Annlytical Archive

She shook her head. “More like a test. To see if I can actually use what I’ve learned.”

You squinted at the miniature structure. “How is this the test?”

Eve slid her chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the floor. Before you could even react, her arm looped through yours, casual and familiar, like it had always belonged there.

“You know how I’ve been studying a lot these past few weeks?” she asked.

“With the book,” you said.

She nodded, leaning her head lightly against your shoulder as she reached for another strip of paper. “I learned all the rules and regulations, and now it’s time for me to prove I know how to implement them.”

“By making… a small room?”

“By making a functional spatial model,” she corrected lightly.

You gave her a look.

She grinned. “A small room.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you, the tension in your shoulders loosening in spite of your confusion. You picked up the scissors again but didn’t immediately use them.

Eve, meanwhile, was already assembling another piece. Her fingers glowed faintly pink for a fraction of a second as she appeared to fuse the pieces together. The glow vanished just as quickly.

Across the room, sunlight shifted as Eve moved, catching in her hair.

She looked… happy? Content, maybe.

Not quite the fleeting happiness that came and went with victories or jokes, but something steadier. Domestic, if you had to place a label on it.

Domesticity was something you weren’t accustomed to, but it was something you enjoyed greatly.

It suited her.

And yet—

“You are overworking yourself again,” you said softly.

Eve paused mid-fold. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just decorating a room with paper.”

“That is not what I mean.”

She sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed. More like resigned affection. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t believe her. Not entirely.

But you also didn’t push. Instead, you picked up another sheet of paper and began cutting again. And the rhythm returned.  Snip, pass, fold.

For a while, the only sound was paper shifting and the faint rustle of Eve humming under her breath.

Then she spoke again.

“You know,” she said, “you’re really good at this.”

“At cutting paper?”

“At… staying here,” she clarified.

That made you look at her.

Eve wasn’t looking back. She was focused on a tiny folded structure in her hands, but her fingers had slowed slightly.

“It’s easy,” you said. “When your planet is the way it is.”

“It’s not,” she replied, quieter now. “Not for most people.”

Something in her tone made you still.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached over and pressed a fingertip against the paper Eve was about to grab. Heat filled your veins as a green flame engulfed the material.

Eve watched you do it.

“I believe it is time for a break,” you said simply as you stood.

“You’re lucky I can just make more and we won’t need to go out and buy more,” she told you.

She stood up from the table. Taking off her cardigan as she stretches her arms above her head. Her joins popped as she let out a small groan as she looked up at the slowly setting sun.

“I like…” she hesitated, searching for the word, “this. Us. Doing normal things.”

Normal. The word sat strangely with you.

“Normal” wasn’t really something you had ever been granted in full. Not even back on Tameran. You set the scissors down again and turned slightly toward her. “Define this ‘normal,’ Samantha.”

She let out a small laugh. “Well, you know— I like… quiet things. Things where nothing is exploding or trying to kill us or emotionally ruin us.”

“That seems like a very low bar.”

“It is, but let’s be honest. We can barely cross that most of the time.”

That earned another laugh from you.

You glanced down at her. Her hands kept moving. Fidgeting with her sleeves as she leaned against the wooden railing that encloses the balcony.

Eve quietly began again, “Can I ask you something kind of random?”

“You may ask me anything,” you said.

She hesitated. “Do you ever miss… your old life?”

The question wasn’t unexpected, but it still landed with weight. You exhaled slowly.

“Yes,” you admitted.

Eve didn’t interrupt.

You continued, choosing your words carefully. “But not in the way I think you mean.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

“I miss certainty,” you explained. “On Tamaran, I was told what I was. What I would become. There was comfort in that, even when it was restrictive.”

Eve listened quietly.

“But I do not miss the lack of choice,” you added. “Or the idea that I could not become something else.”

That made her glance at you.

You met her eyes.

“I like this life,” you said. “Because I choose it. Even when it is confusing. Even when it is messy.”

Eve’s expression softened.

“Messy like helping me with everything?”

“Messier.”

She laughed again, and it eased something in the air between you. Eve turned and wrapped her arms around your middle. Her skin was always colder than yours, but in a wonderfully pleasant way.

“I like you,” she said simply.

Your breath caught slightly. Not in surprise, but in the way the words always landed like something precious being carefully placed into your hands.

“I am aware,” you said, your voice gentler than intended.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say back.”

“It is truthful, is it not?”

Eve smiled as she rolled her eyes, but there was something more intent behind it now. “I mean it though. I like you in a way that makes everything fun to do.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You consider the making of the project ‘fun’?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I believe it is partially the point.”

She sighed out the nickname she’d given you on your first day on the planet.

You relented, softening. “I like you as well, Eve Wilkins.”

That made her pause.

Just briefly.

Then she leaned forward and rested her forehead against yours. The gesture was simple. Unremarkable, even. But it grounded something deep in your chest.

“I think I needed this today,” she admitted quietly.

“This?”

“You,” she clarified.

You lifted one hand and rested it gently at her upper back, careful and steady. She leaned into it immediately, like she had been waiting for the permission without realizing it.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The silence wasn’t empty. It had weight to it, comfortable, lived-in. Like the quiet after a long conversation that didn’t need to be finished.

Eve shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. Her hair fell forward a little, framing her face in the soft light. There was something unguarded in her expression now, something she didn’t often let stay for long.

She smiled faintly at your expression, like she enjoyed watching you think through things that didn’t have battle strategies or political structure attached to 

Eve tilted her head slightly. “Do you ever get tired of me?”

The question was sudden, but not insecure. More like curiosity wrapped in honesty.

You answered without hesitation. “No.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, as if she hadn’t expected it to be that immediate.

“No?” she repeated.

“No,” you said again, firmer this time. “I could never.”

She shifted again, loosening her grip just slightly, though she didn’t fully let go. Instead, she just adjusted so her forehead rested against your collarbone for a moment, like she was recalibrating herself against you.

“You’re probably the nicest thing I’ve ever had,” she murmured.

“Should I be worried about that?”

“No,” she said simply. “Just as long as you stay.”

Your hand moved gently along her back in a slow, grounding motion. “As long as I’m able.”

Eve eventually pulled back just enough to look at you, her expression lighter now, almost playful, but softer at the edges than before.

“I’m going to go back to my little paper disaster now,” she said.

“You refer to it as a disaster?”

“Supposed to be made of 3D printed objects.”

“But they are made of the paper.”

“So u can turn them into plastic when I know it’s perfect,” she said immediately.

You gave a small nod. “Like a test for the test?”

Eve laughed, bright and real this time, and leaned up to press a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek before turning back toward the table.

For years, seeing you waiting for him somewhere had been normal.

A rooftop. Outside a museum. In the cave. On top of a gargoyle that Darkwing had specifically told you not to climb because of the cracks by its base.

Now it felt strange enough that Mark almost wondered if he'd imagined your conversation in the hallway.

You noticed him approaching before he got close. Your gaze shifted from the street to him.

"Is now a good time?" he asked.

One corner of your mouth twitched. "Why else would I be here?"

"Good point." Mark smiled despite himself.

For a second, neither of you moved.

It wasn't awkward exactly. Just weirdly unfamiliar.

Like trying on an old jacket expecting the arms to be too short and realizing it still fits. Tighter, but fitting all the same. 

"So..." Mark shoved his hands into his pockets. "Burger Mart?"

You rolled your eyes, lips tugging into a frown. "You still eat there?"

"It's cheap."

"Yeah, but don’t you work there?”

"Not anymore. I quit when I got my powers."

That actually earned a quiet snort from you. And somehow that made Mark happier than it should have.

"That’s irresponsible of you, Grayson. Burger Mart it is."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The walk wasn't long. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. Though Mark kept catching himself glancing over. As if he was making sure you were actually there.

That he hadn't somehow dreamed of finding you again, but wearing Darkwing's suit.

Every time he looked, you were already looking somewhere else.

Watching the traffic. Watching the people around you. And watching all the small exits and alleyways.

Old habits, he guessed. The ones that Darkwing drilled into both you and your brother. Though you seemed to take them far more seriously now than you ever had before.

By the time the two of you slid into a booth near the back after Mark quickly ordered what he remembered you liking, he’d had worked himself into a dozen different ways to ask the same question.

None of them sounded quite right.

He lasted approximately thirty seconds before his mouth worked quicker than his brain. "So why did you—"

You pointed a fry at him. "No."

Mark blinked.

"No?"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask."

"I absolutely know what you were gonna ask."

He opened his mouth then closed it. "...That’s not fair."

You hummed in satisfaction and stole another fry, "How's your dad?"

Mark stared. "Seriously?"

"You wanted to talk."

"I wanted to hear your story."

"And I asked how your father is doing."

The look you gave him was annoyingly familiar.

Mark groaned, "You've gotten worse."

"You haven’t changed a bit."

He hated that you were probably right. No matter how much his life had changed recently, it was nothing compared to yours.

With a sigh, he leaned back in the booth. "He's okay now."

You waited.

Mark rolled his eyes. "He was in the hospital longer than we thought he’d be."

Still waiting.

"He got hurt pretty bad."

You hummed as you placed your chin into the palm of your hand. He watched as your shoulders tensed and your gaze flick about the table.

"Do you know what happened?"

"Got the shit beat out of him." Mark scoffed.

You sighed out of your nose. "That’s all you know?"

"All anyone knows."

That earned another faint huff from you. “I— Sorry. Just wanted to know if he’d remember anything.”

Mark looked down at his drink. "Nah, it’s alright. I get it."

The next words came slower now.

"It scared me." The admission felt strange. Embarrassing, almost. "Seeing him hurt like that."

The table sat quiet for a moment, but then you spoke. "My father was always hurt."

Mark looked up.

You weren't looking at him. Your eyes were fixed on the restaurant window, watching the people pass outside.

"Every patrol." Your voice was calm and matter-of-fact. "Broken ribs. Concussions. Dislocated shoulders."

Mark winced.

You continued anyway.

"He'd come back to the cave bleeding half the time. He'd complain about it too."

A faint smile appeared, but it disappeared almost immediately.

"But he always got back up. That's what made people afraid of him. Midnight City's criminals weren't scared because he was the strongest."

You shook your head.

"They were scared because he never stopped."

Your fingers tapped lightly against your cup.

"His death changed that."

You laughed once but there wasn't any humor in it.

"You think?" The words came out sharper than Mark intended.

You sighed immediately after.

"Sorry."

"S’okay. The news made it public."

Your voice lowered.

"Everyone knows. The gangs. The mob. Everyone knows Darkwing's dead."

Mark watched your reflection in the glass of the window. "They're getting bolder?”

You nodded looking at him properly as you picked up another fry. "Every week. They need something to fear again."

The realization settled heavily in Mark's stomach and he felt kind of dumb he didn’t realize before. That he was getting the ‘why’ that he’d asked for.

"Oh."

You nodded once.

"Yeah."

The ‘why’ you walked into that room wearing the suit and the name. And why you looked so exhausted. 

It wasn't about replacing Darkwing.

Not really.

It was about preventing what came after.

Keeping your city from collapsing.

Filling a the power vacuum before something worse crawled into it.

Mark rubbed a hand over his face. "That can't be good for you."

You grabbed a few more fries as you shrugged. "Probably not."

The casual answer somehow made it worse.

"Finch."

Another shrug. Like it didn't matter.

Like you didn't matter.

Mark hated that.

"You sound like you don't care."

"I care."

"Then—"

"I just don't have a better option."

That stopped him.

Because there wasn't any self-pity in your voice.

It wasn’t a dramatic martyr speech. Just tired honesty. And somehow that was harder to hear.

You looked down at your untouched burger, picking it up in your hands but not taking a bite. "People need help. My city needs help."

You shrugged again as you added, "And I can do something about it."

Mark looked away as arguing suddenly felt impossible.

The conversation drifted after that.

You talked about what little school you still attended. Mark complained about his chemistry tests he was sure he was failing.

You laughed when he admitted he accidentally lit his lab sheet on fire when trying to light his Bunsen Burner. 

For the first time since he'd seen you at the tryouts, Mark could almost pretend things were normal.

Almost.

Then he checked the time.

"...Shit."

You glanced over. "What?"

"I forgot." Mark groaned.

"That's usually a bad thing."

"I have so much homework."

You looked entirely unsympathetic. "Tragic."

"No, seriously."

Mark grabbed his head.

"I'm behind in English. Behind in chemistry. Behind in history. Mom thinks I'm caught up."

You nodded solemnly. "So you're doomed."

"I'm doomed."

You took a drink. "I'll miss you."

Mark looked at the clock again and groaned.

"I actually need to go."

"Then go."

"Rude."

"You'll survive a little bit of homework."

Mark stood but you remained seated.

For a second, he worried this was how it would end.

Another goodbye and another several years of silence.

The thought settled unpleasantly in his chest.

"...Hey."

You looked up.

Mark shoved his hands into his pockets.

Trying—and failing—to look casual.

"I missed talking to you."

Your expression softened as you agreed, “Me too.”

"Meet you here next Wednesday?"

You bit your lip.

"Same time?"

Immediately, he saw the argument forming behind your eyes.

Midnight City, the patrols, your new responsibilities.

You began as you shook your head. "Mark—"

"Nope."

You blinked. "What?"

"Nope." He crossed his arms.

The exact way he used to whenever you tried to talk your way out of something.

"You don't get to vanish again."

You frowned. "That's not fair."

"It definitely is."

"Midnight City is—"

"Still gonna be there."

You sighed. "Mark."

"Finch."

The two of you stared each other down.

Exactly the way you used to.

And for one ridiculous moment it felt like being fourteen again.

You broke first, shoulders slumping as you leaned against the back of the booth.

A long sigh escaped you. "...You're annoying."

"I learned from the best." Mark grinned.

"You absolutely did not."

"I absolutely did."

You rubbed your face with a groan. "Fine."

The grin widened. "Fine?"

"Fine."

"Next Wednesday?"

“Next Wednesday.” You rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms.

"Same time?"

"You're pushing it."

"Same time?"

You pointed a finger at him. "Don't make me regret this."

Mark laughed, and he’d felt better than he’d had in weeks.

“You won’t."

Slowly, you stood.

And for a moment neither of you moved.

Then you stepped forward. Mark barely had time to process it before your arms wrapped around him.

Though he hugged you back immediately.

And a small knot inside his chest loosened.

When you pulled away, there was the faintest hint of a smile on your face.

"Missed you, Grayson."

Mark's own smile softened. "Yeah?"

"Don't make a thing out of it."

"Too late."

You groaned as you shook your head.