Astrid was the last person to visit the League's exclusive lab after he dubbed it "The Forge".
His dad was the first. He'd followed him as Hiccup ran from screen to screen, stammering out excited exclamations and draping himself over the stainless steel work table. Stoick chuckled and clamped a heavy hand on his son's shoulder before leaving him to drool over the drawers full of specialty tools. Then as soon as The Vast exited, Fishlegs had slipped in after him to join Hiccup in his geeky delight.
Then a week later, the twins wandered in. They touched a lot of equipment and pushed a lot of buttons, but mostly Hiccup's. After nearly sacrificing Tuffnut's fingers to an unfinished laser spear, they'd decided to pester the teen for impossible new utility belts. It had taken several minutes for him to explain that a death ray was not in fact a feasible addition to The League's high-tech armory.
It was another couple of weeks before the door whooshed open and a pair of boots slowly thudded down the Forge stairs. They walked with such a command that Hiccup was expecting to see his father when he turned in his swivel chair. Not a logoed sweatshirt, white jeans, and a sleek blonde ponytail. After tearing away his magnifying goggles and shaking his head, he realized that it wasn't just a frowning mouth that had entered his domain, but the super heroine it belonged to.
"Twist," he blurted as her eyes scanned over already cluttered desks and gutted inventions. "Hey."
"Astrid," she corrected. "So this is your secret laboratory?" Even though Rolodexter had quickly become Fishlegs, and The Elements turned into Ruff and Tuff after their first prank— he still couldn't get used to calling the chilly girl by her real name.
"Um, I call it 'The Forge', actually." Hiccup's knee bounced restlessly as he watched her move to his work table and examine the scatter of notes and calculations. "Have you met Blacksmith?"
"Once." She used a single finger to turn a comic of Toothless in a super mask right-side up. "With my uncle."
"Well, he kind of taught me everything I know." With a half-smile, he shrugged and gestured at his surroundings. "So it's kind of a nod to him."
He still wasn't over the extravagance of it. Since he could hold a screwdriver, he'd been building stuff in his garage, squeezing around his father's car and boxes of Christmas decorations as he worked. Having a space to call his own, not to mention its extraordinary equipment, was incredible. It was by far the best gift he'd ever received, being invited to work for The Vast's experimental League.
An awkward silence stretched between them, and Hiccup twiddled his thumbs uncomfortably while she explored. "Is there anything I can build for you?" he finally asked when she stilled and leaned back against a nearby counter. "You like projectiles, right? I could throw together some homing knives?"
The blonde shook her head, running her tongue over her teeth. Her gaze wouldn't settle, and though she'd never had a problem with it before, she couldn't seem to meet his eyes. It suddenly struck him that she was nervous. He still wasn't able to look at her— even in pajamas— without a sudden bout of ungraceful speechlessness. She had never shared that misfortune.
"I need something," Astrid nodded. She crossed her arms self-consciously over her body and stared at her half-laced boots. "I'm not sure if you can help. My family's mechanic couldn't."
Hiccup raised his brows, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "Sure. Whatever I can do."
Her eyes flashed to the door to the Forge, and then she cleared her throat. If he wasn't mistaken, color was rising in her cheeks. With a step away from the counter, she reached for the hem of her sweatshirt.
Suddenly seventeen years weren't enough to keep Hiccup's jaw from dropping when a beautiful girl stripped in front of him.
The shiny purple fabric of Twist's super suit gleamed in the florescent lights as she tugged the garment over her head. He was just barely gathering his thoughts, blinking away the thought of the skin he'd been expecting to see.
"Get weird about this and I'll kick your ass," she muttered, setting her sweatshirt on the counter and stepping forward. She hitched herself up on Hiccup's work bench. Nudged aside the microchip he'd been poking at with tweezers. Then she reached up to her neckline and peeled back the edge of her suit.
A long red welt curled around her shoulders where the fabric cut into her flesh. Hiccup cringed without thinking.
"Yeesh." He traced a finger just a breath above her skin.
"I'm knife-proof, fireproof, and more malleable than a piece of Double Bubble." Astrid let go of the neckline and then pulled back the edge of her sleeve. Where the hem had been resting around her wrist, the suit left another painful-looking stripe. He ran a fingertip across the sewn seam, testing the fabric. "This stupid costume hurts more than most of my fights."
"You want a new suit?" Hiccup couldn't help but let the surprise slip into his voice. Not a plasma blaster, not a battle mace, not heat-seaking throwing knives, but a new supersuit. He wasn't exactly a tailor, but then again— this wasn't exactly a Sunday dress.
He looked up from her wrist. Her eyes were on his face. For a shade of blue so cool, they flickered with a fire that could burn. And it reminded him of a different blaze— the smoke-belching explosion he'd seen on a tiny television screen in a junkyard office. Gobber had gone still at the reporter's voice, the grin falling from his face as a camera man focused on a blonde girl in a white supersuit. She was skinny, but not because of her young age. Her arms were thin from stretching into the flames, even as policemen pulled her away from the fire. Then they'd cut away to a smiling photo of Finn the Fearless.
Astrid's nostrils flared as she exhaled. She rolled back her sleeve. "I want a new suit."
With a nod, Hiccup swallowed and rubbed his thumb over his forefingers, feeling the fabric's texture there. His brain worked, his gears turning.
"I'll do what I can."
