Blinds closed, washing the room in gray to match his brain. Ceiling fan on the lowest, slowest setting. Steady traffic hum, bleeding in through the cracks around the window.
It's Saturday, 11:30 a.m.
Vic's still in bed.
Staring at the touchscreen embedded in his forearm, dark mode on.
JEMMA: 415-746-624
His finger hovers over the green cell phone icon. Pulls away.
Backs out of the contacts app completely. Re-enters. Re-selects her name.
Hovers.
With a groan, Vic shuts the screen off and drapes his arm over his eyes. Ignoring the clang of metal against metal, reverberating through his skull.
It's a gorgeous, sunny Saturday. She's busy. Probably robbing a bank or stealing top-secret scientific equipment. Hanging out with the HIVE Five or… Or with someone else, for that matter.
Vic yanks the covers over his head, exhaling angrily into the tent they form.
Idiot. Jealous.
She's allowed to do her own thing. Not like he has a claim on her or some stupid, macho thing. She isn't even his girlfriend.
Vic closes his eyes and lets go. Gravity folds the sheets closer around him, a fragile barrier against the rushing, screaming world.
She isn't even his.
"Sometimes I say stuff. Dumb things I don't mean."
Whisper light, Jemma's fingers trace the circuitry of Vic's wrists. The touch carving new patterns into silver turned malleable under her command. "Like what?"
"I yell at Gar. I'm not mad at him, I'm just…" Vic shrugs one shoulder, careful not to disturb her head where it rests on his chest.
Jemma waits a couple seconds. "...Just mad?"
"Yeah. Mad at other stuff. Not him." His voice drops. "I think I'm too hard on him."
"Maybe you should tell him sometime."
Vic lets out a sigh. Follows the silent spin of the fan above, barely visible in the hazy gray of twilight filtering through his bedroom window. "Maybe I should."
Her fingertips glide down his wrist to intertwine their fingers. Her thumb trails over the metallic joints of his hand. Exploring them, almost.
"I guess it's my turn now."
Vic cranes his neck. "To what?"
The fading light glimmers in her eyes. "To confess something."
His breath catches. Stolen. "If you want to."
"I'd never seen anyone before you."
Vic's jaw works silently. "Never… dated anyone?" The childish surge of hope is hard to smother. Am I the only one?
"Well, yes, actually. I suppose that's true too. But it's not what I meant."
He watches as Jemma lifts their linked hands toward the ceiling, turning them over. Examining them. "What did you mean?"
She presses her lips together thoughtfully. "People are puzzles. Problems to be solved and fixed, like logic games or calculus."
Vic furrows his brow.
"That's how I see them, anyway." The corner of her mouth tugs up, eyes still on their hands. "But you're different."
Chest tightening, Vic counts five languid turns of the fan. A question in his heart he doesn't dare bring to his lips. "Some people might need to be solved." A glance cast toward the living room, where a crumpled envelope lies unopened at the bottom of a trash can.
"Not you, Vic." Turning her head, Jemma plants a lazy kiss on his arm. "Never you."
Emotion swells hot in his throat. "Remember when you found me in the living room? Freaking out about stuff I couldn't control?"
"Empathy doesn't make you broken," she says softly.
"What does it make me?"
The question, rising and expanding, fighting toward the surface: What do you see? Who am I, when you look at me?
A rustle of the covers as Jemma rolls over and props herself up on elbows. Still so close, her side still pressed against his, filling his body with lazy, pounding warmth. And her eyes: drinking him in.
Outside, the last clinging shreds of light long faded. Inside, a dueted glow of robotic red and electric pink casting soft-edged shadows across the walls.
Their gazes lock.
Jemma's serious. Careful, as she answers.
"Beautiful." She shakes her head slowly. Never looking, never breaking away. "More than anyone I've ever met."
Vic slides his hand from hers. Lifts it to her cheek. Jemma closes her eyes and leans into the touch.
She has no idea how much he aches to believe her.
"Why did you start this?" With his thumb, Vic slips a strand of hair behind her ear.
The accent, the gentle lilt, falls into her words. "Because I thought you the most interesting of all the puzzles I'd found." Her eyes flutter open. Dart to his mouth, for just a moment. "That's what I thought. Then."
"Now?" His thumb returns to rest against her cheek. Her lips, softly parted, are bare inches away. Bold electricity courses through him. He brushes his thumb over her mouth, just once.
Her eyes drop, lashes hiding them from view. "I think…" She shakes her head. Lets out a breathy laugh. "It's hard to put into words…"
What Vic wouldn't give to know the thoughts running through her mind. To hold his breath and plunge into them head first. If she would let him. If she would only let him.
Jemma's breath slips across his hand. She dips her head, still shaking it. "I'm sorry, I'm not avoiding the question…"
"I know. I know." Vic begs his fingers not to tremble, running them through her hair as gently as his micromotors allow. With every ounce of precision his transistors can muster. "It's okay."
Just letting me see you like this… To know you're vulnerable too, that I'm not alone here…
He realizes it all at once, the sun ducking out from behind clouds to flood a cool canyon with a shimmering river of warmth.
Here, in a dark room, the sullen gray is long gone. The crumbling rot in his chest. His heart beats fast, pulse steady in his neck. Drowning in the simple luxury of the moment, sinking mattress beneath him, Jemma's warmth above and next to him.
He's alive with her.
"You solve me."
She shakes her head, hair turned to silk and gliding through his fingers. "You don't need to be solved. You just need the freedom to be."
"Then you set me free."
"Vic." Her brow furrows. "I can't. I don't have the ability to do that."
His hand falls from her face. "Why are you fighting me on this?"
"I don't want you to believe the wrong thing. Not when it will hurt you."
What are you afraid I believe? That you'll stay? Are you trying to tell me not to rely on you? That this is only temporary?
He exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring.
"Vic…" Jemma tilts her head, trying to catch his eyes. "Look at me."
"I'm pretty tired." One, two, three rotations. The fan keeps turning. "If it's okay with you, I'm gonna turn in." He sets his jaw. "Up to you if you stay or go."
"Your apartment," she says quietly. "I think it's up to you."
Numbness spreads still and smooth across his brain. His eyes drift to her.
Jemma studies him a moment. When she lies back down, she gives him space. Shifting inches and miles away. Eyes relaying a message he can't read.
"I'll stay."
Vic counts rotations for hours. Waiting to fall asleep in his clothes, covers kicked aside, a ghost of warmth lingering against his skin.
He doesn't spare the opposite side of the bed another glance.
"There's something we're missing."
Dick's footsteps pace, tapping loud and frustrated in even meter. A worried frown marks Kori's face as she watches. Probably wishing he would sleep for once in his life.
"Man, take a rest. It's one in the morning." Vic throws a hand toward the clock.
"We're better than ever." Dick plants his palms on the table, staring down at the robbery photos captured by his uniform camera. He grits his teeth. "But they're still slipping through our fingers. Slade. HIVE. Are they working together?"
HIVE shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be pulling off bigger and bolder stunts in broad daylight and getting away with it, loot in tow more often than not. The Titans are better than that.
"We need to find their new base of operations." Dick jabs a blurred shot of the HIVE Five cutting a quick exit. "Take them down from the source."
Vic could use cell towers to pinpoint Jemma's location and, therefore, the new HIVE academy. He could.
"If we catch just one of them…"
"Dude." Gar stares at Dick. "And do what? They're not talking. Not even the dumb ones are that dumb."
Dick narrows his eyes at the table.
Slowly, lightly, Kori touches his shoulder. "Robin…"
He jerks his head. Just now realizing she's there. "What–?"
"Sleep." She fixes him with a look, firm yet pleading. "Please do not do this to yourself."
Dick blinks, eyebrows still lifted. Still surprised. His gaze rolls across the meeting room, to each teammate and quickly away. Suddenly self-conscious.
"Yeah." His hand slips off the table. He takes a step back. "Okay."
Kori opens the door while Dick casts one final look over his shoulder. At the table scattered with images. At the mask of Deathstroke and the taunting grins of the HIVE Five.
And he walks away.
Kori follows, Gar and Raven at her heels exchanging glances. Tara exits last, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in her pockets. Never quite sure how to react to team conflict.
The lock clicks softly behind her, cutting off the hallway light. Darkness seeps in to fill the spaces left behind. A solitary lamp struggles to slow the advance. Does it ever really push back the gray?
Vic steps up to the table. The glossy finish glides beneath heavy fingertips as he slips a photograph free from the rest. It sits floppy and light in his grip. Fragile. His eyes trace every figure but keep returning to one.
They could catch the HIVE Five. Vic has a million ideas. Knows exactly how their best fighter moves and how to catch her off guard, or at least make a good attempt. Might be able to get some info on the others while he's at it, maybe even the entire organization if he tried.
Vic sighs. He flips the photo over, returning it to the table face down. And hands in his pockets, hood over his head, he walks away too.
"We need to talk."
Vic looks blankly at Jemma.
"Vic, please. We can't leave things like this."
He doesn't know what that's supposed to mean.
Jemma crosses her arms and glances both ways down the hall. "Can I just… come in?"
Couldn't muster the energy to reply to her text two hours ago, asking if she could come over. Can't even try to send her away now.
Vic releases the doorknob and heads into the living room.
She follows him inside, shutting the door behind. "I'm sorry. I said something that hurt you, and I am so sorry." She hesitates. "You… left this morning before I could apologize. Or explain."
Left like you will, soon enough. I've heard this story before. Just never thought I'd be dumb enough to let it happen to me.
"Nah." Vic grabs the empty soda can from the coffee table and gives it a toss. Through the kitchen doorway and into the bin. Nothin' but net. "You were right. It's a bad idea to depend on each other."
Someday, you're gonna vanish. Someday, you're gonna see me and act like you don't know me. Just like on the battlefield.
Jemma exhales slowly. Like the wind being knocked out of her. "That's not what I meant. Not at all. I just… I wanted you to know that it's you." Talking fast now, like she's worried he's going to cut her off. "The progress you're making, learning not to bottle everything inside. That's all you. Not me. I'm only trying to do what's right for you."
Vic whirls on her. A pang of anger shoots across his brain like lightning, the blaring siren of a dumb response about to leave his stupid mouth.
"What, like you're my girlfriend or something?"
Jemma's eyes widen. Her hands, caught mid-gesture, sink to her sides.
"I… thought I was."
Tables reversed. World flipped upside down. Now it's Vic who can't breathe as he gapes like a total fool.
"You're not– I thought maybe–" His chest tightens with each stutter, compressing his heart until the words are forced out. "This– It isn't a game?" He laces his fingers at the back of his head, eyes leaping around the room before landing on her. A weak laugh leaves his throat. "This isn't payback for tricking you as Stone?"
Jemma winches. Actually pulls away, like his words were a whetted knife, and Vic's stomach drops. Especially when it isn't the anger he would more than deserve that follows her reaction.
It's anguish.
"No. No, of course not." Jemma shakes her head, vigorously. "I wasn't… Okay, I was mad for a while, so I can see why you might think that, but I wouldn't." Folding her arms and pursing her lips, she stares hard at the carpet. "I wouldn't hurt you. Not if I could help it."
An iron band wound tight across his chest loosens.
And Vic breathes out.
"Babe," he entreats, he begs, reaching for her hand and hesitating. "Jem, I'm– I'm sorry. I just… I don't know what to think. About what we're doin' here, about what we are. And that… That scares me." Vic swallows and sets his jaw. "It's a poor excuse for lashing out, I know."
Her lovely eyes trace the length of the room as she shakes her head again, this time with a soft laugh. "I'm sorry too. I've never cared about anyone but myself before." With a hum, Jemma tips her face to the ceiling, arms still crossed tightly and a fragile smile propped on her lips. "I have no idea what I'm doing."
For once, Vic crosses the distance. For once, he reaches out, bleeding heart throbbing as he answers its urgent, magnetic call to draw Jemma close. He can only pray his fingers move gently enough, gingerly and carefully enough as they cup her face.
His breath turns shaky when she shuts her eyes and presses into the touch, expression marked with the same longing that pulses against his veins.
"Vic," she whispers, confesses. Her voice given up on trying to hide the music lent it by her native country. "I should have just told you rather than assume you'd figure it out. But I… Honestly, I thought I was obvious."
Her pulse, rapid and racing under his touch. Her breath, slow and shallow on his neck. His every fiber, straining for her.
"Obvious," Vic says softly. "Jemma." His hands drop to her waist, a vain attempt to steady himself. "What do you want out of this relationship?" His voice catches in his throat, husky with emotion.
Something deep and raw and fiercely panged crosses her face as she locks eyes with him.
"You."
Her palms on his chest are light. The touch delicate, a jarring contrast to her usual casualty.
"I just want you. I–"
Jemma half-smiles. More to herself than to him.
"I love you."
Said with earth-shattering simplicity. As if it couldn't be any more obvious.
Vic hangs by a thread. It hovers translucent and fragile. A single, airy tug on the back of his neck, fighting to hold him back. Whispering of restraint, fear, distrust. Threatening disaster.
Passing headlights push through the drawn curtains, sending light ricocheting through Jemma's eyes.
Vic eases her closer.
Her gaze flicks to his lips.
Vic snaps the thread. With a groan, he pulls Jemma flush to him, head plunging to find her mouth.
He discovers the corner. Her hands at the back of his head guide him, correcting the angle. Finally, suddenly, connection. Mouth to mouth. Chest to chest. Sharing desperate heartbeats and ragged breaths.
Vic expected fire. Aching, consuming passion scarring his heart, spine, lungs, every organ and bone in his body as he burns from the inside out. Alarms blaring, sirens howling, but they're too late.
He expected a drug. Bad for him and he knows it. Too good to resist and he knows it. Should run, but he doesn't.
He expected a lot of things.
He finds bliss.
A second, maybe two. Parting gently, her exhales warming his neck. Her body still pressed against his. Warmth: flooding his blood, slowing his heart, easing the tension from his shoulders and the doubt from his mind.
Safety.
"I love you too," he murmurs.
Realizes how it looks. What she might think.
"I mean, I– I know that's easy to say after…" Vic loses himself in her eyes all over again. "...After a kiss. But I promise." He presses his forehead to hers. "I'll prove it."
Jemma's smiling softly, almost shyly, arms draped across the back of his neck. "I believe you."
"I believe you too." Vic waits until she looks up, catching her eyes and hoping the sincerity shines through. "I trust you, Jem."
She leans forward, lifting onto her toes, and suddenly he's wondering how he lived so long without this. Without knowing that she smiles when she presses her mouth to his, that she likes to kiss long and slow and tender, until they both pull away gasping. How did he ever make it this far without melting into her arms?
Vic knew Jemma was interested in him. Never a doubt about that. Her texts, her eyes, her teasing smirk made that more than clear. But the rest he was always assuming, always second-guessing, never trusting. He never slowed down to try to understand, for the fear he might succeed and have to face what he found.
He's facing it now.
It was more than his genius brain or knock-out good looks. More than his roguish charm or the saccharine taste of forbidden meetings. More than the best he saw in himself.
Vic knew she was interested. He never understood it was in all of him.