as the brunette in front of him.
"You're gonna learn that it's okay to trust me. I'm not going to hurt you, or anything along those lines," Vince added. "You help me get home, and I'll help you realize that there is someone in this world that you can trust."
Orwell stopped for a moment as she hovered the carton of creamer over her mug. He really was serious about this, wasn't he? No tricks; he wanted to help her.
"You really mean it?"
The vigilante nodded. "Of course I mean it. I know I'm going to get mad every now and then; I'll be the first to admit that I can get rather hot-headed if I don't know something."
He noticed the blogger's lips twitch into a little smirk. "But I'm going to help you, no matter what you say."
The brunette poured her creamer and sugar into her mug before abandoning it to pass Vince his coffee mug. She assumed that he didn't take creamer in his coffee; most military affiliated men didn't.
"I appreciate that Vince, but really-"
The vigilante got up from his seat, coffee mug in hand. "Nope, not listening," he began before walking away from his partner.
Orwell let out a deep sigh, following Vince as he took a seat on the brunette's massive couch that sat on the far side of her hideout.
"You know, this couch almost makes me not wanna go home," the vigilante began, placing his hands behind his head.
That made the blogger stop dead in her tracks. She could've sworn she didn't hear him right.
Vince noticed her silence, to which he quickly added. "My home away from home, anyway. I'm staying in Trolley Park with Max Malini and his carnival. Nice group, well after you've warmed up to them, I guess. That's not really the point, though. I like it there, but you've got a pretty roomy place for just one person."
Feeling more relieved, Orwell let out a breath of air. "Thanks… I think."
The Cape began to take a sip of his coffee, letting the awkwardness pass by. The blogger took a seat next to him, also drinking out of her own mug.
The more sips he took, the more he realized how tired he was. It had been a long couple of days, and without much sleep, Vince was purely exhausted. He looked over at his partner, who looked like she needed her sleep just as much as he did. "Hey, Orwell?"
"Yes?" she replied, an eyebrow perfectly arched.
"Mind if I just stay for the night?" the vigilante asked. To be honest, being supposedly dead was lonely. Sure, he stayed with the carnies, but sometimes he just needed a break from all of their craziness. He supposed that where Orwell came in. She wasn't crazy, (that he knew of, anyway). She was just Orwell.
Without much to go on, he quickly learned that she and him had a bit in common. The blogger obviously had something to hide, and he was pretty suspicious that Peter Fleming had something to do with it. They both were in hiding, and they both needed each other for one thing or the other.
Vince figured that if he could spend more time with Orwell, maybe that would get her to trust him more. He gave a mental shrug. It was worth trying, whether it would really work or not.
The blogger didn't know how to answer that question, at first. Somewhere deep inside of her, she wanted to say yes, but in the same respect, how bad would that make her look? She needed someone constant in her life; however, she didn't want to have to deal with the guilt that came with growing closer to a married man. Well, the brunette mused to herself, it wasn't like they would become romantically involved, anyway. Every partnership has a close bond between both partners. That didn't mean that they would be sleeping together.
Partially convinced that it was okay, Orwell smiled back at her partner. "Alright, you can sleep on the couch, then."
"Sounds like a plan," Vince offered her a grin. He gulped down the last of his coffee and sat his mug on a side table that was on his side of the couch. "Are you sure you're comfortable with this? 'Cause I can go back to the carnival-"
"No, I don't have a problem with it," the brunette replied gently.
He smiled. "Do you want me to stay up with you? Maybe we can talk some more…" he paused when he saw his partner's uncomfortable expression. "Never mind. We'll talk when you're ready."
"Thanks," Orwell responded before getting up from the couch. She took a moment or so to head down the hallway to get to her bedroom. There she picked up a quilt from her bed and brought it back to her partner.
Vince was surprised to see the brunette with a quilt. She handed it over to him along with a genuine smile.
"Thank you," he added, wrapping himself up in the blanket.
"Good night, Vince," Orwell began, feeling her own energy start to drain even more. Maybe that was a sign that she could actually sleep. Before the vigilante could respond to her, she was gone from sight, turning off lights as she walked away. She took both coffee mugs over to her sink, yawning to herself. As both mugs were placed in the sink, she made her way to her bedroom, tiptoeing past Vince. The lightest of snores were coming from him mouth, so it was safe to say he was out.
So, how was the story? I really tried to connect all of the future Vinwell to their thoughts and dialogue in this fic.