#wildefire

Can you scout? 

The question came after a silent minute.

“Scout?”

You've been around Corp. Titanium. You know layouts. Can you find weak points? Things we can sabotage?

“Scout…”

I don't want to make you go back there if you—

“I'll do it.”

That night, he left for the first time in a week.

Being out in the dark, mask on, eyes sharp, felt almost like old times. And almost like new times, like moving through the city on Uriah’s orders. He had to keep feeling for the lack of the collar, had to remind himself that he had no deadline, no one listening in on or tracking him. 

Scouting. It was different than tracking a target. Felt more meandering, casual. Like an evening stroll without a set destination. Lex knew plenty of Uriah's trusted agents. What they brought to Titanium. Where they lived.

No killing.

He'd have to think about other forms of destruction instead. 

What could help the rogues? Disrupting Titanium's servers would deal a heavy blow, but those were deep in the facility, and he wasn't ready to get so close yet. But there were other avenues. 

He tracked down the company's primary bank like he was honing in on a mystery target. Follow an employee around at a distance. Tail a well-known hero. Pick up trash and receipts, cross reference the material. He wasn't sure the boy—Hugo—could do anything about accounts, but sparking a glitch that hit Titanium employees in the wallet would at the very least cause a headache for Uriah. Would divert his focus and efforts until Spyglass (Sarah) gave Lex the go-ahead to kill him. 

It took three days to lay the groundwork and pass on a plan, and it felt good to be doing something, even if by the end of the night his skin was crawling and his palm was pressed into his throat to ensure the collar wouldn't reappear and every quiet stranger was another spy for Fox. And even if he told himself to stop, even if he tried to ignore the ache and the fear and pour all his effort into his new missions, he always found himself reaching for a bottle.

Against his better judgement, he’d built up a stash in his room. A few times now, he'd trashed it all. Shattered bottles in an empty dumpster or melted the glass in his hand and watched it drain. Never stuck for long. He always went back for more.

Probably didn't matter. He could still do his work, he could still drag himself out of bed and get whatever he needed to do done. Function wasn't the issue, it was shame. He didn't like being sloppy drunk in a house full of ex-heroes, especially when half of them were still teenagers. Made him feel like a piece of shit.

Not like he was trying to be a role model. Not like he'd asked for the nightmares or the endless fear.

You should be better.

He didn't want to have to be anything.

It was an odd night when Lex found himself spending the evening downstairs instead of retreating from everyone else, but when he slipped into the kitchen for something to eat, the next room over was… warm, in a way. Akeela and Hugo and the other one, Rosie, lounging on the old sofa, watching cartoons or something. Sarah wasn't with them. Upstairs, maybe, or working on her own side of the greater-scope mission.

The scene was only familiar at a distance. Outside looking in. The younger rogues just… being young. Hugo and Akeela arguing about what to watch next after the episode of their show ended, Akeela wrestling for the remote and cackling madly when she got it away from the boy, then Hugo reigning triumphant anyway when he changed the channel with his powers.

This is how it's supposed to be, isn't it? This is what they're supposed to have?

It was difficult to reconcile that with their situation—laughter felt out of place when Corp would drag any of them to the Tower without hesitation—but Lex couldn't deny that it felt…

“Cinderrr,” came Akeela’s singsong voice. “Tell Hugo to stop being a dick.”

“Tell Kee that she's not the queen of the tv!”

Lex flinched back. In one place for too long, spotted. He hadn't meant to just sit and watch them all, like he was scoping them out, like they were still his targets—

“Okay, so let Cinder pick what to watch then.”

Three pairs of eyes on him. Lex clenched his jaw, fists scraping slightly as they squeezed at nothing. Did they really want an answer from him, or was it just an extension of their argument?

“One Piece, right?” Akeela said, after he probably spent too long just staring at them, silent. Good enough. He only had a vague idea of what One Piece was, but he nodded anyway, already moving towards the stairs.

Warm. Familiar. But only at a distance. He was glad they could have it, but it could never be his, not when the world had shaped him into something like this. He didn't warm, he only ever burned.

“You don't wanna come watch?”

Years of practice kept his feet under him as Lex spun around, hands half-raised, ready to fend off whoever was trying to sneak up behind him. Akeela managed to only look startled for an instant before she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Lex’s face felt hot, stomach turning, mouth dry and yearning for something to take the edge off.

“Never had time for cartoons,” he said.

Akeela shrugged. “They let us watch on Saturdays. If we were doing good in training.”

“Yeah.” He turned away, trying not to grimace, like he could pretend he didn't know who they were. 

I need a drink.

The stairs creaked behind him.

“How'd you do it anyway?” Akeela called after him, her voice a little lower, a little less bold.

This kid. He didn't need to ask what she meant. How did you stay away from Corp for so long? How did you avoid ending up like me?

“My mother is an assassin you've never heard of,” he answered after a moment. “She kept me hidden, called in favors, trained me.”

“I had the same with Corp,” Akeela said. “Training since I was four.”

That long? “Guess it didn't make a difference either way.” He could sense that she wasn't done as he tried to turn around, could sense that that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

“How can you say there's no difference? You had freedom.”

“I had my own missions.” The answer was already on his tongue. “Contracts. Always the danger of being caught. It's not… it's not as good as you're picturing.” Freedom didn't exist as long as Corp was around. You were either with them or against them, and either choice had its own costs. Evade. Run. Live in hiding, live in fear. Never let yourself slip up, never let yourself rest. Or live as a drone at Corp’s beck and call.

“So what? There's no other choice for kids like us?” Every time he bumped into the kid it seemed like she was looking for a way to argue with him, or rile him up, or get a rise out of him for whatever reason, but right now she just looked… She looked too young for all of this. Distraught, almost.

Why? Why did it matter, if it was already all said and done for both of them? Why did he care? There was nothing they could do about it now. Lex could die getting revenge, the kid could maybe live to see a day where she wasn't hunted or owned, and that was all they could really hope for.

But he couldn't say that. Couldn't bring himself to.

I need a drink.

“Maybe not,” he said. It felt like lying. “Maybe there's some kid out there who can hide. Never got detected at all. Maybe they'll grow up without all this bullshit.” It was a fairytale. Akeela seemed like she should be too smart to believe something like that, but the look in her eyes had calmed down a little when he met them. She nodded.

“Um. How's your neck and stuff?”

From her, Lex would usually take that as a sort of jab, but her tone didn't have the note of challenge he'd come to expect. Responding to a genuine check-up like that didn't come easily to him, so he just nodded.

“Healing.”

Didn't seem to come easily to her, either. She shifted in place. “Well, I gotta go make sure Hugo put on the right show. You can come if you want, or you can just go do whatever.”

Drink alone in your room. Did she know? It probably wasn't too hard to see.

“Oh, and Cinder?” Her usual bravado crept back in as she reached the bottom of the stairs and called up to him one last time. “When we kill Fox, there'll be a lot more of those kids, yeah?”

No. When they killed Fox, someone would just take his place, and even if they didn't, there were a dozen other hero corporations in the city that would fill the void.

“Yeah,” Lex said. Akeela gave him a satisfied smirk and disappeared around the corner. 

Too late for her to grow up like a kid should, but that didn't stop her from… Fuck. Had he ever been like that? Everything he did was always so single-minded. Survive, survive, survive. He'd never wanted more than that. There was more out there, he was sure of it, but it didn't belong to him, it had never been on his path. 

Could it be? Was this all there was? Survive. Fight or submit. Survive.

Maybe. But somewhere behind him there were three kids laughing and play-fighting while cartoons played in the background, and fuck. Fuck.

His head hurt. His throat was burning, heart beating too fast. Fuck.

They were all he could reach for right now, survival and revenge. The only things he'd really wanted since he could remember wanting something in the first place.

Was there more than that? No. Not right now.

But maybe…

Maybe there could be.

•°•°•

• • •

Get up, check the lock, check the window. He hasn't slept in three days. There have been moments where he's nodded off, only to jerk awake in a panic, nearly setting fire to whatever fancy upholstery he'd collapsed against.

Sarah was worried, he told her not to be. New place. He'd get used to it.

Fifth floor, smooth brick, check the lock, pass the bottles.

He's supposed to be safe here. Rivera said he's safe here, but he's never been safe. Someone will break down the door. Crash through the window. It's a trap, it has to be, he can't trust these people.

Akeela's been looking at school programs. The normal kind, courses she can take online to get around the "danger" she poses. Hugo's been offered an internship with the tech department, Rosie's been looking for her family. They're happy. Sarah worries, but she saw her moms for the first time in over a year yesterday. She introduced him and he tried to smile. She's happy.

How long before it all crashes down?

He can't let it crash down, not because of him.

• • •

Get up, check the lock. Turn around and check it again because he forgets if it was really secure as soon as he steps away and can't convince himself it's fine.

He's been sleeping in bursts. Waking up on the floor, facedown on the mattress, slumped against the sofa. Not sustainable. He's too wired to be alert, too sleep-deprived to be useful if a fight is needed. Sleep won't come. He's tried, but even as exhausted as he is, his eyes are flying open every few minutes. New panic, new certainty that they're coming, that as soon as he's out cold they'll come for him. He'll be drugged or overpowered. Taken away. In the dead of the night, even with all the lights on, the corners of his room look too much like the cell.

Hell. Bell. Knell. 

Check the window.

Come to slumped against the wall, cheekbone stinging from where it collided with the windowsill on the way down.

He didn't leave the room yesterday. Couldn't. If he passed out in public, that would be the end for sure. They'd know they had him, they'd know. He's checked his room a thousand times now, he knows it should be safe, yet sleep won't fucking come.

Pace the room in dead silence, listening for anything and everything. Eyelids weigh down, eyes drift back to the basket every time he passes it.

Trap. It's a trap. He knows it's a fucking trap.

But staying as he is is turning into its own sort of trap. It can't hurt if he only drinks enough to chase the paranoia. He's already exhausted. Shouldn't take much for him to catch a dreamless sleep. He needs sleep.

It's his first time really looking at the bottles. Wine, of course. Elite assumptions, or false hospitality. He knows wine is supposed to be customary, easily masked as a housewarming gift and not a trap, not a silencer. If the basket were full of the cheap liquor he was used to, it'd be too much of a giveaway. But even with the facade, Rivera’s overplayed her hand. Not just a wine, but also some fancy liqueur. Three bottles. There's more to the basket. Crackers and chocolate and some sort of spread. A glass, presumably for the wine. Set dressing.

It’s all too obvious; it has to be deliberate, this has to be what she wanted. He pulls a bottle free, glass clinking softly against the others on the way out. Raspberry. He knows it'll be oversweet and syrupy, something to get sick off of. 

He almost manages to put it back. But if he did, he'd only be standing here again within the hour, just as bitterly exhausted, just as cornered. Doesn't matter if he knows it's not, this place might as well be Titanium. And there was only ever one escape from within Titanium.

Pace away, check the window. Crack the bottle. A raspberry smell, heavy and sweet and pulling him towards nausea as if his body already knows what's to come.

Thrum, hum, numb.

Check the lock. Take a swig and it's like cough syrup, but take another anyway. Sit on the bed, listening. Grit his teeth and have another drink.

He's glad he hates the taste. It lends more to the illusion of just this once, just one more time and then I'm done forever.

Think about checking the window. Stare at it instead and chug until the taste and texture makes him gag and he has to stop, grimace for a chaser. The warmth is starting to hit him, a fuzzy coziness that's tugging at his exhausted mind, pulling his eyelids closed.

(hose, froze)

He has enough sense to down a bottle of water before finishing the liqueur. The plastic crinkles in his hand, and the sound fills him with guilt.

Sarah.

No, this is for her. This is so he can sleep, so he can stay vigilant without losing his mind. So if anything fails, if anyone betrays them, he can still fight for the rogues.

His head swims, a familiar lull settling over his senses as he curls up on the mattress, clothes and boots still on, forgotten. Bed still made beneath him.

Check the door, comes the blurry thought, and he glances at it. Hasn't moved. Lock still in place. His eyelids drift shut.

Check the window. He turns his head. Uncracked, undisturbed. No one outside, peering in at him. The water bottle is still in his hand, empty, and he flexes his fingers around it, listening to the hollow plastic noise.

For the first time in days, Alexei is pulled into a deep sleep.

When he returns to his room the next evening after a day of feeling better, of standing by Sarah while she negotiates their new contracts, of listening to Akeela tell stories about a classmate, there's a fresh bottle waiting for him on the bed.

•°•°•

tag list:

in true butterfly effect fashion, this was all kicked off by one alternate event: Lex's mom was arrested and taken to the Tower.

Despite having trained with her for years, an eleven-year-old Lex was deemed "salvageable" and turned over to a government training program. Since he still spent a big part of his childhood with his assassin mother, he still grows to be very serious and cold, now with the added conviction that Corp Always Wins

He eventually becomes partnered with Overkast, and they're beloved by the media for their elemental dynamic and contrary personalities. They're civil in public but have a strong dislike for one another offscreen. Despite this, Sean's death doesn't sit right with Lex, prompting him to learn too much and paint a target on his back.

meanwhile, Sarah's moms are inadvertently killed by a hero battling a villain. In the canon timeline, Lex's mom took out the hero months before this, entirely preventing the incident, but the fight orphans Sarah. By pure chance, Chopper comes across her and reluctantly takes her in, with what's meant to be just one night turning into weeks, and then months, and then years. Sarah's a few years younger than the empowered Chopper usually takes on, and her powers aren't combative, so he views her as more of a daughter than a trainee, but that doesn't stop him from teaching her how to fight and survive. Eventually, she joins his roster as Spyglass, a deadly sharpshooter.

To Chopper's chagrin, Sarah continues to bring home "stray heroes", finding Hugo, Rosie, and Akeela before Corp does, and letting them into the family. (Chopper is a dad now, whether he likes it or not.)

Sarah's biggest goal is still to take Corp down. She's experienced firsthand how heroes can run rampant without consequences. Chopper is wary of her ambitions, often warning her to be careful, but it's not enough to slow her down.

•°•°•

Alexei wasn't so far removed from society to be ignorant to the tradition of ugly sweaters, but it seemed Hugo had gone out of his way to track down the most horrendous ones in the city. He was clearly trying to suppress a giggle as he passed Lex's over, a terrible lime green thing with some cartoon character embroidered across the front in a glittery fuzz.

Akeela snorted when she saw him in it.

"Green is not your color."

"Yeah? Well orange isn't yours. You look like a muppet."

She pulled an offended face, but he could hear her laughing when she turned her back. She settled between Hugo and Rosie on the couch, stealing a handful of popcorn from the latter, a festive children's movie that looked a hundred years old playing on the beat-up television across from them.

Lex begrudgingly took a seat nearby as Sarah came in, a platter of cookies in hand.

"Looks like dinner's just gonna be spaghetti and meatballs, but hey, I'm not complaining," she said, sliding the platter in front of the group. Her so-called ugly sweater looked good on her, in a way. The cotton-candy pink fit her complexion, making her dark hair stand out, her brown eyes warmer. Hugo was definitely picking favorites here, he thought, even as his eyes kept going back to her.

"Are you gonna sit down at all?" he asked when she caught him staring.

"Well, we still got some cookies in the oven, and dinner isn't made yet, so---"

"Did you want help?" Usually everyone was busy with their own task, or out of the house, or in their own rooms. Yet somehow the kitchen was always clean and food was always ready. He knew that was all Sarah's doing, but only now, with everyone relaxing over a movie but her, did it feel wrong.

She let out a small laugh at his question. "I got it covered, unless you wanna play dishwasher."

"I can do that." Probably. He hadn't done that sort of work with cybernetics yet, but it couldn't be that different from cleaning a weapon or a wound. A little delicate, a little deliberate.

She seemed surprised at his offer. "Oh, well... Yeah, that'd be great."

Lex followed her into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. A pot of water was boiling on the stove, the oven timer beeping as soon as they stepped inside.

"That would be the cookies. Here, I'll---"

He was opening the oven before she could finish, grabbing the hot tray with a metal hand and setting it on the stovetop. Sarah let out a playful huff.

"Show-off."

"One objective complete. Those dishes don't stand a chance."

"Yeah? Step up to the plate and we'll see," she shot back, extending an arm towards the dish pile with a small flourish. Lex stepped past her, a smile tugging at his mouth, and began to fill the sink.

Alright, delicate. Most of their dishes were plastic or metal, but the occasional glass could prove tricky. He didn't want to shatter anything in the sink. Sarah moved behind him, adding noodles to the boiling water and starting a pan of sauce as he set to work.

Big items first. Eliminate clutter, create space for organization. Metal pots are a safe bet for starting; less probability of causing damage as hands are better calibrated to the task.

"You never told me you had a thing for dishes."

Sarah's voice startled him halfway through the task. "Huh?"

"You seem very focused."

"It's something to do."

She smiled. "Well, if you wanna put it on hold for a bit, dinner's done." Three plates were already full and ready, waiting on the counter.

"I'll help you bring it out."

Her smile seemed to grow.

The two of them delivered the spaghetti to the living room, passing a plate to each of the kids before going back for their own.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't so bad. Everyone sitting at home, cheesy feel-good movie, warm food, warm house, it was kind of nice. Even the dumb sweater wasn't so bad when everyone else was part of the joke. Lex spooned sauce over his pasta, moving to rejoin the others.

"Hey."

He paused, glancing back at Sarah. "Yeah?"

She cleared her throat, setting her own plate down. "Well... I'm supposed to wait to give you this until tomorrow. Traditionally speaking and all. But I know you don't like eyes on you, and fuck tradition anyway, so..."

Instinct kept his eyes on her hands as she moved, but there was no tension in his chest, no coiled action waiting to spring as she pulled something out of a kitchen drawer and passed it to him.

It was a book. Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman.

"Poetry," was all he could say for a moment. It looked old. Its weight was insistent in his hands, sheaves of paper reminding him that he was a thing of fire, destruction. But maybe if he held it carefully enough...

"I just..." Sarah fiddled with her glasses. "I mean, sometimes I'd hear you rhyming to yourself, so... I guess I figured you might like that."

Poetry. Something it seemed he never had time for. Not since the Tower, when made up lines were the only thing tethering his sanity on some days. Back in Neath, he had a few full books--+and a few empty ones too, for crafting his own words. Not often, but they'd been there. Under Fox, there'd been nothing. Sure, he probably could've found something to write with if he'd really wanted, but what would end up on the page, after everything? Were there any words left when he'd been made nothing but a weapon?

But now...

"Thank you," he managed to say, unable to take his eyes off the book, voice thick. "I don't... I didn't get anything for you."

"It's not a trade-off, Lex." Carefully, her hands wrapped around his. He couldn't feel it, that was impossible, but despite all logic, he felt warmer.

"I'm just glad you like it." Her smile turned a shade wryer as she picked up both of their plates. "Now let's get back out there before they start wondering what we're up to."

Not a trade-off. It took him a second to follow her, to make himself move. Fortunately, the others were focused on the movie when he stepped back into the living room, Rosie caught between Hugo and Akeela and and a character comparison.

"That's you."

"I am not the fucking dentist elf."

"You look just like him though."

He took a seat beside Sarah, book still clutched in one hand.

"So maybe there's no big point or mission to it," Sarah murmured. "But do you think it's worth it?"

Her leg was warm against his, the book's hard cover flat on his thigh. The teasing on the other couch had devolved into laughter over something stupid.

"Yeah. I think it's worth it."

•°•°•

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