INDOMITUS

Nita had expected one of two things to happen: for Teddy to contain whatever came out of her or for him to disappoint entirely. What she hadn’t expected, however, was to look down the next moment and see the grass growing distant beneath her feet, carnival stalls shrinking the way they had on the ferris wheel ride. It felt terrifying and, despite being the result of her own power, completely out of her control.

“Teddy what the fuck are you doing?” she demanded, hands flying out to her sides to try to steady herself only to find there was absolutely nothing to hold onto. “I can’t…I’m not…” Nita couldn’t find the right words to explain that she wasn’t in control, even less so than usual at the height of the Solstice. That the winds holding them high–too high–in the air could dissipate the next moment. That they waxed and waned at the whim of her emotions and nothing could be farther from reliable than that. Even now she could feel her Gift wavering, flickering in and out with each wave of fear.

“Ground,” she managed, closing her eyes like he requested. It wasn’t, however, so she could feel like she was flying, but so she could forget she was before she lost her nerves entirely and let something spin out of control. “Back on the ground. Now.”

Well, this was definitely not going to plan. 

Not that Teddy ever really had a plan (he usually didn’t even have a pla), but he’d imagined the current situation to go in the way of learning how to ride a bike — he’d help her at first, then take away the training wheels. Except he hadn’t taken in consideration that Nita didn’t even know how to use her legs, and now the bike and rider were in danger of toppling over into a ditch. Because while he had known that Nita’s gift was mostly ruled by her emotions, he hadn’t expected that it was all emotion and no control. 

“I’m not doing anything,” he coughed, feeling the limits of his powers. “Surprise! It’s all you!” 

But then he realized just how badly that statement could be taken, and tried to remember how he’d developed his own sense of control over elemental gifts. Getting put into a training room and forced to fight his best friend. He quickly rejected the idea. 

“What?” Balian struggles not to take his eyes off the road for too long or neither of them are going to make it out of this alive, but Teddy’s plea, albeit weak, does render some real concern from him. “Dude, no… it looks pretty bad, we have to get you to-”

But then Teddy’s hand is clutching his arm and he knows that this isn’t just him being stubborn. It’s also not him being very keen on staying alive, since he can’t think of anywhere else that might be able to do something about their current predicament on such short notice. Unless…

With one hand on the wheel, he places the other on top of Teddy’s, squeezing his fingers over his arm. “Where are we gonna go?”

☆

He closes his eyes briefly when Balian places his hand on top of his, taking a steadying breath. It’s warm and comforting and suddenly he knows everything is going to be okay — because his partner is beside him and even with a bullet in his torso, there’s an undeniable feeling of safety that he can’t quite explain. 

“Your place,” Teddy finally answers, opening his eyes to meet Balian’s gaze, though the world seems hazier than before, too soft at the edges, and he’s momentarily distracted by the chocolate brown of the other man’s eyes, rich and decadent, and he thinks to himself that he wouldn’t mind for them to be the last thing he sees. 

But then the car hops over a pothole and the sharp pain at his side brings him back to reality. “You can take out the bullet. We’ve all had the training,” he groans, feeling the warmth of blood steadily soaking through the cloth, an hourglass that is starting to run out of time. But he tries to speak clearly, tries to summon strength into his voice as he says, “I believe in you.” And he does. Despite the betrayal, despite Balian’s insistence on keeping a pointed distance between them emotionally (as well as physically), Teddy’s belief in his partner has never wavered. 

He relaxes back in his seat then, because leaning forward is getting too exhausting, and he can feel the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

And then he prays. No, not to God — he’s missed church far too many times to think that a higher power would help him — but to the devil. Because despite his disdain towards the woman, he’s worked with her enough to know that if anyone can help them, it’s her. So he calls out to her in his mind, knowing that she’s most likely still scanning the town for signs of danger, hoping that his desperation will ring in her mind. And he thanks God (ironically) when she answers, feeling the stern nod of understanding in his mind. 

Still, he knows that Selwyn won’t get there in time, if the black dots starting to color his vision are any indication. There’s no question that Balian will have to do the removal. So he only murmurs, “I believe in you,” again as he rests his head against the seat, giving in to the lull of his beating heart.

The reaction gave him pause, a lot of pause, more pause than usual. He dropped a spoon of sugar into his coffee and looked back up. Finger guns did seem to suit to the young man, albeit it was a little off putting. In general. But then again, it was also… clearly a sign of someone being absolutely ripe for the taking. This one was an idiot, good. It would be easier to get what he wanted from him. He smiled and shook his head, appearing both amused and caught off guard. Best to appear harmless, especially next to an individual who was clearly rather harmless himself. Or else doing a terrific job at seeming to not be able to hurt a fly. If so, he could learn a thing or two from the other.

“That was terrible, but I appreciate the effort,” Max said, raising one eyebrow. He took a sip from his coffee. “It actually makes me more liable of a heart attack,” he eventually retorted, then did some finger guns of his own, although a little slower. He leaned one elbow on the table, and blew away the steam. 

Then his face turned a little more playful, a little more teasingly serious. “Was that your attempt at flirtation?” 

He blinked. Then blinked again, because surely he was in a dream — as only in his wildest dreams did he meet another person that was equally fond of finger guns as he. Or, at least, seeming to be receptive towards finger guns. 

And for a few heartbeats, Teddy could only stare at the other man with wide eyes, as round as the moon, which coincidentally was how he felt — over the moon to meet a kindred soul. Maybe even mooning over the meeting, so much that he lost the retort that had been sitting on his tongue at the criticism of his joke, though he frowned slightly at the thought of his new friend (maybe a premature label, but he was sure this was a meeting of fate) bending over from a heart attack. Maybe he would pick up the other man some multivitamins. 

A bit cheesy, but Teddy longs to see genuine smiles on the faces of those he loves. Maybe it comes with privilege, because he’s never really gone wanting. Or maybe he’s seen too much pain to care for anything else — behind his finger guns and not-so-funny jokes, he sees it all. He doesn’t say anything because he simply does not know how to approach emotional subjects, instead preferring to be the comic relief. Because even if they are rolling their eyes at him, he’s happy as long as there’s a hidden smile underneath. 

Teddy makes another gesture of friendship and it’s more than Didi really understands or knows what to do with at this point. He appreciates it, he really does, because there were few people he had left in his life who he said those things to him. But Didi’s problem, at this point, was always trust. It was always going to be trust. He had things in his past that made it an incredibly ridiculous notion to have a friend that close who was in the Magistrate. While his past lent itself more to a crime of the police force nature, the fact that he was Gifted also made it Magistrate territory and he sat across Teddy with a smile on his face, but really wondered if the man would be saying the same things if he knew. 

The thought is set aside for the moment, however, when Teddy sticks a straw into a pancake and pushes it across to him, telling him to essentially make a birthday wish and he snorts in amusement. It was such a Teddy thing to do. 

“Save them,” he tells Teddy with a smile on his face, not intending for it to come across as a denial, but he realizes a moment later that it might sound that way. So he clarifies, “Knowing you, we may need them. For your goat scheme.” 

✧

He pouted slightly when the younger man declined to blow out the candle on his makeshift cake, though his explanation made sense, in the way that practically everything Didi said made sense. Sometimes he wondered if he was actually the older one. Could Didi really be the Tony Stark to his Peter Parker? After all, Teddy had blown up his phone that one night when he got food poisoning. 

And, despite being in pain, he managed to type out, Mr. Didi, I don’t feel so good. 

At the thought of the scene, tears began to prickle behind his eyes, and he reached out to grasp his friend’s shoulder, expression suddenly misty. “Didi, you can’t leave, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.” He sniffed. “I will never allow you to fade into tiny pixels.” 

It was just one of those days when Silver was really glad to finally be at home; he was annoyed since the early morning when he noticed that someone scratched his car and since then his day got gradually worse. He even messed up a few orders, even though it never happened to him before - so he ended up excusing himself and going home, blaming it on some migraines, and promising that he’d just take a double shift on the weekend, considering that he had nothing better to do anyway.

The flat felt eerily quiet though; yet he didn’t give it much thought, assuming, that Juliet was either out or in her room doing her own thing, so he just put down the extra coffee he brought for her on the small table next to her room before knocking in. “Got you some coffee!” He didn’t feel the need to add on where he put that coffee - it was the same place since the very first day he moved in, initially just trying to bribe Juliet with the free caffeine so she wouldn’t throw him the hell out, but then it just became a habit of his, one he usually practiced with people he was… considerably close with.

What he didn’t expect though was to find Teddy laid out on his bed, like one of those french girls ( thank the gods, not in nude ); it looked like his plans of just chilling had to wait, but looking on the bright sight, at least he had their shared kitten back. Damn, he really missed that cat. “Teddy, hey. Move, you’re taking up all the space.” He let out a little laugh, throwing his bag on the floor before throwing himself on the bed; damn, it was nice to finally sit down. Or actually lay down. Whatever. “Did Juliet let you in?”

Teddy was happy to oblige, partly because Silver looked strung out, but mostly because he had expected his friend to physically kick him off the bed (faintly, he wondered if he had been spending too much time with Nita and Dom — he was getting a little too accustomed to being threatened). 

Kitty Cat’s mood seemed to instantly improve in the presence of his calmer, less prone to forcing him into costumes owner, and happily settled onto Silver’s lap. Teddy sent the cat a glare. The traitor. 

“Juliet... is that who she was?” He mulled over the name for a bit, deciding that the woman attached to the name seemed more of an Addams family character than Shakespearean — he’d momentarily thought he’d gotten the wrong address, when she had opened the door to an interior that seemed to come straight out of a victorian era gothic movie. 

“I will.” Dom pronounced each word with care, his voice frosty. “Kill you.” He felt more than saw the store clerk step away slightly, if the loss of a light touch flitting around his new costume making minute adjustments, was any indication. 

Honestly, Dom didn’t understand what came over him when he agreed to this stupid bet. All he could recall was Teddy’s stupid face and taunting grin, his manner bordering flirtatious and downright irritating - always a potent combination to get on Dom’s nerves. 

“I will throw your phone in a river if you keep on taking pictures.” Dom warned, but knowing the suit would encumber any movement, he remained perfectly still, not wanting to reveal to the other that he was at his physical mercy. “And shut your mouth if another stupid nickname comes out of it.” 

♧

He wasn’t exactly sure why Dom insisted on sending out more threats — Teddy had never found the younger man daunting, even when he was using his mind to throw daggers, so there was a very slim chance that he would suddenly shy away now, when Dom was decked out in a furry pink costume resembling a children’s storybook character. If anything, his anger only made Teddy’s grin grow even wider. Piglet with an Edge. It was adorable. 

He stopped snapping pictures, rising and stepping closer to Piglet Dom, his grin momentarily subsiding into a more thoughtful expression. “Even if you throw it, the pictures have already been saved onto the cloud,” he shrugged, biting back the urge to follow it with, OK Boomer, even if he easily surpassed the other man in age.

It happens in the span of a heartbeat.

And now he’s on the ground trying to scrap bits of what he can see and what he can hear to make sense of what had just happened.

“Wh…” His mouth tries to form words but when he looks up at Teddy, all he can muster is a confused stare. Why did he push me? Why isn’t he moving? Why the fuck is he just standing there?

And then, like roses in bloom, the first spots of blood.

“No. No, you-“

He scrambles to his feet and pries Teddy’s hand away the area around his torso, only to further stain the fabric of his shirt with a deep, sinister color. He dreads to pull it up and to see how bad it is.

“Oh, Christ… oh, fuck… oh fuck.” He speaks with a shuddery breath, barely able to make a sound as he quickly presses his hands over Teddy’s, over the afflicted area to apply pressure, then helps him sit down, slowly, so as not to aggravate the wound.

He’s completely blank, shock making his hands shake that he has to tightly curl his fingers over Teddy’s and press harder against his torso. He doesn’t think about chasing after who’d done this or to pull his phone out to call an ambulance or to call Selwyn like Teddy told him to. He can barely remember how to breathe as it is.

“What?” His eyes frantically attempt to speak in behalf of his mouth. “No, I need to… I need to get you to…” He turns his head to see if there’s anyone nearby who could help them, but there’s no one. Just him, just Teddy, and a bullet that is where it shouldn’t be.

He composes himself just enough to remember where he’d parked his car. “Come on,” he says, positioning Teddy so that he has one arm around Balian’s shoulders to help himself up, then Balian carefully brings him to his feet, one hand around his torso and the other keeping pressure on the wound, but not before he’d taken his own gun out from its holster should a second shot be fired.

He nearly has to carry half of Teddy’s weight as they try and find their way to Balian’s car, and he could just feel how much heavier Teddy is getting against him. “No, no, no…  not here, not now. You gotta stay with me, okay? We’re almost there.” Then he spots the black sedan parked right around the corner. “See? We’re almost there. You just gotta… you gotta keep walking with me now, okay? Teddy?” The words sputter out, desperate and afraid that he could lose him here, out in the fucking street just because he said he’d take a bullet for him and was stupid enough to actually do it. He suppresses the urge to yell at him, to tell him that what he did was wrong, that it wasn’t his bullet to take or his choice to make, but he holds his tongue at the thought of Teddy becoming just another body for him to wake on a cold, metal bed.

Once they reach the car, he lets Teddy lean against the passenger door while he fumbles for his keys. He presses the button on the fob and opens the back door where he carefully ushers him in through the other door. He then takes off his jacket and presses the fabric into both of Teddy’s hands. “Just keep pressing on it, okay?” He closes the doors and climbs into the driver’s seat— he barely registers each movement, operating on autopilot now as he drives to the hospital. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he watches Teddy’s face and makes sure he stays awake. “Don’t close your eyes on me, please? Teddy? Teddy.”

He knows he should be concerned. He can feel the blood soaking through the cloth, can feel his eyelids getting heavier with every heartbeat that escapes the wound — a steady rhythm, a tender lullaby. 

Faintly, he remembers his training. There’s a guidebook to situations like this, grounding techniques he should make use of, ways to bring himself back into reality. 

And he tries, he really does, but all he can focus on is the feeling of his arm slung over Balian’s shoulder, of the quiet joy in his heart that, this time, his partner doesn’t move away, doesn’t run from his touch as if his skin is covered in thorns. The air is getting chilly — or is the chill within his bones? He isn’t sure anymore, but it’s fine, he’s fine, because the point of contact between him and Balian is warm, warmer than anything he’s known, like the fireplace at the lodge they stayed at during that one assignment in Maine during the dead of winter. The time they huddled under blankets in front of the flames while he told ghost stories that Bal only rolled his eyes at. 

He wonders if Icarus had regretted flying into the sun at all, because he thinks that he would be be okay with falling into the ocean, as long as he can savor this warmth for a few more heartbeats. 

But then the sun disappears and he feels himself resting on a solid surface that no longer smells of pine and dew and too many words choked down, too many feelings splintered and hidden away. 

Confusion. A low rumble underneath him. A car engine? He can’t tell. 

He remembers the time he almost drowned. He had been four, having seen an indoor pool for the first time. And without thinking, he’d jumped, forgetting that he didn’t know how to swim. Everything had felt heavy. Time didn’t seem to exist, not really, and all he could really do was watch as his arms struggled to move, helpless against the weight of the water. 

But then, another arm. Familiar, safe, and reaching for him. 

Except this time, it is Balian’s voice that pulls him out of the water. 

Familiar, but not always safe. Filled with rising panic. 

Teddy tries to focus on his surroundings, moving to get a better view. Except now, the initial shock is starting to wear off, and moving hurts. Breathing hurts. He groans softly, pressing on his wound. At least, the pain brings clarity. They are in Balian’s car. He’d gotten shot. They are heading to— 

“No,” he rasps, clenching his teeth against the sharp stab in his torso as he reaches for Balian, trying to get his attention. “Not the hospital. Please.” 

The hospital. The hospital and its stark white walls and sterile beds and fluorescent lighting. The hospital, where he’ll be poked and prodded and wheeled while doctors in white lab coats run tests and inject him with liquids that force his lids to close. Just like the Institute. No, he isn’t going back. He won’t. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and he clutches Bal’s shirt, if only to have something solid to hold onto. 

Her sigh at his first answer was at least milder than most of the exasperated ones he’d elicited in the past. However as he continued on, her expression shifted on a scale of ever increasing confusion, eventually landing on disbelief. The revelation of his power was a strange one, something she’d only heard of but never seen, but his explanation of that power was what left her incredulous. That this was her power, this calm and focused little party trick: a storm in a bottle. She had lived with her Gift for well over a decade and she knew it didn’t fit in a bottle. It so rarely even fit in her body.

“Power mimicry…” Staring for a moment longer she tried to wrap her mind around it. There wasn’t enough time to process everything, not the way she needed to, because she could already feel a fresh wave of power billowing off of her and so she set aside the implications for later and took a leap of faith. “I swear to whatever the fuck you hold dear, that if this is some bullshit, I will break your fingers so irreparably you’ll never throw another fucking finger gun in your life.” Really, it’d probably be a blessing for society.

Once again, the wind started picking up around her feet, barely contained below her knees. “But fine,” she bit out, pausing just a moment longer to question if this was about to be a disaster in more ways than one. “Prove it.” It was the only warning he had before she finally stopped holding back, finally let herself release the seemingly endless well of energy that was brewing inside of her, shattering the bottle and waiting to see if Teddy could somehow pick up the pieces.

✧

For a moment, he couldn’t help but beam at her threat — breaking off fingers was noticeably less severe than castration, and along with her acceptance of their new nicknames, he was almost certain that they were now well beyond casual acquaintances. Perhaps even on the friendship bracelet making level of best friendship. 

He’d been so absorbed in his excitement that it took him a moment to register what happened next, the winds picking up around them, branches of trees starting to break away, lured into the cyclone that was starting to take shape around Nita. He opened his mouth to tell her that it was impossible to simply to stop the winds she was creating, as his gift was not able to negate hers. But his voice was lost in currents, muted against her rush of power. 

So Teddy did what he did best, what he always did when faced with a difficult situation — he transformed. Just as he had transformed his anger into determination and helplessness into empathy during his capture by the Institute, he transformed Nita’s unbridled and chaotic show of power into something more contained, something more fun, something more Teddy. 

Instead of swirling around her and collecting everything that stood in its path, the winds started to accumulate under her feet, lifting the woman into the air, higher, higher, and higher still. He called upon winds of his own to match hers in height, both of them levitating above the ground. 

Teddy circled around her, controlling his winds as if they were one giant roller skate beneath him. “If you close your eyes, it almost feels like you’re flying.” 

It takes everything in him not to gush out a protest when Teddy expresses how acutely aware he is of how Balian, on occasion, will look at Teddy fresh out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around his torso for longer than any self-respecting man should look. Or how it is true that he never actually raises complaints about Teddy’s tendency to take his shirt off even when he doesn’t have to, but will complain about all his other obnoxious habits, regardless.

(Frankly, he only complains because he finds them endearing and he doesn’t need any more reasons to hate Teddy because of it.)

And then he remembers the night at the hotel. And of course Teddy would be aware. Of course he remembers, it, too.

He clears his throat, shifting his position awkwardly as he offers a feeble attempt at an amused chuckle at the way Teddy animates the stuffed bear with his own hand. They’re having good day, for once. He shouldn’t let the wounds rip open before they’re even scars. Not when they’re making progress, not when they’re letting themselves get to know each other all over again. 

Not when Teddy tells him he loves him.

“Uh…” 

Teddy isn’t cruel. He’s not even dangerous, not in the way that Balian knows most dangerous men are dangerous. But then how come his tenderness feels more like a knife twisted in his gut than affection?

He bows his head, shaking it to try and get Teddy’s finger off his cheek, a small, quiet, choked laughter sputtering from his chest like a heimlich of guilt and regret and anger and longing and guilt, even more guilt, all at once.

“You’re my best bro, too.” He finally lets himself meet Teddy’s heavy gaze and accepts this as both his love and his punishment. He deserves one more than the other, but he takes them all the same. He reaches for Teddy’s hand slung over his shoulder and carefully pries his arm off from around him. “We have to move. In case Satan’s actually onto something,” he says, lifting the bear slightly to help Teddy up on his feet.

-time skip: a couple days later-

He knows that most others perceive him as dim-witted and unobservant. He knows, and almost prefers it that way, because at least then, they feel comfortable letting down more of their defenses. And so he doesn’t react when Balian shies away from the physical contact, doesn’t frown when he removes his arm from his shoulders. 

But Teddy can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, the hurt that makes his heart feel as though it’s three sizes too small, powerless but to drown in its own blood. Of course, he knows that Bal is more guarded than most, never one to reciprocate his attempts at affection, whether physical or verbal. But still, a voice in the back of his mind sounds, haven’t they been through enough together? Hasn’t he shared enough of his own vulnerabilities to earn at least an ounce of the other man’s trust? The disappointment comes rushing back up, the same disappointment and hurt that left him tossing and turning in the hotel bed that one night, after his partner fled their room without much of an explanation. 

He opens his mouth, ready to blurt out, Aren’t you going to say it back? but Balian suddenly rises and he follows, clamping his jaw shut, unsure if he wants to hear the other’s response. 

And that’s when the glint of metal catches his eye, the sun catching on steel. 

He doesn’t have time to think, not really, because the muzzle is pointed at Balian, and there’s no time, no place to hide, and he can somehow feel the pressure of the finger on the trigger, the intent to harm his loved one. 

It’s on instinct that he pushes Balian out of the line of fire, just as the shot rings through the air, muffled by a silencer but still sharp, the bullet cutting through air. Through the air and into his torso, his hand reflexively coming to rest upon the wound, wet and warm. It doesn’t hurt, not really, as if the amplified sound of blood pumping through his body has dulled any sense of pain. It’s a steady drumming, steady but fast, and he almost gets lost in it, almost starts to think that he should just lie down on the bench, his body suddenly feeling too heavy to keep standing. 

“Yeah? Get you all wet?” The humor does very little in concealing his guilt. He’s long stopped doubting just to what ends Teddy will go to for him. Not that there ever were any questions about it to begin with— from the moment they’d met, the guy’s taken it upon himself to latch onto Balian like he’d lose him just as quickly as he’d come into his life. Totally unprecedented. Totally unnecessary.

He doesn’t know how to how Teddy earnestly professes his undying loyalty to him. He wonders if he’s deliberately trying to make him feel like a horrible person, but if he knows Teddy (unfortunately, he does, no matter how much he tries to think of him as a stranger), then he knows that he’s as oblivious as he is honest.

When Teddy lets the mention of his probation slip like a bullet in and of itself that Balian failed to stand in the way for him, a sharp pause pulls them back into a skidding halt. The way he clears his throat only lets the dust settle and clears the path to where this conversation should go. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” The word has left his lips countless of times before, like a record stuck on an unflattering note. “When, um… when did they say they were gonna let you go back on the field?”

“Yeah, I’ve never heard you complain about me having to take my shirt off,” he shoots back, sending the other man a shameless wink. He reaches for the bear’s arms, attempting to find something to make finger guns with, but only manages to hold up one fingerless paw. Teddy the Second does a sad wave. 

He doesn’t immediately answer Balian’s next question, setting aside the bear and taking a moment to study his partner, searching for some clue as to what the right response may be. You don’t have to be sorry? But that wasn’t correct. He’d nearly lost his job. You should be? Even more wrong, if only because he doesn’t want to make Bal feel worse. 

“I’m not sure,” he says finally, running a hand through his hair. “Depends on whatever Satan reports back, I guess.” An awkward beat of silence. And then he leans forward to stare into Balian’s eyes, arm slinging across his shoulders. “You know... no matter what happened, I still love you.”