A/N: Along with preseries stuff I think Sprx/Gibson interaction is deserving of my unrelenting adoration. They just play off each other so well.
Belle gave me the title 'cause my inspiration for those things are as vast and deep as the empty cereal box in my kitchen cupboard. (Memo: buy more Cheerios)

Also: I'm resetting the poll so if you want me to write less humour/fluff and start angsting it up or write more break-up fics or attempt serious romance without break ups or rhyming - now would be your chance. I am heavily influenced by your opinions because I'm a pushover.

Head Games

It was the sounds of an enraged scream, a bone-shattering crash, and an all too common yelp of pain that drove Gibson out of his laboratory for the umpteenth time since he cared to remember (which he didn't). Having grabbed the first aid box on his way, the blue cyborg arrived at the scene of crime just in time to see Nova storming off and leaving a heap of groaning red pilot on the floor.

"I think you ought to have realized by now that Nova does not care much for Blonde Jokes," Gibson said wisely and inspected the chin of his red brother which was turning a lovely shade of purple. "I do worry for your masochistic tendencies Sprx," he said in a tone of voice that clearly indicated he had better uses for the stack of band-aids than to spend them on the results of the pilot's tactless whims.

"I can't help it," Sprx grinned broadly; still slightly woozy from the latest Nova-beating. "I just go all funny in the head whenever I'm near her, y'know?"

"That might have something to do with the dent in your helmet." Gibson's hand hovered over the second product of Sprx' lack of judgement.

"It's not the bruises that make me go and say stupid things that I know will annoy her."

"No, I'm pretty sure the blunt head trauma would explain that," the scientist said flatly.

Sprx winced as Gibson poked his battered head. "She wouldn't be so angry if she didn't care, y'know?"

"I'm sure no argument of mine would make you re-evaluate that hypothesis."

Sprx grinned wholeheartedly. "Just keep the first aid box around, all right?"

The red monkey picked himself up and wandered off - no doubt to make an idiot of himself yet again, only for his wittiness to be returned to sender in the form of fists and kicks.

Tomorrow, Gibson would again plop the medical box beside the beaten up pilot and he would once more recommend his brother to not taunt the hot-headed warrior if he wished to be in possession of any working brain cells by the end of the month. And Sprx would yet again brush Gibson off because his red brother was hopelessly addicted to this violent routine.

Why? Because Sprx - for some utterly unfathomable reason - went 'funny in the head' when Nova was in close proximity. What good did that bring any of them, if he might be so bold to ask? Nova got furious and cranky; Sprx was battered into a one-digit Intelligence Quotient; and Gibson had to interrupt his studies day-in and day-out to try and mend the sorry results.

It was a lose-lose situation if Gibson ever saw one. No wonder love was supposedly 'a loser's game'. Even if you were not playing it - or betting on it – one seemed to come out short.

Love. It was a dangerous, irresponsible, and hormonally insane concept; yet people seemed so intent on falling head over heels into it and evolution didn't seem to want to eradicate the option to do so any time soon. Perhaps it might be good for something then.

Gibson sighed and closed the first aid box. Hopefully something besides emptying the medical supplies - love was expensive for the doctors who had to patch up the love-sick and love-pummeled victims.