#shapeplex

Shapesmith opened the door to Scott’s apartment with a small sigh. He knew what he was doing might ruin everything he had with him. However, after talking with Kate, he realized something needed to change.

Scott was sitting on the couch with masked excitement for when Shapesmith would come, as they met up almost every other day. He looked over at Shapesmith and…

…huh. His eyes widened a bit before waiting a few moments as Shapesmith stood at the doorway awkwardly. He cleared his throat. “So…are you going to…?” He asked softly, twisting his wrist in a circle.

Shapesmith should have figured he couldn’t just show up here and expect him to know everything that was happening in his head. Though, that would make things a hell of a lot easier. He walked over and sat down beside him. He tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t. Mostly because the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t have much of an explanation or excuse for the way he was feeling.

Scott straightened his back, his hand scratching his neck. The more he looked at Shapesmith…well, not looking at him, the more he started to catch on that something was wrong. “Look…w-we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. I should thank you for just putting up with me for this long.” He said with a giggle before clearing his throat once more.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, even as Scott still didn’t have a clue what was going on. Shapesmith slowly moved his gaze up from the floor, to his hands, and finally his face. His eyes stared into his, scanning for any clue of what he was thinking. Though, he didn’t really know if he wanted to know now.

He gulped, trying to start off light. “...you…you really miss her, huh?”

…what an odd question. I mean, he did, obviously, but they hadn’t talked much about her since…well the incident. God, he was so pathetic that night, crying and wailing like a baby. He jumped a bit but still responded calmly. “Yeah…yeah I do. She was great…” He put his hand on his knee, his hand cupping his cheek as he thought about her.

“Yeah…” He responded, more disappointed than what he had meant to sound like. “I wish I got to meet her before…” He looked down at his hands. He felt filthy enough as is, but just…acknowledging her existence and reveling in her memory…it makes him nearly fall into a pit of total despair, and why wouldn't it? He had never met Becky, and Scott never once talked about her around Shapesmith and yet…

Scott put a hand on his shoulder, looking down. “Yeah. You would've liked her.”

Shapesmith looked at him, really looked at him. He had his eyebrows upturned and despite his slight smile, there was a deep sorrow in his eyes by how he was holding back crying, just barely. That's not surprising given it was only 5 months ago. Still…seeing him so much pain, genuine pain, made his own guilt that much worse. 

During their time together, doing this masquerade, Shapesmith had unknowingly convinced himself that the real reason he was with him was because maybe he was questioning if he was gay or bisexual, or that he hated his wife or that she was awful and he just wanted to rewrite history with him transforming. Much in the same way that people use age regression to cope with their childhoods. To see that he actually cared and loved for her as much as he loves Scott feels…humiliating. He knew he was a Martian and all, but even he should have known the reality of their escapades.

Even with that, though, it felt wrong to be so hurt, since he was mourning his wife. His eyes widened for a moment, like a deer in the headlights whilst he slowly grasped Scott's hand, moved it away from his shoulder and let it go, though his fingers lingered for a moment more. 

This…this is when the alarm bells went off in Scott's head. It should have gone off the second he didn't transform, or brought up his wife, but now they were really going off. But maybe, maybe he just needed a break and he wanted to make sure Scott was doing alright with the loss before continuing, so he didn't shapeshift to show how genuine he was being. But with this, what…happened? Shapesmith was always receptive to his affection, no matter how small. This was unlike him.

“Shapesmith…are you, are you feeling alright?” His hand instinctively went out to comfort him, but he quickly retracted it with a pang of hurt in his heart. “Again, we don't have to do anything tonight…”

“I-I don't want to do it…at all anymore.”  He said softly but quickly, trying to get it out before his body rejected to express what concerns were of his brain. Unfortunately, his heart had a tune of its own, and it was immediately horrified he had uttered that. But his heart was no match for his head, for once.

… “What?” His eyes in surprise. “What…what's going on? Why are you deciding this so suddenly?” He gulped hard as he had a despicable thought. “Did you ever feel forced to…?”

“What? No, no!” He immediately cleared up without even thinking. He put his arms out in front of him, waving them side to side to emphasize how much he meant it. But then he paused. His hands returned to his side before one of them crept up along him and rested behind his neck. “Well…kind of.” He said, barely above a whisper.

Shit. “What...what are you saying?” He loved all their time together but he never wanted it to be something he felt like he was forced to do, like that was his duty as a hero to help a dangerous “villain”-more like vigilante-stay sane by any means necessary. He sat straight up, ready to hear the worst.

“...” He moved his hand, rubbing his arm. God he couldn't stop moving, even if it was his fingertips going along his arm. “Not...not the activity but…the transforming itself.”

Scott let out a big sigh of relief. “Thank God.” Those two words gave Shapesmith more hope than it should. There was a peaceful…enough atmosphere as Shapesmith got most of what he wanted to say out of his system, even if his heart was aching. That was until Scott realized something. “Wait…you're going to…stop transforming into her?” He asked, his voice wavering like that was Earth shattering. His world, at least.

“Yes, Scott. It's wrong…”

His expression was hollow, his eyes losing their shine and his smile dropping. What? What was even wrong with their arrangement? There wasn't a thing wrong, he thought they had agreed to do this together, and that he understood the implications of what that meant. He wasn't about to argue with that though, as annoying as he viewed that to be.

What he would argue, however, would be far closer to what goes against his values. “You're a hypocrite. You say it's ‘wrong’ to transform into her-” He pointed a finger at him. “-but you're always playing the part of somebody else. How is what we've been doing any different than what you do everyday?” His voice was raised and an anger was present in his aura that he usually only unleashed onto…other superheros.

He…didn't have much of a response to that. If he was being honest, that's what his greatest fear and doubts were about talking about this. Maybe it was his anger, but he started to feel something bubbling in him as well. Who the hell was he to talk about morals when he was the one who asked Shapesmith to transform in the first place, despite wanting the “truth” about everything else.

“Well…” Shapesmith started, he didn't want to start a serious argument because he wanted to be with Scott…just not as his wife. “That is true…to an extent. When I'm transformed into Rus, most people I encounter…don't know who he is. When I transform into your wife, you know her. You can directly compare me to her.”

God what a non-argument. Just because he's transformed into somebody that most people outside of the GDA don't know about him doesn't mean that it's right to be him. People knowing who you're transformed into or not shouldn't factor into whether or not you shapeshift into them. I mean if we're going with that, you could argue that it shouldn't matter what you do to civilians, because most people don't know them. 

“And that makes it okay? If he was a celebrity would it be different? And…and you know that's not what I'm doing here. I just…want to see my wife again, is that so wrong?”

“No, but…” He felt awful enough for stealing his identity, especially given how the real Rus was invaded by Sequids. “I'm not…pretending to be him. I don't go by Rus and I don't try to go by Rus, and nobody believes I am him because of how I act. With you…you expect me to be your wife.”

“What? No I don't. I know…who you are.” He coughed awkwardly, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He was living a picture perfect life with a perfect wife and perfect child. Then Invincible destroyed that and instead of picking up the pieces, he, purposefully or not, deteriorated himself.

Shapesmith really, really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He liked Scott as a friend and a crush. He still wanted to view him charitably. However, he knew if he didn't bring this up now, things would never change. If nothing else, at least his fears would be proven wrong, maybe Scott would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. He just…needed to hear it. “Then why do you call me Becky? Why do you bring up ‘our’ kid? Why do you expect me to remember memories that I never lived?”

“Look, just because I mistake you for her sometimes doesn't mean anything.”

“Then…” He put his elbows on his knees with his hands cupping his cheeks, looking at him. “Why do you want me to transform into her so badly if you know it's me? Why can I never just…be myself around you?”

He gritted his teeth. “But this isn't you! You're flopping around in Rus's skin like it's your own. You can't keep acting like this, like this is your form or that I'm a tyrannical king putting all these restrictions on you, ok! I ask you to be my wife because I miss her, God!”

Shapesmith's throat went dry, a little taken aback by not only his voice becoming even louder, filling up every spot of silence in the room, but also by his response. His frustration for not being understood for what he's trying to say was starting to take its toll on him. He could feel an unfamiliar rage start to build itself in him.

Still, what he said next was said calmly, but the deep rage in him was evident with his teeth gritting and him rolling his eyes. “Does missing your wife make you only calling me when you want to play house right?” He covered his mouth with his hands. Oh god, what was he becoming?

Scott's mouth opened slightly.  What did he think was going on here? That he was trapped in a cage? Forced to perform like a circus attraction? He had as much of a choice in this matter as he did. His eyes narrowed as he stood up in one sweeping motion with a loud boom as his shoes hit the floor. “You can get the FUCK out of here!” He yelled, pointing over to where the door was.  

“Scott-Scott please listen to me! I want to stop being your little dolly you kiss every night!” Shapesmith stood up to join him, both of his hands balled up into fists, slamming down into a nonexistent table. “I want to stop being a replacement for something you'll never get back! I want…to be your boyfriend, not your wife.” His heart pounded as he recognized what he just said. Not only his confession, but the awful hatred he just spewed more out of. It was true, but it wasn't going to help this situation de-escalate.

Scott started actively sparking with electricity from the anger and pain he was going through. What in the world gave him the right to talk about his wife that way? He knew what happened, he wasn't a moron. He didn't need an alien telling him about humans in such an analytical and logical way. It was like he didn't have a heart. And to have the audacity to say he wants to be with him? After being so patronizing toward his wife? He wasn't a baby with no object permanence, just because she's gone doesn't mean he'll just…fall into his arms. “I KNOW that! I'm not a goddamn moron. And trust me, you could never replace her. She was…perfect. I just want to see her face again. That's it.” He felt a pang in his heart for his confession but he brushed it aside. He was straight, after all. 

He put his head in his hands. He's never felt this frustrated before, ever, really. He couldn't help but think he was talking to a broken record and he was starting to fully lose his cool, which was saying a lot, considering he, himself, had to have things repeated to him quite a bit. “Stop lying to yourself! You wouldn't kiss me as her and hold my hand and stuff if you just wanted to see her. Just…just be honest with me. For one second, ok? Can you do that? Please?” 

Scott actually shut his mouth, his sparks dying down in their intensity but very much still being there. He nodded.

Shapesmith sighed. “Would you ever do anything that you did with ‘her’ if I just stayed myself? Or Rus or whatever you call this form?” He let his arms fall to his sides, just staring up at him like he had the answer to everything. Like he was the only hope he had in the world. Despite Scott's responses, he hoped and prayed that when push fame to shove, something would happen, something would change, he would have an epiphany that he did all of this because he was scared to confront the fact that he was bisexual or that he likes somebody again or just…SOMETHING.

…his sparks died down, completely gone now. His fists unfurled themselves as he straightened his back. He tried to think for a moment. He wasn't asking if he would do anything with him now, necessarily. But would he ever get with him, even if he didn't get married…? If he had never met Becky and only knew Shapesmith, would he? But then again, that doesn't matter because he does have a wife. Or, had, it's hard for him to remember with how much he sees a copy of his wife act so normally. He didn't react with a nod or shake, not one expression change, not one peep.

Shapesmith started walking over to the door. Scott wanted to stop him, but both of his options resulted in him leaving. He could either do nothing, or tell him that he wouldn't. 

“I should have fucking known you would have used me like this. You really are a villian.” Shapesmith said with poison in his voice as he slammed the door shut

Scott fell back on the couch, pulling his hair back with his hands. He didn't do anything wrong but then…why does it feel like it?

The end