Unreasonable Addiction III
Chapter 10 - Celebrate?
By Yumegari and LRK, ed. Skylanth.
A few days later found them firmly ensconced in the old house with its mahogany furnishings, steeped in someone else's memories and smelling faintly of dust bunnies and mothballs. They'd cleaned the place, replaced light bulbs, stocked the cupboards and refrigerator, and locked Hanover in a spare bedroom, much to his vociferous objection.
For Octavius, it was just another move, albeit a move to a place he already knew. But Clair, although no stranger to relocation herself, hadn't done it nearly as much, and he sometimes simply found himself watching her as she happily arranged her things or his things, or explored the rooms.
He'd found it a strange role reversal when she came home one day, arms and two actuators holding the various laboratory apparati that she'd pilfered, looking as though she'd gone on a particularly lavish shopping trip. He'd looked up from his reading at the clattering noise of her return, and there she'd been, grinning widely, her hair wet with rain, bruised, and her coat and actuators scuffed, little bits of webbing still clinging to them. He hadn't known whether to laugh or leave the room or tell her not to be so cocky or be proud of her, but he'd patiently combed the sticky stuff out of her hair like she'd done for him so many times, and she'd kissed him hard, still riding on the euphoria. He vaguely remembered their clothing being tossed in haphazard heaps about the living room and what happened afterward, instead remembering waking up on the couch to the scent of waffles.
The memory brought an odd, thoughtful smile to his face, now, as he watched her prepare her serum for the nth time, as she hummed along with the song she listened to. He put down the nanowelder and pushed the powerful magnifying goggles up onto his forehead and watched her quietly.
She stirred the last batch of serum, this one very specialized and nearly complete, with a glass pipette and made a slide, checking it under the microscope. The finished form of the carrier virus absorbed the serum as she watched through the eyepieces, and she stepped back, pushing her hair back from her face with both hands and grinning with satisfaction. She pulled off her headphones, disentangled herself from their long cord, and looked over at him, pulling her glasses out of her hair and putting them back on, blinking for a moment as her eyes adjusted. "I think it's ready," she said quietly, but he could hear the excitement in her voice.
He pulled the goggles completely from his head, standing and crossing the room to peer into the microscope himself. It certainly did look ready. He looked up at her, slipping an arm around her. "Now what?"
"Time to test it," she said, looking up at the basement ceiling, above which she could hear Hanover's relentless pacing. Their prisoner had probably covered miles; four steps across the room, turn, and four steps back. Over and over and over.
Octavius looked up, too. "Something tells me I won't envy you the job of restraining him. I don't think he's altogether here, if you take my meaning." He grinned evilly.
She laughed. "I'm not much interested in his psychological welfare, you know. If I were, I wouldn't have put him in the bedroom next to ours." She looked innocent, though a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Though I'm not really sure that he was altogether there to begin with."
"If he hunted me down for that long, I should say not," Octavius harrumphed.
"Yes, it takes a real nutcase to be obsessed with you," she said, smiling as she headed upstairs.
"I'll have you know that you said that, not me," he said, following her.
"Well, no one's accused me of sanity yet," she added, smirking as she headed into their bedroom, where she'd left her actuators, taking off her labcoat and unbuttoning her blouse.
"Sanity is overrated," he rumbled, smiling wolfishly and snaking an arm around her, leaning in to nibble her ear.
She chuckled and finished unbuttoning her shirt. "So you've said," she said, leaving it open and turning to kiss him. "You're preaching to the choir, Otto."
"It bears repeating, is all," he murmured against her neck, one hand already sliding up her middle.
"Hmm," she said, covering his hand with hers and tipping her head back. "Yes it does." Her other hand slid around the back of his neck, thumb playing with his hair.
He closed his eyes, purring, his lips finding hers and capturing them for an instant before he pulled away. He looked at her sidelong. "Weren't you going to put those on?" he asked, indicating her actuators.
She nodded, getting up and walking over to them as they stood up to meet her. She slipped her arms into the harness and clicked the fasteners shut, groaning. "There has to be a way to make that easier," she said after a moment.
"I haven't found one yet," he replied. The pacing in the other room was louder and accompanied by ranting they could hear through the wall. "Hm. I wonder if there'll be anything left for you to test your virus on."
She looked over at the wall. "I'm not sure there was anything there to start with. But he's what I've got."
"True, that, but more subjects probably wouldn't be all that difficult to find." He debated for a moment which would play with their prisoner's head more--him with the actuators or without.
She smiled at that. "True, but I've had to listen to him for almost three weeks now. I'm really looking forward to shutting him up."
"Lovely," Octavius muttered, finally deciding he'd leave the actuators off for the moment. "Instead of grumbling sarcasm at us, he'll be grumbling nonsense." But he smile breifly at her anyway and walked out of the bedroom, stopping at the door to the room in which Hanover was kept and unlatching the locks.
"Nonsense is preferable to endless snark." Clair followed him, lifting herself up on the actuators so she could look over his shoulder.
"We'll see," Octavius hmphed. The door opened and they looked inside.
Hanover, for his part, leaned against the far wall and glared at them. He looked a little scruffy, unevenly shaven, his hair already growing out of the short cut he usually wore it in. His eyes were bloodshot and hollowed, more than a little manic-looking.
"You look like you haven't slept, Hanover. That's not good for you, you know." Clair watched him from behind Otto, unconsciously mimicking his usual threatening pose, hands clasped behind her back.
"Who's to blame for that, I wonder?" Hanover replied, glaring at Octavius. "What do you want?"
"Time for you to earn your keep," said Clair, stepping around Otto and into the room. "I'm sorry it took this long, but I had to redo some of the steps that were in progress when you took it in your head to interfere with our lives."
"What do you mean, 'earn my keep?'" He looked apprehensive, now.
"You didn't think I was just keeping you around for the fun of it, did you?" she said. "I'm a scientist, Hanover. I have experiments to run. And I need a subject."
"You ... you wouldn't..." Hanover suttered, paling and backing up until he found himself in a corner. He glanced at the door and at the window and back at the door, seeing Octavius lounging against it, smirking. "What'd you do to her?" he demanded, his fear momentarily forgotten.
Clair made an irritated sound and snapped two actuators forward to grab Hanover's wrists, dragging him forward.
Fear seized him, squeezing his breath, and he dug his heels against the floor almost instinctively. The look in her eyes told him all compassion had been burned away by her association with Octavius. They looked back at him, mirrors that told him nothing that lay within. Like a shark's eyes. As cold and unfeeling as the metal that grasped his wrists. He struggled harder, panicking now, his teeth clenched. Unbidden, all kinds of images of what she would do to him flickered through his mind--would she take out his brain and make it dream in a jar? Implant something in it to control him? Dissect him completely? Dissolve his neurons while he screamed? He couldn't bear to think of the pain that would await him. The tearing and cutting. But what he did know was that he did not want to die.
That thought clamped down on him and he pulled with all his might, the bones of his wrists grinding as he fought against the restraining actuators.
"You're just going to hurt yourself," she said impatiently, leaning forward as the actuators twisted around him and lifted him off the floor. "Scared, Hanover?"
"Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of what you've become!" he gasped, still struggling to free himself.
She laughed at that. "Glad to know you still have at least some of your wits intact. The results wouldn't be conclusive if you didn't." Grinning, she looked over her shoulder at Otto, still standing in the doorway.
Octavius watched her, saying nothing, almost distractedly returning her smile. It all seemed strangely surreal to him, watching someone else do the exact same kind of things he did. He stepped back, allowing her room to bring the captive out of the room and to the stairway.
She carried Hanover, who never stopped struggling, down to the basement and set him down on the table, pinning him with her actuators while she fastened restraints on his ankles and wrists.
He continued to struggle as she did this, his gaze full of fear.
"Come now," she said, turning away and picking up the vial of Zombie Virus. "I'm not going to cut you up, if that's what you're worried about." The vial fit into the depression near the head of her actuator as a needle extended from its claw. "Just a simple shot."
"What's in there?" he asked, his breathing fast and shallow now. A cold sweat stood out on his pale face.
"You've read my file, haven't you?" she said, untangling a tangle of leads from her Tesla scanner and holding his head still to place them. "The Neuroregenesis Serum. I'm testing, and that's where you come in, some new applications for it."
"What ... what new applications?" he asked, shaking now, his eyes rolling, following the movement of her hands as she fastened the leads. "What're you going to do to me?"
She shook her head. "Warning you might influence the results of the test." She fixed the last lead in place and stepped back around to the side of the table, fetching an alcohol-soaked swab from a jar on the counter and wiping the inside of his elbow. He tried to twitch his arms away, but the restraints wouldn't allow for it. He clenched his fists, and pulled. They held fast. Still staring at her, he made a panicked sound, and the needle caught his eye. He watched it while she tied a tournequit around his arm.
She positioned the needle and slid it into the vein, injecting half the vial's contents before releasing the band and withdrawing, stepping back and reaching behind her for a stool while an actuator brought her her notebook and a pen. She became aware that Octavius was standing behind her, intently watching the other, his arms folded and his face expressionless. He glanced down at her.
She perched on her stool, glancing back at Otto, then watching Hanover and the screens on her Tesla carefully. The green lines were steady in their patterns. Octavius' brows raised as the lines began to squiggle along the screen and Hanover sweated and moaned, his eyes screwed shut.
The lines spiked and squiggled and waved and Hanover moaned again, his hands twitching. His head swam and his breath came in loud, panicked gasps, his heart galloping. His consciousness wavered and fear seized him again. "No..." he moaned breathlessly as the world vibrated around him. "I don't wanna die... I don't wanna die ... I don't wanna die..." could be heard under his breath. He twitched harder, still muttering in a constant stream, even as the lines spiked and squiggled even more violently. "I don't wanna die I don't wanna die I don't wanna die I DON--NNGGAAH!" His back arched and the readout suddenly spiked wildly.
Clair kept her eyes on the screen, only glancing occasionally at Hanover as she took notes. A muscle jumped in her jaw when he cried out, and she quickly fixed a pulse monitor on him. It was racing, but not dangerously so, as long as it didn't last long.
He twitched and cried out again, his brain slipping, forming holes, great yawning chasms he could strangely feel, and that terrified him. He shook violently, his squeezed eyes tearing, his hands clenching, and he moaned the same stream of words but he couldn't hear it over the thundering of his heart and the rushing in his head.
Clair made a surprised sound as one of the most violently spiking lines suddenly went flat, then another. "Look at that," she said softly. "It's working."
Octavius leaned in closer, watching the lines. "What has it done, specifically?" he asked, curiously.
She tapped the screen. "His Brocha's Area's gone dark. There was hyperstimulation, increased activity, and then complete failure. I didn't expect it to be so sudden, but that's exactly the result I was looking for." She looked back at Hanover. "As long as he survives."
True, now Octavius could make out what Hanover was muttering, and it was complete nonsense. He raised his brows and looked at Clair again. "No connection between the language and speech centers now." She turned on a tape recorder on the counter next to her, taping Hanover's babbling. "Aphasia"
Octavius leaned over her shoulder, looking between the Tesla readouts and Hanover. "And this is what you plan to do with Jameson?" he asked.
"Mmhmm." She nodded, taking more notes. "Now that I think about it, though, I don't think it'll change the headlines much." Octavius laughed outright at that.
Hanover, for his part, had calmed enough to hear, and what he heard he didn't like. "Orange," he slurred. "Push the string cap wobble... wh--" he trailed off, realising what his mouth was saying didn't match his thoughts. No, damnit! Think! "Can't stop the bubbles... AAAGH!" He squeezed his eyes shut again, his fists and teeth clenched.
Clair looked up at him and slid off her stool to come and stand over him. She shone a penlight in each eye, checking the dilation of his pupils, and looked at the Tesla again. Normal brain activity across the board except for the two flat lines. "Can you tell me your name?" she asked.
"Watermelon catch flip..." His face twisted. "GREEN!" He howled, his head dropping back onto the table. He sobbed quietly. Bitch... You'll get what you deserve...
She turned back to Otto. "Brocha's is a curious thing. You see, he knows what he means to say. But he can't verbalize it at all."
Octavius nodded. "Hmm. I see the potential in such a thing," he rumbled. His gaze slid back to Hanover. "Tell me more."
She smiled and held up a hand. "Watch this. I hope this works the way I think it will." She turned back to her subject. "Now, can you tell me my name?"
"Mnh?" Hanover siad, glaring at her.
"What's my name?" She repeated.
"Clair Holmes..." he mumbled, then screwed his face up again.
"See," she said, turning back to Otto. "Names, peoples' names, get their very own part of the brain, seperate from all other language. Except, curiously enough, for your own name, which is treated like any other word."
Octavius smirked at that. "Interesting, isn't it, how the brain works," he mused.
"Absolutely fascinating," Clair agreed. She looked down at Hanover, but he could tell that she wasn't looking at him, but rather visualizing the grey matter inside his skull. Hanover closed his eyes again, exhausted. It just wasn't fair...
Clair set about disconnecting the leads, peeling them off his head one by one after turning off the scanner. "I want to observe him for a few more days, make sure that the affected area won't begin recovering on its own. It shouldn't, but I want to be sure."
Octavius nodded. "That only makes sense."
She picked up her clipboard again. "Hanover," she said, drawing his attention. "I need to ask you some questions. Simple, yes or no. You can answer with a nod or a shake of the head. I just need to check that your intelligence isn't impaired. Well, such as it is, at any rate."
He scowled blackly at her, but nodded.
"You are Brian Hanover, FBI Agent, badge number 56973?" she asked, deliberately getting the number wrong.
He shook his head.
"Good." She made another note, then read the number correctly. She asked a few more questions, taking clinical notes at each of his responses.
"Wonderful. Now. Aside from the aphasia, are you still noticing any ill effects? Any headache, pain?" He shook his head again, still scowling, his eyes still wet.
She nodded. "Good. Now, if I unfasten your restraints, can you cooperate and walk back to your room, so I don't have to carry you again?"
If looks could kill, Octavius would have had to carry Clair's liquefied remains out in a bucket. But after a moment of glaring, Hanover nodded slowly. Two actuators undid the restrains, ankles first, then wrists. One lingered on the wrist that was still splinted straight, holding it gently but firmly. He sat up, glowering, and pulled his arm close to his chest, sliding off the table. His legs wobbled but held, and he made his way to the door, still scowling.
"Pull all the faces you want, Hanover," Clair said, looking down at her notebook. "Your situation won't change unless I decide to change it."
His fists clenched, and his expression didn't change, but he went quietly to the spare bedroom again.
Clair followed him and locked him in again almost distractedly, still writing down details. Back down in the lab, she calmly took the half-emptied vial out of its socket in her actuator, labelled it, and put it away, her fingers lingering on it before she closed the case. Then she spun, grinning. "It works!"
"Indeed it does," Octavius answere, smiling slightly.
She did her little victory dance, made odder by the presence of the actuators, and stopped before she threatened the glass in the room, throwing her arms around Otto. "It works perfectly!" she said, beaming up at him. "Just the Brocha, and nothing else." This sudden glomping took him by surprise, but after a beat, Octavius put his arms around her, simply enjoying her nearness. Her joy was, while not infectious, at least something that brought a smile to his own face.
"As soon as I'm sure that the effects are stable," she said, letting go and turning back to the notebook, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "I want to go ahead and infect Jameson. I need to think of a plan for that. Something subtle, something that will look incidental."
He sat on a chair and looked at her. "That just depends on your definition of subtle, first of all," he said.
She looked up, thinking. "Well, first of all, it's still my goal that Oscorp get the blame for this, so obviously, it has to be delivered as inconspicuously as possible. A needle-prick in a crowd would work best, or at night, while he sleeps."
"Hmm." The chair swivelled slowly. "I question the feasability of it, but it can be discussed." He looked at the door. "You've got time."
She sat back on her actuators, looking at him. "Well, what would you do?"
The chair swivelled idly in the other direction, turning him to face her. "Hmmm. I don't usually engineer things so that the blame is pinned on someone else," he mused. "And I don't usually work with things like viruses, not for a very long time, really. What I'd probably do is hire someone to go in and make the injection, someone who, to all evidence, looked to be in the employ of Oscorp."
She made a considering sound, and her actuators set her back on her feet. She paced back and forth across the lab. "That would work, I think. I could hire an actual Oscorp employee, for that matter."
"Every corporation's got its willing traitors and double agents. Ferreting them out is something else entirely, though."
Clair blinked. "I know absolutely nothing about corporate politics."
"It's irritating to deal with, to say the least, and time-consuming. Unless you want to bring this plan to fruition two years from now, you'd be better off hiring someone off the street and then hacking into Oscorp's records and forging an employee history."
Clair's shoulders sank. "That's not what I wanted to hear," she said reasonably. Then she shrugged. "We don't have to do this today. I want to celebrate."
"Celebrate?" he echoed, looking at her.
She smiled. "You are familiar with the concept, right?"
"Of course I am," Octavius replied a little uncomfortably.
She stretched her arms above her head, thinking. "I haven't seen a movie in more than a year."
"A movie?" He echoed, raising one eyebrow. "How do you plan to do this?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you know what your most recognizable feature is? Aside from the actuators."
"Do tell," he said, amusement creeping into his voice.
She pulled something out from under a counter. "It's that great black coat of yours." This was a dark blue jacket, unremarkable in every way, and a grey cap.
Octavius eyed the jacket. "Is it, now?"
"Absolutely," she said, grinning. "No one's seen you without it since the spandex days."
He reached out and plucked the jacket from her hands. "Hmmmm. You've a point."
"You might want to wear a shirt under it, though. It's cold out there."
The eyebrow again "You don't say." He turned and headed up the stairs to the bedroom.
She grinned and got on her lab computer briefly, looking up show-times, before following him upstairs. She joined him in the bedroom, and took the actuators off. "That's the next project," she said, half to herself while hunting for her own shirt. "Figure out a way to make that hurt less."
"Do let me know when you figure something out," Octavius observed drily. In a black shirt and black trousers, the blue jacket on over that, he looked... very un-Octavian.
"You look absolutely unlike yourself," she said approvingly, twisting her hair up under a hat once her shirt was on. She left her glasses in her pocket and shrugged into a red wool coat, presumably from the same unnamed source as his jacket, and almost as far away from her usual shades of grey as one could get.
"Hmm," he said. "That's a sufficient enough change, I think." He eyed the hat she'd handed him.
"Hmm," she said, looking at him. "I think we need to do something about your hair."
Looking up from the hat, he eyed her, next. "I daresay this... hat is enough."
She cocked her head. "You look like a retired rock star. Come on, just let me pull it back."
He rumbled at that until finally consenting. "Oh, very well. But don't get carried away."
She grabbed a hair brush and stood on the bed behind him so she could reach, running it through his hair with long strokes. "S'not fair," she comented lightly. "Your hair's still longer than mine."
He closed his eyes. "Mmmm," he rumbled. "That can be changed, you know."
"No way," she said, trading the brush for her fingers, combing it back from his temples and dividing it. Her fingers lingered in it as she began the braid at the nape of his neck, enjoying the feel of the dark strands slipping through her fingers. "I like it long."
"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to turn to look at her.
She held onto the braid, moving her hand with his head so it didn't pull, and smiled sheepishly at him. "I've always wanted to see what you'd look like with a braid. Please?"
"Hnnn... Oh, very well."
She made a happy sound and finished the braid quickly, tying it with a black elastic and jumping down off the bed so she could look at him. "Well, you don't look Chinese."
He looked at it in a mirror. It didn't look terrible, but it wasn't something he was going to want to continue wearing. "Hnnnn," he said, flicking it behind his shoulder again.
She snerked at him. "Just for tonight, Otto. It doesn't look bad."
He raised his eyebrows at her again. "Really, now?" he asked drily.
"But... if you're adding it to your daily wardrobe, you might want to brush up on your kung fu." That said, she immediately slipped out of the room.
There was a pause as he blinked at her retreating form. Damnit, but that woman was insufferable sometimes. But he didn't want to even think about what things would be like without her flitting about and making jokes. He followed her out the door.
She checked that she had her wallet and pulled on her gloves before opening the door and heading out. It was cold outside, but finally dry. She tucked her chin into the collar of her coat against the wind.
Behind her, he shut the door and looked up and down the street. No-one was about. That was good. He caught up with her, falling into step beside her and unconsciously slowing his pace. A year of living with her had ensured that much adaptation, at least. "And what are you planning for us to see, tonight?" he asked airily.
She kept her mouth hidden behind the collar of her coat, but her eyes betrayed her smile. "Star Trek Nine."
"Wh--" he started, then he blinked. "They're up to nine, now?"
She nodded, laughing. "Come on, Otto, I've seen you watch tv. How do you not know this? They'll keep making them forever, I expect. This is the first movie with the new cast in it, though."
He sighed. "I don't watch that much television," he grumped. "But you're right, they probably will."
Clair grinned. "As long as there are trekkies, Otto, there will be Star Trek movies."
"Mark that on my list of things to eradicate, then," he harrumphed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. A sideways glance followed that and a wry smile.
"Don't look at me," she said, chuckling. "I'm no trekkie." She didn't sound very convincing, and she changed the subject. "I want to see that list."
"It's rather long," he said looking ahead again. "Just a list of people who, in one way or another, would improve the stock of humanity only through their absence."
"How Darwinian of you," she said drily.
"Quite," he replied. Then he looked at her. "What, you don't agree?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. I can name a few people who belong on your list. Most of them are probably already there, though."
"Oh? Do tell." He pulled the cap a little lower over his eyes as they reached an area with more streetlamps and dug in the pockets of his jacket until he found a pair of shades.
She hummed the first few bars of "Sunglasses at night" before answering him. "Well, Osborn is first, obviously. The man should never have been allowed to reproduce. And Jameson, Hanover, and Brandon, just to name a few."
"Hmmm," he said. "Very specific, that," he replied.
"Oh, and the bug, of course."
He chuckled briefly at that. "Well, I"m not sure if humaity as a whole would be improved without the arachnid, but that's another discussion. However, I'm sure the world would be a much better place without, oh, let's see, people who can't keep their children quiet in public without resorting to the same loud, whiny behaviour, anyone who uses the word "like" more than once in a sentence, the entire clientele of any given Starbucks, Atkins dieters..." he trailed off, that same smile still on his face.
"Hey," she said with amused indignance. "I used to drink at Starbucks."
"Seeing as how you couldn't walk a block in any given direction in Seattle without encountering one, I doubt you had much choice, so you're excused," he answered. "Oh, and those who look as though they ought to be standing on a streetcorner and asking passing drivers if they want 'a good time.'" This last he overenunciated, his eyebrows raised.
They reached the small cinema as he said this. "Like them?" she asked, angling her head towards a group of teenaged girls who were clustered together. For warmth, she supposed, since none of them were wearing clothes that covered what they were meant to. She stuck her hands deeper into her pockets and shivered, just looking at them, and got in the line to buy tickets.
"Hnnn, yes."
"Good to know you wouldn't prefer me to dress like that," she said, making a face.
"I'd be mortified," was his reply.
"So would I." She paid for their tickets and headed in. "What do you want to drink with your popcorn?"
"Hm?" he said, looking back at her from staring into the crowd He could have sworn he saw..but that was impossible. "Oh, anything," he said vaguely. Or was it?
She ordered the snacks and rejoined him, looking up at him, then gazing around the lobby to see what he was looking at. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing. I just thought I saw someone."
"Who?" she asked absently, handing him his soda and heading into the theater, looking for seats. It wasn't crowded, and she edged along a row towards the very middle of the room, making sure there would be no one tall in front of her.
He shook his head. "I thought I saw Parker, of all people." Following Clair into the seats, he sat next to her and leaned back. Pulling the shades off, he sighed, rubbing his eyes.
She leaned back, propping her feet up and settling the popcorn between them. "Here? That would be too big a coincidence, don't you think?"
"Probably." He scooped up a handful of popcorn. "But I wouldn't put it past him."
"You have a point," she conceded as the last few stragglers came in and the lights dimmed. A couple sat right behind them, murmuring to each other. Clair sipped her drink and leaned against the arm of her seat towards Otto, watching the previews. "Something else you should think about eradicating," she murmured. "Companies that over-advertise."
"Heh. And no-one would notice they were gone, because something else would worm its way into their small attentions, instead," he replied quietly.
She snerked at that, tossing a piece of popcorn up and catching it in her mouth. "Very true."
The movie started and Octavius felt Clair lean against him, her small warmth relaxing. Idly, he pushed popcorn in his mouth and started a running count of all the scientific mistakes or glossings-over.
She smiled at his constant small mutterings. "Not to mention that the human brain just can't do that," she pointed out during one scene. "If it could, we wouldn't have met in the first place."
"True, true," he murmured in reply. Silence again, until he pointed again. "Oh, now that's just blatantly wrong."
"I wouldn't know," she said, stealing a sip of his soda. "Your department."
"Hey, couldja keep it down up there?" a voice hissed behind them. Octavius looked back curiously, then stared.
Clair turned around, looking between the seats, and almost jumped up. Sitting behind them were Peter Parker and a red-head who looked familiar.
"Wh..." Parker stuttered. "Ock? Holmes? What're you two--I mean--villains don't go to movies!" he finally hissed, still staring, wide-eyed. The girl next to him bit her lip nervously. "Uhm, Pete," she started.
Clair cocked an eyebrow at him, surpressing the urge to laugh in his face. "I think the fact that we're here makes you wrong, bug," she whispered back, scowling.
"Well, yeah, but..." he apparently couldn't get past his dumbfoundedness until the girl poked him.
"Just ... leave 'em alone, Pete," she whispered. "Nobody wants a fight." But her green eyes watched Octavius and Clair the whole time.
Clair recognized her now. "Watson," she said softly, her eyes narrowing into a slight scowl. "Mary-Jane Watson, right? The actress?"
"Yes, why?" the other replied, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Do you have any idea how annoying you made high school for me?" She parroted a mincing, ditzy voice. "'So, like, are you related to that actress chick?'"
Mary-Jane's eyes narrowed. "It's not my fault you had stupid classmates. Y'know, Pete was right about you people." He shushed her, but it had already been said.
"'You people'?" Her eyes narrowed further. "What did Pete say about us?"
"Oh, nothing," Parker replied, but by that time both Clair and Octavius were turned around and looking at them, the movie going on unregarded behind them.
"Yes, do tell, Parker," Octavius drawled. Far from sounding insulted, like Clair, his tone was one of amusement.
"He said your type are always ready to blame other people for your problems," Mary-Jane hissed heatedly, not liking Clair's expression one bit.
"Hmm," said Clair. "That's what Hanover said."
"Hanover?" Peter echoed, his ears pricking. "When did you talk to Hanover? He's been missing for three weeks."
"Imagine that," Clair said, glancing sideways to Ock. "He must have taken a vacation. Gone home to Seattle, maybe."
"It's been three weeks of peace without Hanover showing up," Octavius added.
"No, wait," Clair said, smirking. "I may have heard something from him. Once or twice."
Peter didn't look entirely convinced, and Mary-Jane didn't look as though she liked Clair's smug look at all. "When's the last time you saw him?" he asked.
Clair tapped her chin, apparently thinking, then shrugged. "I don't remember. I'm just the sidekick. Don't you read the Bugle?"
"Nice to know Jameson isn't behind on his stupid names," Parker groused.
Clair rolled her eyes. "He will be soon. Actually, no, it won't make much difference."
A prod from Octavius. Parker narrowed his eyes. "You still on about that virus thing?"
Clair looked up at Otto, then back at Peter. "I've been working on 'that virus thing' since before we met, bug. You're a fool if you think I've given up because of a few setbacks."
"Whatever you're planning, you know I'll be there to stop you," Parker hissed. Behind Clair and Octavius, something exploded, the screen flickering more brightly and outlining the determined set to his features.
"Good luck with that," she said sarcastically. "Now, if you don't mind, I came here to watch a movie." Octavius made an amused sound at that and turned round, settling back into his seat and getting comfortable. Clair cast a final glance between the two and turned around as well, leaning against Otto and offering him the popcorn again. She was finding it strangely hard not to laugh out loud, even though it was a tense, tragic scene in the movie.
They could hear a "what was that all about" kind of conversation whispered behind them, but Octavius ignored it. These kinds of things were all part of the game, after all, and the arachnid and his girl were playing it so well. He smiled contentedly.
"You're quiet tonight," Clair commented after a while, during a lull in the action onscreen.
"Just enjoying a night out," he replied inscrutably, his eyes on the screen. Phasers fired and transporters flared and he didn't even comment on the wooly science.
"Hm." She watched him out of the side of her eyes a bit longer, then turned them back on the screen, where the crew of the Enterprise was, once again, saving themselves with faulty physics and flawed logic.
He noticed her tenseness. "Oh, calm down," he whispered, leaning toward her. "Nothing will happen, he has a secret identity to protect from those who still don't know it, after all."
Deliberately, she relaxed slightly and resisted glancing back again. "Of all the theaters in this city, he had to pick this theater," she muttered, leaning against his shoulder.
"Again, that depends on whether you beleive in coincidence," he murmured.
"I'm beginning to," she answered back. "It seems to play a rather important role in my life."
"Hmmm," he rumbled. One arm slipped around her and he fell quiet. She settled against him comfortably, slipping her hand into his where it wrapped around her waist. The movie went on, ending eventually with the expected huge crash of special effects and drama. Unwinding slowly, she stretched in her seat and offered Otto the last of the popcorn. He blinked at her, appearing to have almost dozed off, and looked behind him again, where Parker and Mary-Jane were already gathering their things and beating a hasty retreat. He laughed at that.
She watched them more seriously. "Do you think he's hoping to cut us off on our way home?"
"Hmm," he said, walking out into the aisle. "We could take a different way home." He seemed terribly confident.
"You sound far too sure of yourself," she said, sounding somewhat irate as she followed him. "I don't want to have to move again already. I like this house."
"I doubt he'll chase us out quite yet," he said. "It's not in his idiom."
"You're the expert," she said, but she stayed very close to him as they left the theater.
"We'll take a different way home and keep an eye out for Spider-man, how's that?" he asked, curling an arm around her.
"Sounds like a good idea," she said, leaning into him. Reaching the street, they turned left, rather than right, tracing a circuitous path around the quiet neighborhood.
The walk was uneventful until they reached a point maybe a block and a half away from the house, and a blue and red-clad figure dropped down from a streetlamp on a webline. Upside-down, Spider-man regarded Octavius through the inscrutable lenses of his mask. "Going home, Otto?" he asked.
Clair breathed out sharply through her nose and muttered something profane. "Can't you take a night off? Where'd you leave your girlfriend?"
"No, I can't, and she's safe," he replied, eyes narrowing behind the lenses.
"Spider-man, is there a point to your visiting like this? I highly doubt it's a social call," Octavius said smoothly.
He ker-pointed, an almost comically accusing gesture. "I know you're up to something, you and your girlfriend, here."
"Yet until we actually do something, you cannot act. That's how it's played, Spider-man."
"Yeah, well... I'll be watching you... Both of ya."
"Come on, bug," Clair said crossly. "Go back to your date. I daresay you stand her up often enough as it is."
"You... where do you... yeah, well, that's nonea your busines," he finally replied.
Clair rolled her eyes, amused by the bug's seeming incompetence, even though she knew that at least half of it was intentional.
"Oh, do go home, Spider-man. I assure you that you won't miss anything," Octavius told him.
"Yeah, I wouldn't believe you if you told me water was wet, Ock," the arachnid replied. "But, as it looks like you aren't up to anything now, I'll just retreat and keep and eye on you." And, with a thwipp, he was gone.
Clair looked after him. "You know, you and he have the strangest set of rules between you."
He nodded and continued walking. "It comes from being enemies for so long."
She tucked her hands into her pockets. "Makes sense. I remember Parker as being a very smart man, full of ideas about chivalry and nobility and right and wrong. Looks like nothing's changed." She snorted slightly. "Well, except for the wall-crawling."
"Hmmm," Octavius replied, appearing lost in thought for the moment.
Clair leaned against him slightly as they walked. "What's on your mind? The bug?"
"The fact that he's likely been this way all his life," Octavius mused.
"Some people," she said slowly, thinking about it. "Never have to change much. They can follow a track for their entire life and never have to step off it without knowing that they'll step back on again."
"Whereas others cannot?"
"Right. Some people can't do that at all. When you were in high school, did you ever imagine that you'd be doing what you do now?"
"Hmmm," he rumbled. "Not seriously."
"Neither did I," she said, looking forward again. "Until the day you took me from that lab, the only future I had in mind for myself was exactly what I was doing there. Endless experiments, and occasionally a success."
"Truth be told, it was more or less the future I'd had in mind, as well."
"I'm rather glad things didn't work out that way, myself," she said easily.
"You are?" he asked, looking at her.
"Of course I am," she said, surprised that he had to ask. "This, all of it, is infinitely better than living forever in the lab of some huge corporation. I'd probably be working for Oscorp even now."
"I suppose, in some ways, it is."
"And anyway," she continued, blushing slightly. "I wouldn't be with you. And that's enough."
He looked at her, his expression unreadable, for a few moments before curling an arm around her. "Yes," he said with a slight smile.
She leaned against him, happy. The rest of the walk home was peaceful, quiet, and spider-free.