Chapter nine.
Steven feels like origami gone wrong.
Something is pressing into his neck and he's not really sure which limbs are his arms and which are his legs, or if that's even a relevant question to ask. He opens his eyes slowly as if he might break them with any sudden movement, and snow falls gently onto his eyelashes.
"Are you alive?" The voice comes from far away, somewhere buried, deep within the earth.
"I don't know." Above him he can see the vague, blurred flapping of material in so many colours and patterns, fluttering in the wind like sails on a ship. Maybe he's at sea. That would be nice. He's always wanted to sail the ocean. "Wait – are you alive?" he asks the voice.
"Possibly," says the voice. "It's hard to tell."
Steven feels himself being rolled onto his side and his face smushes against something smooth and soft, like paper. Beneath him, Charlie sits up gingerly, with as much success as a drunkard under a bridge. Charlie groans. "Are they still following us?"
"Don't know," Steven says to the cardboard box and the banana peel that's slipped onto his nose.
Charlie grabs a hold of something, which turns out to be Steven's ribs, and he yelps as Charlie manages to sit up, successfully this time. "That was quite a fall." He holds Steven under the arms and pulls him up.
They sit blinking at each other in the dark recesses of the dumpster. Charlie removes an apple core from Steven's hair, and runs his thumb down Steven's cheek. They grin, stupidly.
"Hey!" A shout from above. They haven't been forgotten.
"So much for the interlude." Charlie grimaces, and hoists Steven over the edge of the dumpster, landing next to him. Instinctively, he grabs Steven's hand, and they run through the alleyway and onto the main road, then into a maze of laneways and sidestreets, overturning boxes of vegetables and nearly running down an group of old women on a corner, until even they couldn't find themselves, let alone the Russian FBI.
"Did we lose them?" Steven gasps, squinting into the distance.
"I think so." Charlie collapses against a wall, and Steven squats down next to him.
"Welcome to the life of a superhero," Charlie says in his TV personality voice. Steven doesn't even know why that's so funny but suddenly laughter is competing with physical exertion for what's left of his lungs.
"It's not that funny."
"Well," Steven manages to say. "I'm alive. You're alive. It's pretty damn hilarious, wouldn't you say?"
Charlie grins, and crosses his arms as looks up and down the little street. Then something out of the corner of his eye makes him turn to Steven, and he pulls him up by the shoulders.
Steven groans. "Oh, no. No more running – "
"Stevie."
"What?"
"Stevie – your glasses. Where are your glasses?"
"Oh gosh, do you think they might have broken when we fell into the dumpster?"
Charlie seems to find some relief in this, and visibly relaxes. Steven thinks about it. "Actually, no. No, I left them in the cell."
"But – " Charlie pushes his hair back. "But – then – on the rooftop – could you see – I mean – "
"What?" The spectacle of Charlie lost for words is both entertaining and unnerving, as Steven realises exactly what Charlie is asking about.
"You couldn't see the balcony."
The balcony? What balcony?
"Not really, no."
"I asked you if we could make it to the balcony and you said yes."
"No." Steven rubs his eyebrow. "No, you asked me if we could make it to the apartment block which I could hardly see and then you asked me if I trusted you and then I said yes. I assumed you knew we would make it – didn't you?"
"I had no fucking idea."
"So… Cameron's right," says Steven.
"How's that?"
"We're both idiots."
Charlie scratches his head, as if considering the idea. "It's possible."
And then he smiles, and it seems to Steven that he can actually see Charlie better without his glasses; because really, when Steven thinks about it, the only person he trusts more than himself is Charlie. He's known him for fifteen years – more than half his life – and he doesn't care that this is the first time he's felt this way: he doesn't want to wait another fifteen years to prove to himself that what he feels is real.
"Come on, blind man," he hears Charlie say, turning to the sunset that has, with sheer determination, appeared on the edge of the heavy grey clouds.
Steven feels bold. He feels invincible. He feels unutterably stupid.
"Charlie."
Charlie stops, turns back. Steven stands, resting his weight on one leg, then shifting it to the other. Unsure, certain.
"Will you marry me?"
It's not a proposal so much as a genuine question. He knows that it's not the sort of question that a man asks another man, or that a genius inventor asks a superhero, and it's definitely not the sort of question that Steven Meeks asks Charlie Dalton; and for a moment, as the words come out of his mouth they sound silly, like bamboo and canvas strung together to make fake pretend wings –
– but it doesn't really matter, Steven realises, if Richard Cameron or the FBI or the entire fucking planet things they're not wings. All that matters is that the person standing opposite him thinks they're good to fly.
Charlie looks like he's either going to punch Steven or like Steven's punched him – or both. He steps towards him, steps into his space, and somehow, Steven holds his ground; literally braces himself for whatever happens next.
"Yes," says Charlie.
"Oh," says Steven. "Wait – what? No. I meant it. No. You should think about it. You should definitely think about." He can't help it. He's Steven. He thinks thinking is important.
"Oh, okay." Charlie turns and looks at the sunset, hands in his pockets. He tilts his head on the side, and makes clicking noises with his tongue. Then he turns back.
"I've thought about it. The answer is yes."
He pulls Steven towards him, wraps his arms around his waist, holds him as his own, and kisses him like they're the only two people in the middle of downtown Moscow. He can't help it. He's Charlie. He thinks kissing is important. And between them, with the thinking and the kissing and the everything else, they might just be able to rule the world.
Thank you, thank you, thank you so much if you've gotten to the end of this. It's the longest, crackiest, fluffiest thing I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed it :D