Title: "Tryst"
Author: Sandoz
Word Count: 700 (Part of a drabble challenge)
Dedication: To Neva, fellow Alex fangirl and unrepentant devil on my shoulder.
Disclaimer: Runaways is the brainchild of Brian K. Vaughan and Adrian Alphona, and the property of Marvel Comics.
She lays atop me, with the "old dead white guys" framed on the wall the voyeurs of our secret tryst. Nico presses her cheek against my chest, her skin so much whiter and purer when next to my own dark flesh.
It's been four days since the incident with Cloak and Dagger. Money, food, and hopes are running low. The others still listen intently to Chase's radio for word about East Coast superheroes arriving to take down The Pride, though they should realize by now that no capes-and-cowls are going to ride in on white horses to save them.
If you want something done, you have to do it yourself. My parents taught me that.
The rest of our little club is in the east wing of the Hostel. Karolina had suggested telling stories to Molly, as if this is still a jaunt with the big kids--a harmless adventure with a happy ending. I played along with the idea, ever the wise and good-hearted leader, and didn't even yell when Chase tried to start a campfire with the Fistigons and set the couch ablaze. Gert had nodded off to sleep with that dinosaur of hers and Chase and Molly were hanging off one of Karolina's Hollywood ghost stories like a couple of slack-jawed kids, so no one said anything when Nico slipped away to her bedroom with a fake yawn, or when I claimed to need sleep as well a few minutes later. Now we're together in her bed, most of our clothing shed on the floor and our limbs sweaty and tangled.
"This is nice," I say wistfully. "I almost feel guilty saying it, but if anything good came out of all this insanity…"
Nico smiles. I don't need to complete my thought; when we're together, words are unnecessary. She feels comfortable with me—isn't self-conscious about me seeing her in her underwear when she hasn't shaved her legs in weeks, or the fact that the closest thing either of us have had to a bath since this whole ugly mess began involved moist towelettes in a sketchy gas station restroom. Like survivors of a plane crash, the two of us are kindred spirits, people whose understanding of each other goes past appearances and straight to the core.
Believe me, I wish I could reveal myself to her. I almost did, back when we were trapped in the Darkforce Dimension. I thought we were going to die and I wanted to pass on with a clear conscience—I suppose that's funny, considering that not an hour later I made a call to Lt. Flores and put Cloak and Dagger on our parents' hit list. Let's just say that when I came out of the Darkforce Dimension alive I had an epiphany. I knew what my purpose was. I'm still alive for a reason, and I mean to see my plans through.
Nico will understand. Eventually.
Back in the here and now, my hand slowly runs up her arm. She shivers, a tingle running up her spine. The pleasure stops, however, when my fingers trace the long, freshly healed scars near her wrist.
Nico snatches her arm away and sits up, pulling her body away from me. A small hiss escapes her lips.
"Hey." I'm surprised rather than angry. "What was that for?"
"It's nothing. I'm sorry, I…nothing." Nico averts her gaze, but she gives herself away by rubbing her wrist.
"Is it…your cuts? I'm sorry. I thought they healed. I didn't mean to hurt--"
Nico shakes her head. "No, you didn't hurt me. I just…wow," she laughs, "I guess I must look pretty pathetic."
I look at her carefully. "Nico…don't be ashamed of what those cuts represent. I know it hurts every time you have to do it, but you're one of our heaviest hitters. Our parents probably would have put us in body bags by now if not for you."
I reach out to touch her, and she doesn't shrink away. Instead, Nico lets me wrap my arms around her body, closing her eyes and letting her insecurity melt away.
I tell her everything will be all right. I lie to her, and she believes me.
End.