JEMMA: nice try handsome. better luck next time
Shaking his head, Vic fights a grin.
VIC: Mm think you need the luck. Kept you on your toes didnt i? Thinkin i'll have you next time.
JEMMA: in your dreams
He rubs the back of his neck. Like she needs to know how true that is.
JEMMA: where tonight
It's either a great idea or the worst he's ever had, this impulse rolling around in his head and shooting down his veins. She could ruin him, if he gave her the chance.
Vic types slowly, mouthing each word. He reads them twice, three times. His thumb hovers over send. Still time to back out.
Click.
VIC: I have a new place.
Three bubbles float at the bottom of his screen as she types. His pulse thunders in his neck (on the human side, at least). It stutters when the reply appears.
JEMMA: oh? where
VIC: An apartment.
Five seconds. Ten. Message marked as read. No bubbles.
Vic sighs and leans back against the charging table, casting a guilty glance around his room.
Quietly humming and empty. No one around to see him flirt with fire.
Another typewriter style click-clack, alerting him to another message.
Vic swallows and glances down.
JEMMA: an apartment
A question? A statement? Is she offended?
VIC: Yeah mine.
Silence.
Panic.
Clarify, clarify.
VIC: I just thought less chance of getting caught. Yknow more private.
More silence.
VIC: And its getting colder out.
Still no bubbles. Man, is he screwing this up. Who knows what she's thinking right now? Way to scare a girl off, Stone.
VIC: Forget about it it was a dumb idea. The park from last time is fine.
Like a little kid, holding his breath. She does things to him.
There's no doubt anymore. That idea? It's the worst.
Click-clack.
Vic exhales. Reads.
And re-reads.
JEMMA: i want to see your new place
His thumbs hover above the virtual keyboard. No taking it back now. Does he want to? It's too hard to translate the thundering, metallic muscle in his chest. Is he excited or afraid?
Is there a difference?
JEMMA: should i bring an apartment warming gift ;)
Vic huffs a laugh.
VIC: Only if its food.
JEMMA: such a boy
JEMMA: address and time?
Last chance.
Vic checks his encryption. Tosses another layer on top.
Not that he doesn't trust Jemma. They've been doing this for almost six months now with never a trace of evidence she so much as mentioned him to her teammates. But they're HIVE, all the same. Vic wouldn't put it past them to monitor every piece of data filtering in and out of their servers.
If he was using his brain, he wouldn't send this message at all.
Click.
The responding electronic tap sounds barely a second later.
JEMMA: see you tonight
Grinning again. And he teases Gar for being whupped. If his buddy ever heard about this–!
Vic frowns. Shakes his head, shrugging off the thought and the pang of guilt trailing behind.
VIC: Looking forward to it, babe.
The dim laughter rises steadily as Vic strides down the hall and into the main ops room. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes his way to the fridge.
"I'm just saying that we don't even really know what we see. Not for sure. Like, we'd have no clue if someone else looked at the same color and saw something totally different."
Gar groans loudly. "C'mon, Tara! If we all learned from the same crayons then we all know the same colors! They come with little labels and everything!"
"Hey, just because we call a color the same thing doesn't mean we see it the same way. My orange could be your purple!"
"What! What color is this?"
"Orange."
"Now you're just screwing with me!"
"Not that this isn't a fascinating conversation," Raven says flatly. Vic can hear her glancing between the two quarrelers. "But it's been your turn for two minutes."
"And you still can't play blue on green," Dick points out.
Sighing, Tara draws a mittful of cards before finally tossing a green on the pile. "Worth a shot."
"More like an abuse of science!" Gar interjects.
"Uno!" Kori shrieks and everyone groans.
Vic chuckles. He bends over to unscrew the top of a new bottle of honey mustard under the counter and out of view of a certain Tamaranean. He's about to create a masterpiece, no interference needed, thank you very much. She has her own bottle to commit culinary crimes with.
"Vic!"
He jumps, slamming his wrist on the counter. The flinch that follows is pure habit, seeing as one of the few bonuses of being mostly metal is no pain. At least in the metal parts.
"What's up?" Gar sidles up next to him, peering around Vic's shoulder.
"Nothin'. Just makin' a sandwich."
"Sweet." Crossing his arms, Gar leans against the counter and waggles his eyebrows. It doesn't look nearly as dashing or convincing as he thinks it does. "Seems to me it's a Mega Mech Madness kind of night."
Vic snorts. "Nah, man. Don't know 'bout you guys, but it's been a day."
"Come on! We trashed Cinderblock. Easy peasy."
"Didn't trash HIVE."
"Dude, you always get so hung up on them. We'll get 'em someday. But tonight–" Gar whips the Gamestation controller from behind his back. "–we play."
"Beast Boy," Dick calls in the universal tone of 'I'm losing so let's get this over with'. "It's your turn."
"Tonight–" Vic shoulders past Gar "–I head home and recharge. Play with Tara."
"But she always wins!"
"Because she's better than you." Raven adds a red card to the stack. "Uno."
Dick sighs and draws four.
Kori stares intently through Vic as he steps toward the doorway. "You will not join us?"
"Not tonight, guys." Vic disappears into the hallway.
Behind him, Gar complains for the seventh time this week about Vic's move. Dick lectures him on privacy and boundaries. Kori jumps in to add that this is especially important now that Vic's 'come of age' (turned eighteen). Raven threatens to move out too if they don't focus on the game.
Vic loves them. He really does. But sometimes it all feels old. The same song over and over, day after day. Sometimes he just wants to sit in the dark and be able to hear his own thoughts for once.
Sometimes he doesn't want to be here at all.
Alibi taken care of, Vic finishes his sandwich on the way to the T-Car (making sure to brush the crumbs off his jeans before entering the vehicle, of course). It's a quarter after seven, traffic is terrible, and his apartment needs an embarrassing-things-lying-around check.
He's got a guest at eight.
Knock. Knock-knock.
Vic springs from the couch, planting a steadying hand on the back when his foot catches on the ottoman. He scowls and forces himself to take a deep breath.
"Cool. You're cool, man."
Pushing off the couch back, he strolls over to the door. Swings it open and flashes what he hopes is his normal, devastatingly charming smile.
"Hey. Uh, welcome."
Was gonna call her 'babe', but in this circumstance? First time inviting her to his place? He better not. Don't want to give her the wrong impression. They haven't really… Y'know. Yet. And he doesn't want her to think he's in a hurry. They might never, actually, that wasn't even on his mind six months ago. It's not what he's after.
He…
He doesn't know what he's after.
Maybe that's why seeing her's always so reassuring. She stands there calm and collected, eyes alight with mischievous amusement, mouth tilted in a coy expression half-smile half-smirk. The tips of her bubblegum pink hair tease her shoulders as she gives him a sideways, knowing look.
Is there significance in the fact she started growing her hair out around the same time they started meeting up? Could she have really guessed how wild it would drive him, wanting to run his fingers through, wondering if it's as silky as it looks?
"Thank you. I considered using the window."
Blinking back to earth, Vic laughs nervously. "I think the hallway is safe. But, uh, just to be sure." He steps back into his apartment, nodding toward the living room. Her shoulder brushes against his as she slips past and his heart kicks into high gear so forcefully he considers overriding its controls.
Jemma turns in a slow circle, arms crossed. That mysterious hint of a smile still curving her lips.
"I try to keep the dust down. Y'know, electronics and all that." Vic gestures vaguely around the living room. "Still waiting on a sale to get a table, but there's plenty of space for a nice one. Another thing about this place, it's close to the power plant. Real easy to route a larger supply than this apartment is supposed to get without drawing too much attention."
Why is he talking about dust? And tables? And the power plant? Come on, man. The less she knows about how much metal and circuitry is in him, the better.
"I've never seen you like this before."
He freezes as Jemma tilts her head. The intensity of her gaze turns him to glass. Not a bad feeling, really, just… intense.
"Usually you're brimming with confidence." She takes a step forward and rests her hands on Vic's hips. Normally he'd fight a shiver, but the touch is so light and unassuming he only blinks down at her.
Her half-smile blooms, lips parting to reveal the tips of her canines. They're sharper than most, as feline as the slender pupils in her narrow eyes, and are probably the reason Jemma's full grin is so rare. But funny enough, against all instincts, seeing those little fangs never fails to fill Vic with the irrational, insatiable desire to kiss her. A wish he's just short of being brave enough to chase.
"But you're so worried about making everything just right." Briefly, Jemma touches her lips to his jaw. "It's endearing."
She pivots away from Vic before he has to come up with a response.
"I brought food, as so graciously promised." Setting a grocery bag that escaped Vic's notice on the breakfast bar, she calls over her shoulder, "How do chocolate strawberries sound?"
He grins, grateful to fall back into their light-hearted repartee. "Best thing I've heard all day."
"And here I thought it was my voice," Jemma pouts. A rhythm, a music steals into her words. The slightest touch of an accent, teasing Vic's eager ears.
"And I thought that was a given." Vic touches her shoulder as he steps into the kitchen, warning her he's passing behind. Impulsively, he presses the lightest of kisses to her temple along the way.
The glance she sends him is bright with curiosity and surprise.
Vic clears his throat and opens the fridge. "How about I make us dinner?"
"It would be the first time." That same wonder brightens her voice, a restless, flickering flame.
What is he doing? What the heck is he doing? Trying to show off? Trying to make this a cute little date? He's a fool. A total fool.
"I'm thinking pizza." Vic pulls out garlic, salami, and cheese, pausing to scan the fridge's other contents. The cool air works to bring down the heat in his face. "What do you like on…"
Jemma has wandered to the other side of the kitchen, peering up at the hanging baskets filled with onions and potatoes. "I didn't know you were a chef."
Vic shrugs. "I had to learn. Raven would burn the kitchen down, BB won't make anything with meat, Robin's too much of a perfectionist, and you don't even want to know what Starfire makes."
Selecting an onion, Jemma sets it next to the other ingredients. "Mind if I help?"
"Oh! Uh, sure. I was going to start by making the crust."
She opens the pantry, eyes flicking across the shelves. "So you need flour."
"Yeah." Vic blinks at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Don't tell me this is your secret hobby too."
Tilting a bag to read the print, Jemma laughs. Her glance is almost shy despite its cool, ever-present humor. "Lucky guess. I know nothing about it."
"That's alright. I also need salt and olive oil. I'll grab the yeast."
She slips effortlessly into the task, scouring the kitchen for whatever he requests. Vic mixes dough and sautés vegetables, attention divided between the meal he's committed to making art and the tingling awareness of her presence.
'Surreal' is the word, if he had to label it. Cooking dinner in his new apartment with his girlfriend; yeah that'd be pretty normal. For most people.
But he's Cyborg. And she's Jinx. Nothing's normal here. His teammates don't even know he's seeing someone. He'd guess the same about hers. Would she even call him her boyfriend?
This all started with Jemma. Texting him after missions, teasing him and calling him handsome. She was the leader, the instigator, no question about it. Still is. Always smooth and confident, ensnaring him with that half-smile and glittering eyes.
Vic never minds. He kinda likes the way she takes charge so casually, arranging midnight meetings in secluded spaces and drawing him in with her winking touch. Likes the way she knows what she wants.
But he also likes it right now. How she looks to him for the next step, ready to follow his lead. The careful precision with which she heeds his every nervous word as he dives into his art, describing everything: the most efficient form of chopping, the merits of pizza stones versus baking sheets, and the perfect proportion of toppings for a crispy, yet fluffy crust.
He likes the way she looks at him when he's talking: quiet and attentive. Listening. Maybe even… impressed?
Him and her. They are a disaster waiting to happen, a secret he's not sure he wants to keep. But tonight it's different. More than fun, or exciting, or dangerous, as they fall into a rhythm.
It's comfortable.
There's familiarity in this, in working together in his kitchen to complete the best, the messiest pizza of his life. Then they sit side by side on the carpet, backs against the wall, enjoying the luxury of a homemade meal and laughing at the tomato sauce on each other's faces. And Vic relaxes. A tension he didn't know existed dissolves into the air, a weight off his shoulders.
They clean up together, too, discussing changes for next time.
Next time.
Whatever this is… Whatever they are… Tonight it feels good.
No, better than that: It feels right.