#outlawe

@outlawe

There was a certain level of camaraderie among people who shared private slices of their lives with one another in church basements with uncomfortable plastic chairs beneath them. Styrofoam cups filled with burnt coffee could bind people together just as easily as bullets whizzing by your ears sometimes. Miguel knew that. In 2099, narcotics anonymous wasn’t a thing. People who got hooked on Rapture never got unhooked, people who drank to get through the day couldn’t stop because the day only ever got worse. But 2020 was different. In 2020, he had dusty church basements and burnt coffee. He had Roy Harper.

And right now, he had Roy Harper standing outside his door, soaked to the goddamn bone and looking miserable.

He hadn’t seen the other man since fear spread across the city, since they both saw the same shocking demon, since Miguel pulled off his mask and laid it all out on the table. Miguel hadn’t been to many meetings since then, hadn’t quite worked up the courage to go back to that dusty church basement. He wondered if that was why Roy was here. “You can be wherever you wanna be, man,” he said slowly, shifting where he stood in the doorframe. After a moment’s pause, he took a step back to allow Roy room to move inside. “What makes you think otherwise?”

Getting back into the swing of things at Stark wasn’t as difficult as she had thought it would be. Just like going to see Peter the second she was back in the city, coming back to work here was a little like coming home. Not that she’d ever tell Tony (or anyone for that matter) because he would find a way to make her embarrassed by the sentiment and MJ was not having that on her first week back. But there were small shifts that had happened in the company in her absence, and while most of what Tony had done required damage control, this one didn’t. 

As far as she had seen, he was polite and smart and distracted by other employees so she hadn’t had a chance to corner him and actually know him. She had seen an opening near lunchtime, the second that people started packing in to get food, MJ strategically found her way between Roy and his exit to lunch. She extended her hand and offered a bright smile. “MJ Watson,” she introduced. “I’m sorry we haven’t met earlier --- I was taking a small sabbatical when you were hired.” Normally, she would have been at a new employee’s desk on the first day --- or at least close to when they started. Punctuality, she had thought, was very important. “Want to get lunch? My treat.” 

“Yeah,” America agreed, tilting her head thoughtfully as she observed the scene. It was definitely an alien of some sort, grey-skinned and tentacled, yelling in a language even America’s translator couldn’t pick up on. Some small-time vigilante was doing his best to contain it which, for the moment, seemed to involve a quiet attempt at reason and a lot of pacifying hand gestures. In five minutes or so, America would step in. For now, she figured she’d let the guy try his way. “Scale of one to ten, how far do you think that alien dude throws him? I’m banking on a seven. At least three blocks.”

Star had, once again, baked way more than anyone at X-Factor could eat --- even pregnant, Terry couldn’t bring herself to eat everything Star had baked. But she had tried. (Really, she did.) But knowing that Monet would just bitch about all the baked goods, Ric still hadn’t come home, Tabs would have just made a mess --- and Logan had dug himself a hole in text messages and Terry was still fuming. (She told him it was fine, that she was fine. But in reality? It was a good thing he couldn’t read tone in texts.) 

Terry was setting one of the cakes and a bag of cookies on the counter when she heard someone else entering the apartment. She was caught. “Welcome home, Jon!” Terry said without looking. “So, Star picked up a new hobby and he overbaked by like... a ton and I thought that you’d ---” she finally looked and the second she did, she stopped talking. Terry arched a brow and tipped her head to the side, but it was clear by her stance that she was ready to fight if she had to. (Always quick to the trigger.) “Who the hell are you?” 

This would be a real nightmare if this was Damian. (At least she’d be living up to the embarrassing mom role if it were.)

Trying one more time, Jason cursed when it went straight to voicemail again. “Fuck! Roy, I’m going to every god damn bar I can think of and I’m going to find you. I’m not worth this. I’m really not. I’m sorry I caused this. I’m going to find you. Please...just please, be okay.” He hit end and grabbed his leather jacket, shoving his feet into his boots and leaving his apartment with his motorcycle keys in hand. The anxiety made his skin want to crawl as he mounted the bike and started towards the first bar he could think that Roy may be at. He could say he could care less that Roy may hate him after this, want him to leave and never return, but even he couldn’t lie to himself and say that. The mere thought had his chest seizing uncomfortably. The most important thing currently was finding Roy and making sure he was okay, if he wanted him gone after that...then so be it.