#darkenception

Daken will never, ever have children of his own. He’s incredibly careful not to do so. 

Darcy doesn’t want to have children of her own, either.

1. Daken has nightmares during the rare moments of sleep he catches. Feral mutants don’t need to sleep as much due to the healing factor, but he was taught that not sleeping was an unnecessary tax on the system and it was better to get sleep and not need the healing than to not have it when it was needed because someone didn’t go to bed on time. It was a lesson written i blood, like so many of them over the years, and unlikely to be unlearned in a hurry.

Now, of course, he tries to sleep, but the nightmares plague him. 

That is, unless he’s not alone when he sleeps. Depending on the other person, just having someone else there is enough to ground him in the now, and keep his mind from reliving things while his defenses are down. It’s probably scent-based.

2.  Daken has never quite understood why some heroes and villains can prefer to work in teams. Even though he’s built himself a team of sorts that he can count on should he need it, he still doesn’t understand.

He’s beginning to suspect he never will.

The rules for Darkenception 2018 will be up tonight.

Anyone who followed my old blog will remember the original Darkenception, which started after Darcy got hate for the ship because some greyfaced asshole wanted Daken to ship exclusively with an OC he was also boning that the time. There was enough boning to go around, so it never made much sense.

So since people like to bitch about Darken being ooc, I'm bringing it back!

There was a scent that hung in the air; cherries and jasmine, and maybe, so very faintly as to be almost undetectable, blood. The woman in the traditional dress stood in the doorway, as beautiful and distant as the moon. It was obvious where Daken had gotten his looks.

It was as if she was there and was not. A ghost, perhaps, or a memory transported across the globe from Jasmine Falls to Darcy’s apartment.

Daken laughed as Darcy intoned the warning solemnly. “I still think this is a terrible idea.”

“Only because literally all your furniture is made of glass.”

“Don’t start. If you wanted less clean lines and shiny surfaces, you’re going to have to redecorate for me.” They’d cleared a space in the middle of his living room, shoving all his usually ruthlessly aligned furniture against the walls. The pieces they needed were set up, and there was a large plastic sheet covering the carpet and anchored under the furniture. His piano, covered already in a cloth, was draped in another piece of plastic.

“Maybe you’re panicking because everything else is white?” Her voice held a bit of teasing, and he detected a bit of... threat.

“If my white walls or white sofa is damaged during this, please know I will have my revenge.”

“You need some color in your life, Dak.” She looked around and pulled a face that was almost serious. “Everything is black, or white, or clear. Shiny, too clean. It’s like you don’t even live here.”

“My placemats are purple,” he informed her tartly, and with a flick of his finger set the dial spinning.

“Yeah, and who gave those to you?”

He’d forgotten she had done so for his birthday one year. “Ah, yes.”

The dial landed. “Ready?” There was a moment of activity. His flicked the spinner again.

“AND I gave you the kettle, which is blue. Everything else is black, white, or clear.” She turned her head to tease him, and her hair brushed the mat. He decided not to say anything.

“You’ve never been in the second bedroom, have you?” The dial landed and there was a muffled giggle from Darcy that cut through a uttered curse from Daken. She flicked it this time.

“No. If I’m here, I apparently have the willpower of a wet noodle and always end up in your bedroom.” He kissed her across the awkward angle, more to throw her off than romantically. She wobbled and glared at him.

The dial landed. He slid a foot over in an effort to cut her off; it worked. Served her right for claiming his spot a moment before. He flicked the dial. “I’ll show it to you after we’re done and clean again.”

“It’s a bedroom. Why be clean?” She made a seductive face at him, and failed only slightly due to the laughter bubbling up underneath it.

“It’s not a bedroom anymore, that’s why.” The dial landed, and Darcy slipped trying to get her right hand into place. Colored paint went everywhere. She squealed in both amusement and disgust. Her hair was streaked red and blue.

“Why are we even playing this?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“Because I lost the coin toss.” His idea had been strip poker. Darcy had wanted to play Paint Twister. Naked. He hadn’t rigged it because there were no losers in either game. “Again?”

“Hell yeah. You’re gonna end up green with envy.” It was a terrible pun, and he treated it with the contempt it deserved, by pulling her close and kissing her so thoroughly she didn’t notice he’d just mixed all the paint in her hair into a purple mess.

He thought he was so clever, he didn’t notice she’d just dumped green paint into his hair until he pulled away and saw the bottle in her hand. Threat and amusement. Never underestimate your opponent. He’d have to up his game.

He tackled her into what paint remained on the mat.

Daken rolled his eyes from where he sat at the dining table running figures and monitoring stocks. “Only... three.”

“See, you had to make a mental count, and you’re not even sure you’re right!”

“I’m not sure if being dead for less than a day counts, because if it doesn’t, it’s only once.” Being shot in the head with a Murumasa bullet and blowing himself up to reset his healing factor and get everyone off his back for a bit wouldn’t count at all. Laura could have left him dead after the bullet incident, but he’d trusted she wouldn’t. Trust was new enough it was still unfamiliar. He hedged around it with other words even in the privacy of his own head, so really that thought was more like >>She needed all of us to infiltrate, so I knew she’d bring me back before she woke the others<<. Same thing.

“It counts for me.” Darcy sat on his couch, reading... something. He hadn’t asked and she hadn’t volunteered. She hadn’t asked what he was doing, either; she probably thought it was illegal rather than his legitimate day job.

She didn’t even know he had a legitimate day job; she’d ever asked about that either, even when he’d dropped hints. She probably assumed everything he did was illegal; she had good reason.

He sent a recommendation to his partner, filled orders from his over seas clients, and tuned out the sounds of the city for a while. Darcy read her trade paperback and caught up on Batman’s latest adventures in silence. It was almost companionable.

“Were you worried?” He’d never asked that, either, and he was slowly realizing that they never asked a lot of things. It had been a rule, back when they’d started whatever this was, that they wouldn’t. Too much following the rules was never a good thing, he reflected. Better to bend them every now and again.

“To be honest?” Honesty had been another promise. He’d never lied to her, or at least not consciously. He’d always told her what he believed to be the  truth, and the rest she’d never asked about, or he hadn’t mentioned. Silence wasn’t a lie. “I was glad.”

He nodded, understanding and approving. That was right that she should have been glad to have him dead, and relieved to see the last of him. He’d killed her est friend, even if Barton had gotten better. He’d just walked into her life and spread nothing but misery and death in his wake, like he always had.

He’d tried to keep it separate, for once, he’d tried his best.

His best hadn’t been good enough.

It would be now.

She’d watched him as she spoke, seeing more than he’d have liked. She’d always been able to read him better than most others, but then he’d always pretended less with her; she knew his baselines. 

>>Still dangerous. She’ll always be a threat, a weakness, a chink in your armor.<< He didn’t like that sometimes his thoughts ran along familiar routes, especially when he was tired. >>Should have killed her years ago, but now there’s no way you could, you coward.<< He looked down at his screens again, eyes unfocused. He missed a trade that would have netted him a few hundred thousand in commission, but cost his clients nothing. Brokered accounts can be far worse than that. He let it go.

>>It’s not cowardice to fear loneliness,<< he told himself, fighting years of teachings to the contrary. >>It is not cowardice to feel.<<

He looked up again, as she lifted her eyes from the pages of her book to meet his. “Penny for your thoughts, Dak?” 

He smiled slightly. “Give me another hour and hit the ATM; you’re going to need so many pennies.”

“I could just go down to the strip club and get some crisp ones instead.” 

“Who would be dancing, you or I?”

“Both is good.”

He smirked, and waved a hand in acceptance of terms. Likely no one would be discussing thoughts or feelings tonight; it suited neither of them at the moment. He jumped on a deal that raised a few balances significantly. “An hour then? Gives you time to take in most of the show. Give Alison and Carter my best.”

“I prefer Alison and David, but I can see what you would see in Carter.”

“His abs, mostly. Sometimes I stick around for the late show where everyone gets to see more than that.” Darcy laughed and swung out the door. He concentrated on his work, but set an alarm for 45 minutes. He’d be done by then.

“Well, “ Darcy muttered as she used her tweezers to pick another shard of glass out of a hole in his back, “maybe you shouldn’t need rescuing so often, then.” 

He hissed, because even though it was healing over as soon as she removed the more stubborn shards, it’s not like he didn’t feel pain. That he’d let himself acknowledge even a degree of pain in front of her should have been a clue as to how he saw her. But he never explained, and she didn’t understand. “I almost never need rescued, Darcy.”

“Yeah, but when you do, it’s like you read all the worst Harlequins and mashed the plots together. You’re the tragic female lead.”

He considered this for a moment, based on the few of those types of books he’d tried to read. He shook his head. “I’m not sure I could pull a crinoline off. Though I do have the legs for it.”

She yanked another shard out, none too gently, and rested her chin on his shoulder for a moment, thinking of him in a puffy skirt. “Dunno, you could pull mine off just fine, probably.” He grinned, and then grimaced as she moved back and pulled another shard out. “Thought these usually came out by themselves. Why do you need my help?”

“Long story. I’m not as… healthy as I might otherwise be. Overtaxed.”

“This have anything to do with Roosevelt Island?” She’d seen the news reports; everyone had. Daken, suspected serial killer and villain, had helped cure the island, when the government was willing to burn it to the ground. He’d disappeared again afterwards, no one could find him to thank him. She hadn’t understood.

“That didn’t help,” he admitted. “I was already down for… unrelated reasons. I shouldn’t have gone, but Strange said Laura needed help. She nearly died anyway.” He sounded… almost angry about it. She didn’t understand that, either.

“This mysterious sister you gained. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” 

He chuckled. “I have two sisters now, and no one’s more surprised than me.” He could feel his back healing, pushing out the smaller bits and closing like it was supposed to. “To be honest, I didn’t know about the little one, Gabby, before I left. But Laura… before I left I wasn’t sure if I was going to kill her or not. Best not to share that at the time, I thought.”

Darcy slapped his arm lightly. “And now?”

“Now? I’d die for them, or at least, I’d die for Gabby, and then fight with Laura over who gets to die for whom this time.” Saying it out loud was not nearly as weird as feeling it to be truth. “Gabby… she’s such an innocent, Darcy. She’s everything Laura and I could have been if we’d been saved early enough. If someone had gotten us out of our particular hells quickly. Maybe I was never that innocent, I don’t even remember now. I doubt I was. Laura…  She was out of that life earlier than me, but it runs deep all the same.” 

>>Didn’t matter who did the programming, the training. It might as well have been the same. I’m glad she got out earlier. She is still heroic. All I am is… do I even know what I am anymore?<<

“We could have a family meal,” Darcy said after a moment of silence. She wished she could believe him. But he’d lied and hidden so much, for so long. She wasn’t even sure he was capable of telling the truth. 

“They like Chinese,” he mused. “And I have four chairs for my table for no very good reason, as I never have more than one visitor at a time.” Honestly, it was only because they were cheaper to buy as a set, and it looked better to have more than one chair at a table if someone snooped.

She was startled he’d even entertained the idea of accepting her idea. 

“Couldn’t do it at their place, it still smells of Logan.” 

That sounded more likely to her; Daddy issues, thy name is Daken. “Maybe we should do it, then. Some day.”

He turned to face her, lifting her blood-stained hand to kiss it by way of thanks. “Some day, we will.”