your favorite chud writer

The Baxter Building is prepared for many things; housing a seal for an extended period of time is not one of them.

But when an injured seal is found and then rescued from a body of water that seals are not typically found in, that gets labelled as weird.

And when the seal is of a species that notably is not found anywhere near the continent – let alone the country or city – that label of weird not only stays, but upgrades in intensity.

Finally, when nobody can agree on a reasonable explanation for how the seal got there or indeed what caused its injuries, the level of weirdness goes up in such a way that everybody turns to the Fantastic Four for answers.

So Reed builds a place for the seal to recuperate. (And for him to study it and try to determine how it got to New York, but that’s neither here nor there.)

But it is not Reed Richards who figures out what’s odd about the seal.

And, honestly, it’s not so much ‘figured out’ as it is revealed.

Johnny doesn’t spend a lot of time in the seal area. It’s really no surprise that the guy who can turn into fire at will isn’t very jazzed about being in a room that’s got – in his opinion – too much water in it.

Plus he’s convinced that the seal doesn’t like him, that it maliciously goes out of its way to splash him whenever he’s in the room. Nobody believes him, of course. Johnny, you’re overreacting they say; Johnny, the seal splashes everybody on occasion, you’re just unlucky they say; Johnny, seals don’t experience morality like we do so it can’t be secretly evil they say. And it’s annoying because he swears that seal looks smug when it splashes him with (what feels like) half a tank of water and he has to go change his clothes.

He doesn’t even know why the seal dislikes him, and that’s really what irks him the most. He literally hasn’t done anything except exist in its general vicinity. For most people, that’s the kind of thing that makes their entire day, or maybe even their week. And yet… This seal hates him.

But in an unfortunate turn of events, Sue wanted to talk to him and she’d taken Franklin to look at the seal for a little while, so to the seal area Johnny went.

And it’s all going well, the seal pays none of them any mind while laying sprawled out on a rock with closed eyes. But Franklin, in a fit of toddler rage, makes his juice box explode and that’s when things get a bit weird.

Because Sue – covered in apple juice and none-too-happy about it – hurries out of the room with Franklin in her arms, leaving Johnny to clean up the remainder of the mess. He barely got hit by the explosion, so he makes the offer to clean up so Sue won’t have to worry about it.

“I’ll call Herbie to help with it,” he promises, ushering her out of the room. “Nobody will even be able to tell there was an accident when we’re done.”

Except when he turns to look at the mess it looks pretty small. Reasonable. He can totally do this on his own. And just when he thinks he’s done…

“You missed a spot.”

Johnny pauses halfway through mopping up the last few drops. He doesn’t know that voice. He turns slowly, realising quite quickly that he needs a minute to process. Because in the spot the seal used to be is a person.

You smile lazily, one of your legs dangles into the water below you and leisurely swings back and forth as you do so. You’re dressed in soft-looking grey clothes, looking perfectly comfortable perched on your little rock.

Johnny has so many questions.

“What are you-? How did you-?” He pauses, half-raising a hand as he stumbles over roughly a hundred thoughts at once. “Where did you-? Who are you?”

Your smile swiftly turns from lazy to amused, almost like you’re taking great delight in his confusion. In fact, the level of smugness reminds him of how that seal always looks when it-

Holy shit the seal.

“What happened to the seal?” He asks, rushing up to the glass and peering into the enclosure to see if he can spot the thing. “Seriously, where did it go? Where’s the seal? What did you do with it?”

When he looks up at you, Johnny finds you pointing at yourself with a questioning look.

“Yes, you!” He sputters, gesturing widely with both arms. “You’re the one in the seal tank!”

Reed is going to kill him.

Scratch that, everybody is going to kill him.

If Johnny Storm loses this seal, he will be public enemy number one. Probably forever.

He huffs when you continue not responding, with that insufferable smile on your face. “Get out of there!”

You tilt your head. “Why would I? It’s temperature-controlled, there’s water to swim in, food I don’t have to hunt for-”

“That’s all for the seal!” He throws his hands in the air, already frustrated by this entire experience. “You’re a human! Get out of the seal tank!”

He feels like maybe he should have tacked on something along the lines of ‘and tell me where the seal went’, but the opportunity is lost because you laugh.

“I’m not human.” You say, still laughing raucously like the very notion is ridiculous.

And Johnny’s brain freezes again. Because you very much look human. And yet here you are, claiming that you’re not. Sure, he has no idea how you got in and the seal got out without making any noise or setting off any alarms – and with him in the same room no less – but other than that you must be human. Then again, you seem pretty pleased with ‘food you don’t have to hunt for’, which is weird because he knows for a fact that the seal gets raw fish and occasionally some crustaceans (he knows because they stink) so what you plan to do to make those safe to eat is beyond him.

Finally his brain catches up.

And it does so with the help of one, tiny action.

Namely: You leaning down, scooping up some water, and managing to arc it over the lip of the tank and directly onto Johnny’s shirt. A direct hit, the kind that only that damn seal would manage-

“Oh, no way.” He mutters, looking up at you with an annoyed glare. “You are the seal, aren’t you?”

You flash him a grin, using one of your hands to point at him with a finger gun.

Well, at least now it’s clear what’s odd about this seal. Somehow turning into a human is certainly within the Fantastic Four’s territory of weird.

Naturally, Johnny is exceedingly normal about this.

As long as sprinting out of the room, frantically calling the elevator, all but throwing himself into it, and then sprinting from the elevator to to the lab where Reed and Ben are observing an experiment, skidding into the room with very little grace, is what one would consider ‘normal’.

“The seal’s a human!” He yells, colliding with a table as he finally comes to a halt in the room.

Reed actually looks up from his work, brows raised at Johnny’s declaration. “What are you talking about?”

“The seal just turned into a human!” Johnny repeats, pointing in the direction of the elevator. “We just had a conversation! That’s how they got on that beach!”

Ben exchanges a look with Reed. Disbelief and scepticism plain on both their faces. But they follow Johnny back to the seal tank anyway, what reason would he have to make something like this up?

He’s practically vibrating with excitement once he exits the elevator on the right floor. Damn near shaking from the anticipation, ready to crow out an ‘I told you so’ when his friend and his brother-in-law enter the room to find out that the seal really did turn into a human.

(Plus he can circle back to the other point nobody believes him on, namely that the seal doesn’t like him.

A seal may not experience morality like they do, but a seal that can also be a human? That seal knows what good and evil are. And oh, that seal is definitely splashing him out of malice.)

Except when they enter the room, you are gone.

Well, not gone, just… Not human anymore. A seal once again. Swimming leisurely in the water without a care in the world.

And Johnny? He’s mad.

Because he has a care in the world. A few, in fact. Namely that nobody is going to believe him about anything ever again because you’ve gone and turned back into a seal.

So he walks up to the glass and pokes it. “Turn back!”

You float over to him, tilting your head and flashing those big, innocent eyes. As if you didn’t understand him.

Hoo boy he has never hated anyone so much in his life as he hates you right now.

“I know what you’re doing!” He shouts, poking the glass again. “Turn back! Show them what you showed me or so help me-”

“Johnny don’t bang on the glass.” Reed sighs, shaking his head at the scene before him.

“Yeah, you’re scaring the seal.” Ben adds on, gently pulling Johnny away from the tank.

“They’re not a seal!” Johnny yells, waving an arm in your general direction like it might magically convince you to prove him right.

Ben snorts. “Looks like one to me. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

All the way out of the room, you watch Johnny with that smug look that nobody believes you direct at him.

And Johnny Storm vows that he will one day prove to the others that you are not an ordinary seal.

Johnny starts wearing a raincoat to the seal room.

He’s sick of getting splashed and always having to change his shirt, or god forbid his pants, so he brings a nice long raincoat to keep him dry.

Which naturally means you start ruining his hair but hey, at least he can fix that without having to trek back to his room and dig through his closet. It’s the lesser of two evils, really. He’s determined to prove that he didn’t imagine anything, but you seem equally determined to mess with him. And boy are you good at messing with him.

You never show your human form when the others are around. He’s not sure how you know when someone’s about to walk through the door, but you do and it’s irritating.

Then Johnny remembers he camera. Well, the cameras, plural. The ones set up to monitor the seal while nobody is in the room, just in case something happens. Something like, say, the seal turning into a person.

The cameras were mysteriously nonfunctional when you turned into a human the first time, but he chalks it up to Franklin’s temper tantrum because they came back online shortly after. And Johnny is downright giddy about this discovery because it means he’s finally going to get his family off his back. They’ll finally stop telling him to leave the seal alone, because they’ll have irrefutable proof that you are not just a seal. He’s absolutely certain he’s got you now.

He waits a couple days between checking the camera the first time and visiting you. Just to be sure, just so you don’t get suspicious. He can’t spend all his time in the seal room, after all. And he usually doesn’t. So he waits a couple days, then wanders into the room during the 2-hour period after lunch when nobody comes anywhere near the room except him.

It’s your prime time to turn into a human, tease him, piss him off, and then turn back into a seal right before someone comes in to check your vitals.

But not today. Today, he will have video proof that you are not just a seal.

Today, he regains his credibility.

Today…

You sleep through the entire two-hour period.

He’s got to admit, you’re kind of adorable when you’re not terrorising him. Stretched out across the rocks, lying on your back with one flipper over your chest and the other somewhere on the ground behind you. The quiet little snores you let out of that cute little snout of yours, whiskers twitching occasionally-

No! No, absolutely not!

Evil! You’re evil! Not cute, Evil.

And you’re messing with him!

“Believe me, Johnny, if looks could kill that seal would already be dead by now.” Ben rumbles as he walks into the room.

That’s odd, he doesn’t usually handle the seal stuff.

“Not what I’m trying to do.” Johnny mutters, glancing up at the clock.

Oh, there’s still half an hour before anything needs to be done. He glances down at the book in his hands, he’s a lot further through it than when he first sat down.

“Have you been glaring at the seal for an hour and a half?” Ben asks, shooting him a judgemental look.

Johnny holds up his book, makes a show of waving it just to prove his point. “No, I have not.”

The only response he receives is a disbelieving rumble, and he goes back to his book with a scoff.

Ben sticks around for a while, taking in the calming atmosphere while he has some free time to do so. He leaves with a “just don’t fall in love with the seal” that Johnny takes great offense to. He hates the seal, actually, so there.

It’s only a couple minutes later that the time he’s spent here pays off.

“Are you in the habit of falling in love with non-human entities?”

Johnny looks up from his book, trying to be nonchalant despite the knowledge that he’s won. He’s got you now, you’re on camera, and he’s won. It makes him downright giddy, but he can’t let you know that just yet.

“It was one time.” He mutters, pocketing his book before you get any mischievous ideas. “And she’s not coming back, anyway.”

“What happened to her?” You ask, tilting your head.

Well now. He has never once thought that you’d take an interest in his love life. Especially considering how many times your little water-splashing pranks have been a hindrance to it.

And yet… Here you are. Asking a question he never thought he’d hear from you, without a trace of malice in your expression. Nothing but curiosity shining in your – admittedly very pretty – eyes.

“She uh…” Johnny brings up a hand to rub the back of his neck. How is he meant to explain this one?

Then again, how would you know who he was talking about? You seem to spend a great deal of time as a seal, anyway. Yeah, he could totally explain this one.

“She kinda got stuck on the other side of a portal,” he starts, struggling to find the words to properly describe what happened to someone who wouldn’t know about the events themselves. “Sacrificed herself, I guess. To make sure her boss also got stuck on the other side, rather than coming back through and eating the planet.”

You blink.

And Johnny really doesn’t like the dawning realisation in your expression, nor does he particularly enjoy the amused grin that’s only growing wider with each passing second.

You laugh. Boisterously. He hates it immediately.

“You mean-” you pause to laugh even harder – rude – “You mean you fell in love with Galactus’ herald?! For real?”

Okay so maybe you do know what happened. That’s just great.

He huffs, crossing his arms. “You don’t get it!”

You laugh even more. “Oh I definitely get it.”

And the way you say that makes heat rise to his cheeks because there’s a certain implication in your words about what, exactly, he liked about the Herald. Which, while not totally incorrect, makes him seem a whole lot shallower than he is.

“That’s not what it was!” Johnny protests, throwing his hands in the air. “I liked the space stuff! And the mystery!”

“The mystery.”

“Yeah, I love a good mystery. Or a puzzle to solve.”

“Hmm…”

“What?”

“So…” Your smile turns mischievous as you choose your next words. “You are going to fall in love with the seal then?”

“What-?” He pauses, shaking his head as his brain catches up to your latest remark. “Wh- that’s not- No!”

But you’re still looking at him very much like the cat that ate the canary, so he turns around and walks away before he does something incredibly embarrassing – such as trying to fistfight a seal. (Person? A seal-person? A magical seal-person-thing?)

And the security footage is all but forgotten, for all of the few seconds it takes him to get to the elevator. The doors slide shut, and Johnny remembers with perfect clarity that he has footage of you turning from seal to human, and presumably back to seal.

And suddenly your teasing isn’t so bad anymore. In fact, he does a happy little dance just for himself in the elevator because he’s finally got you.

He does not, in fact, have you.

Because the next day he goes to show Reed the footage, to finally prove himself…

And the camera mysteriously malfunctioned. Exactly when you would have turned from seal to human.

Johnny had no idea how you did it, but he makes sure to shoot you an extremely dirty look as soon as Reed’s attention goes elsewhere.

You just splash him with water, entirely unperturbed by his fury.

Your (one-sided) rivalry with Johnny is not all clever schemes and sharpshooter-quality splashes of water.

Sometimes it’s quiet, and less of a rivalry than it is some kind of almost-friendship.

Such as tonight, when Johnny can’t sleep and finds himself lying on the ground in the seal area. The late hour seems to have dissolved your mischievous tendencies – he has yet to be splashed with any water or mocked for one silly little crush.

It’s a mystery why he came here at all.

Maybe it’s just the low lighting, or the reflections of the water dancing all around the many surfaces in the room. The quiet hum of machinery, or the sound of trickling water lapping at the many stones in your little enclosure.

“Don’t you ever tire of being in here?” Your voice echoes around the room now that the tower has gone mostly silent for the night.

Johnny chuckles, turning his head so he can look at you through the glass. “I’m actually very tired, but I can’t sleep so here I am.”

All you respond with is a quiet hum, but he watches you delicately step across the rocks until you can sit next to the glass separating the two of you and lean your head against it. After a few moments of silence, your eyes close but he knows you’re not asleep.

The quiet is nice. The company, now that it is not accompanied by mischief and mayhem, is also kind of nice. It’s soothing, in a way. He could fall asleep like this.

“Hey…” He starts, unsure why he shatters the peace he seems to like so much. Maybe it’s so he can watch your eyes open again, he’s never seen anything like them before. “What are you, anyway? You said you’re not a human, but you’re clearly not a seal, either. So what?”

A few seconds pass in silence as you ponder his question. Your eyes seem to… Melt? It’s the best description he has for the way they seem to darken in shade and become almost liquid. He’s never seen anything that comes close to it.

“A selkie.” You murmur, the illusion in your eyes dispelling between one blink and the next.

“A selkie?” Johnny repeats, his brow furrowing. “Aren’t they a folktale?”

“Folktales are often steeped in truth.” With a shrug, you turn your head away from the glass. “Usually not so much as with selkies, though.”

He doesn’t really know much about selkies. Something about seals that turn into humans, getting trapped on land if their pelt is stolen from them. He’s pretty sure they’re meant to only turn to human form once every seven years, but he supposes that’s a part of the folktale that is untrue. Or at least, it’s untrue of you. Maybe others choose to only wear a human skin every seven years.

“A selkie, huh?” He breathes out a sigh, turning onto his back to study the reflections of the water on the ceiling. “Why not just tell us that?”

“We learn from a young age to be wary of humans.” You explain, your voice quiet and steady and… Lulling him into drowsiness. “Many of your kind are not understanding of those you consider ‘other’, even if they are of your own species. We prefer it this way, if you think we don’t exist you cannot hunt us.”

And there’s a horrible kind of truth to your words. Johnny finds himself unable to protest them, because you’re right. But he does feel the need to ask…

“So why show me?” He barely stifles his yawn, and he knows you notice because you turn your head to look at him again.

Your smile this time is gentle and warm, a stark contrast to the one you usually direct at him. “I would tell you but you wouldn’t like the answer.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” Another yawn, this one harder to resist.

“Yes, but right now I think you need sleep more than you do answers.”

And at this point, Johnny is so close to sleep that he can only nod.

“Sleep now.” You murmur as his eyes close of their own volition. “I’ll watch over you.”

Johnny makes the mistake of thinking that there is a truce now.

He thought he’d gotten through to you, made a bridge. A connection!

And he’s happily decided to leave you and your secret be, even though he knows the rest of the Fantastic Four are hardly going to come at you with pitchforks.

So. He thinks there’s a truce. And he comes down to the seal area when Reed asks him to, without a care in the world, dressed nicely and with his hair perfect for his date in an hours’ time.

He suffers through the questions about whether or not he slept in the seal area. And through the lecture about how his obsession with this seal is starting to get weird, that he needs to stop because there are no more tests to be done and they’ve all indicated that this is an ordinary seal. And Johnny agrees and apologises and promises to cut it out until-

You splash him.

A direct hit, soaking his very nice shirt and his perfect hair.

Johnny turns to look at you, all innocent eyes and twitching whiskers, and he decides he’s had enough.

So he storms over to the door to the enclosure and jabs in the code to open it, slipping through the door so he can finally be on the same side of the glass as you are. Reed, despite his usually quick thinking, can only watch on in morbid fascination as the events proceed in front of him. He knows he should stop Johnny and yet…

Johnny makes quick work of crossing the enclosure, but his street shoes that are definitely more for looks than for grip quickly betray him. Suffice to say, they’re not suited for the slippery round rocks that make up a good chunk of your temporary home, especially not when some of them perpetually have water trickling over the surface.

So he slips.

And falls right into the water, making him about ten times wetter than he would have been had he just gone back to his room to clean up.

When he surfaces, you’re perched on the edge of the rocks, slapping your front flippers together and arf’ing like you’re a human doing an impression of a seal rather than an actual one. You’re laughing at him. He knows you are. And yet the sour look on his face only fuels your laughter rather than discourage it.

It doesn’t help that Reed finally comes to his senses and uses his stretchy arms to pick Johnny up and pull him out of the water like he’s some sort of toy in a crane game. It’s humiliating.

About ten minutes later, when he’s done being lectured on the dangers of entering the enclosure – both for him and for you – Johnny gets into the elevator with Ben.

A rocky brow is raised. “Why haven’t you-”

“Don’t.” Johnny mutters, watching drops of water roll off of his clothes and form a little puddle on the floor beneath him. He should probably just raise his temperature high enough to make it all evaporate. But today he just wants to stew in it.

Ben grins, chuckling to himself as he gets off on the next floor.

Then he turns back, stopping the doors from closing with his hand. “Maybe it’s not a seal after all.”

Johnny perks up a little, looking up hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ben muses, nodding his head slowly, “I hear sirens are pretty good at luring men into the water with promises of sweet love.”

And then he steps back, letting the doors close behind him before Johnny can attempt to strangle him.

And if everybody hears a strangled, frustrated scream coming from the elevator a few moments later? Nobody mentions it.

After the whole dunking incident, Johnny starts fighting back.

It’s a miracle his privileges to this room haven’t been revoked, but he’s not about to look that gift horse in the mouth. Nor is he about to give up just because you were nice to him once.

So he checks the specifications of the enclosure and the exact chemical makeup of the water. He does some more research into biodegradable materials, stuff that’s nontoxic and won’t force another round of cleanup for your entire habitat.

And the next time he finds you sunning yourself under a heat lamp, he puts his plan into motion.

His aim isn’t as good as yours, but it’s gotten pretty good over the years so he takes great satisfaction in the surprised squeak you let out when a water balloon explodes right next to you.

A moment later you’re in human form, stomping over to the glass so you can look at him with hands on hips and a deadly glare. “What the hell was that for?”

Johnny just grins. “Payback.”

You roll your eyes, an action that he finds strangely endearing. “Clever. You won’t get so lucky next time.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He says, lobbing another balloon over the glass quicker than you can react. “I think I might.”

You yelp, jumping aside as there’s another explosion of water at your feet.

“I thought you liked water.” He taunts, his grin widening at the sour look you direct his way.

“I like water on my own terms.” You grumble, glaring at the pieces of balloon on the ground beside you. “And now there’s bits of balloon in my enclosure. Someone’s gonna have to come and clean up again…”

“Relax, it’s biodegradable.” Johnny says, waving away your worries. “It’ll all be gone in like, an hour.”

You look up at him then, eyes wide with surprise. “You did that for me?”

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs. “I saw how miserable you were after I fell in the tank and you had to sit in that carrier while Reed swapped the water out. And I may want payback but I don’t want to put you through that again.”

That makes you go quiet, just staring at him with this odd look on your face.

Eventually he gets restless, shifting on his feet as he tries not to waver under your unrelenting stare. “What?”

“You’re kind.” You’re surprisingly blunt with that one, not a trace of amusement or teasing in your words.

Just raw honesty, an observation you’ve made and seem to be somewhat surprised by.

“And that… Surprises you?”

“I don’t think so.” You muse, eyes narrowing slightly as you consider him. “After all, you’re all taking care of me, so I figured you must be kind. It’s just… I’ve been unpleasant towards you and yet you put effort into getting revenge without getting vindictive about it.”

“Yeah, well, I have an ulterior motive.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to avoid any more lectures if I can.”

You snort, rolling your eyes again. “Is this where we call a truce?”

“After all that work I did with the water balloons? Hell no.” Johnny shakes his head, crossing his arms. “You can stop splashing me, but I’m not even close to being done yet. I need to get even.”

“There’s only a few days until I go home, you know.” You raise a brow. “Do you really think you can get me with that many water balloons, now that I know to expect them?”

He is nothing if not someone who’ll rise to a challenge. “Do you really think I can’t?”

Your grin turns wicked. “Then I suppose it’s a competition.”

“Yeah.” He nods, already thinking up ways to surprise you. “I suppose it is.”

He turns to leave, satisfied with the agreement and thinking over all the parts of your daily routine where you’ll be vulnerable to his attacks, when you call him back.

“Oh Johnny?” You call, using his name for the first time ever.

“Hm?”

“You wanted to know why I showed myself to you and nobody else.” You say sweetly, gesturing for him to come closer like you’re about to tell him some juicy gossip and don’t want anyone to overhear.

And he knows it’s a trap, knows he shouldn’t fall for it…

But he’s nosy and curious and damn does he fall for it anyway.

He approaches the glass.

Your smile has its usual level of mischief, which is how he knows he’s being played before you even open your mouth. “Because no one will ever believe you.”

A moment later, you’re a seal again and you splash him from head to toe.

You: 1 (plus however many times you’ve gotten him before now)

Johnny: 0

The night before you’re scheduled to be released back into the wild, Johnny takes a blanket and goes down to the seal area one last time.

Your little game somehow managed to stay out of everyone’s sight, thankfully. You won, in the end, but admittedly somewhere along the line he stopped caring about winning. He was kind of just having fun, trying to sneak up on you and trying not to let you sneak up on him.

Your enclosure was full of laughter and trash talk, and now…

Now you’re about to leave.

And Johnny will never say it out loud, but he’s going to miss having you around.

So he decides to spend your last night in the Baxter building with you, the same way he did that night he couldn’t sleep. Lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling, watching the light dance around with the movements of the water.

“I’m gonna miss having you around.” He admits into the silence, unsure if you’re even awake to hear it.

You hum thoughtfully. “I think I might just miss you too.”

“Well, you know where I am if you ever decide to come on land again.” He chuckles, hoping against hope that you’ll take him up on that offer.

Huh.

Maybe he fell in love with the seal after all.

A month or so later, Johnny’s in a diner, ordering his usual from the old waitress who likes to tell him about her grandchildren at every opportunity she gets.

It’s one of the few diners he can go to without being recognised, though he supposes maybe he gets recognised but the employees and regular patrons just don’t care. Either way, it’s nice to be a regular Joe every now and then.

When he finishes hearing about the little twins’ latest milestone, he finishes up his order and turns around to go sit in his usual booth only to find someone else there. And he almost turns away to find another one except…

It’s you.

Sitting in the exact spot he would usually sit, with a book propped open in your hands. Upon closer inspection, it’s the book Johnny was reading the second time you revealed your human form to him. His smile is entirely involuntary.

You came back.

Johnny moves to the table, clearing his throat to gain your attention. You look up, your eyes trailing slowly over his form before resting on his face. And your smile is warm, like you’d expected him to find you here.

“Is this seat taken?” He asks, hoping against hope that you came here for him.

“Not at all.” You answer, gesturing for him to sit. “I could use the company.”

And this, he thinks as he takes his seat, is the start of something truly wonderful.

Thanks for reading!!

As usual a big thank you to @twentytomidnight who encouraged and beta-read this little endeavour!

To be the one looked down by a predator much fiercer than he. He never thought he'd get to see the day. There's no greater thrill than hunting something that's hunting you back. It's the entire reason he turned to humans in the first place. No one showed any promise. He was worried he had wasted his time and that there was nothing out there like him. That people were just animals, too dumb to play his game.

Lucky for him, you've proved him very wrong, and he's quite inclined to tip Fox very generously for his purchase. The only drawback that he's found is that he's lost you. Well, not entirely. He knows you're still out there. It's just that your hiding has gotten far better. He smiles to himself at the thought of you taking great care in every step you take around him. He hopes that it's because of him. That he's set a fire inside of you, one that urges you to learn, to adapt, to kill.

Mason stands, tall and proud, akin to the trees that surround you both. Leaving behind his fishing spot, he's counting on you to spot him, wondering if this time—you'll finally make a move. What other reason would you have to still be lurking about? Surely, you could have just killed him and ran off by now or even just stolen his truck to leave. There's a rustle in the bushes, but he doesn't even turn to check. He knows it isn't you. It's far too obvious, and it's the usual sound of a four-legged creature. Mason lets out a sigh and packs up his fishing gear, heading back towards his cabin. He'll try again tomorrow, he supposes.

His heavy steps trudge against the grass, twigs effortlessly snapping underfoot. He doesn't hide his presence because what's the point if you're just going to avoid him. Even if you were to make a move now, he could easily start to engage you as a hunter should.

Mason's eyes shoot to his left as he hears rapid footsteps heading his way. His brows furrow, wondering if you'd really be so reckless like this. His heart picks up all the same, and he turns his head, but it's not you approaching him. It's a stranger, someone who is not a part of your game. A smaller man clearly disheveled and hurried to run up to Mason. it's possible that he would have called out if he wasn't so out of breath. He waits and lets the stranger approach as they catch themselves.

"Oh, fuck. I thought I was gonna die out here." They huff in relief, bringing a shaky smile to their face. "Thank god, I found you."

He nearly brushes the man off until he hears it. That shift in the forest, one not the typical of flora or fauna.

It's you.

Mason's lips curl up, and the stranger assumes it's for them, but its because he knows why you finally gave yourself away. You still have a soft heart beating in there, and it looks like this is the bait he's been waiting for. He reaches into his supply bag until his hand wraps around his trusty crossbow. A beautiful thing meant for a deadly purpose, funny how that reminds him of you. The stranger's expression falls in dread as they begin to stumble in fear.

"I—I don't—"

"Now this," he raises the bow, taking aim directly between their eyes. "Is the part where you—"

He throws his head back, the whistle of an object moving quickly, alerting him to move. Mason feels something graze the bridge of his nose before a light jolt of pain follows. Both his and the stranger's gaze turn to the small, pointed rock that sticks deep into the tree just inches from him.

Finally.

The stranger runs for his life, falling over himself in an attempt to get away. It's like watching a fawn learning how to run. Blood trickles down his nose, and he wipes it with his fist, prepping his aim once again. The second that Mason pulls the trigger, you shoot right back. His arrow hits its mark, sinking into the stranger's shoulder with a slick thud. Your target lands as well, Mason's hand reaches to cover the fresh wound now resting across his brow bone.

He curses under his breath, but he feels the heat grow in his veins.

You should stay hidden, you know you should, but he's closing in on the stranger, and you can tell he isn't going to last long. With an angered huff, you run out from your spot, and another arrow flies in seconds. Your head lowers, and it slices into your hair, loose strands flying behind you.

"Get down!" Screaming and grabbing onto the stranger's arm, you drag him alongside you.

Mason's laugh sounds through the forest, a chill running through your body. You'd never be finished with this asshole, would you?

The two of you lose him in the undergrowth, but you know it won't be for long. He's got your scent again, and there's no way he's letting you go again—especially not with your new bleeding companion. It's a liability—but he's a person, and you force yourself to remember that. Months—or has it been years?—the time has worn on your mind.

A tug on your arm catches your attention, the stranger looking up at you in fear. It's your job now to take care of him, to make sure he makes it out of Mason's hunt. You've been suffering enough, you can't let him hurt anyone else.

You him give a firm nod. "I got you."

His shoulders lower in relief before the tense at the sound of another shot. There's no time to waste, you had to find shelter, anywhere to hide from Mason. He's aggressive, like a bear in heat, hooked on your return.

You two run and dodge, guiding the stranger in the ways you've learned best deter his tracking.

He's off your trail now, you're sure of it. There's no sign of him anymore, no abnormal silence or distant breaths you've gotten better at listening for. You two are alone, and it's perfect timing, the sun beginning to lower. The sky begins to shift to a heavier purple, a sight that can only be precious in a place like this.

"Let's set up camp here, he usually heads home around this time."

The stranger hums in consent, dropping his things and letting out a deep breath. While he's far from cut out for this sort of life, you've started to get used to it. Though truly, nobody should have to get used to this.

You set up a fire as he rifles through his pockets to pull out a bag of trail mix. He nearly downs the whole thing before pausing and holding the bag out to you. Your eyes focus on the assortment of nuts, raisins, and chocolates. For some reason, you grin at the nostalgia, despite the lack of any happy memories attached to it. You put your hand out, and the stranger fills it part way before finishing the rest.

Seems like you'll have to discuss rationing later.

Once the flame is set, you sit back and once again observe your new companion. He's shaking, and you know it isn't just the cold. The dark look in his eyes tells you everything. It reminds you of you, not so long ago.

You clear your throat. "So, how'd you end up here anyway?"

The stranger shoots up at your words before his eyes flicker as he shuffles through memories.

"I was with my fiance. We we're just—we wanted to go out on a fun little trip before our wedding." The beginnings of joy tease on his lips before the sink back down, heavier than before.

"We wanted time to ourselves. The wedding has been such a hassle to plan. Her mother's very involved."

You clench your fist, swallowing down all the guilt you feel for this man getting in the middle of all this. It's got nothing to do with him, he simply wandered in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, his life is pretty much over.

No.

You won't let it end like this.

"Well, you're gonna have one killer story to tell at your wedding."

Finally, a proper smile graces his face, and you can't help but feel his hope contagious. His mouth opens to say something before his head rips to the left in a harsh motion. The sound of a vicious crack makes your heart sink to your stomach, thick hands palming either side of his face. You feel vomit rush to the bottom of your throat, but you stifle it along with the tears that beg to fall down your cheeks. Mason lets go of the man, and his body drops to the floor like a sack of rocks. Once a man, a family waiting for him, a future ahead, now cursed to be nothing but another missing poster.

You grit your teeth and reach into the fire pit, grabbing one of the logs. It stings, but you only let the pain fuel you as you swing it as hard as you can against his shoulder. The wood breaks from the impact, and Mason lets out a loud grunt.

Without giving him a second, you throw the piece left in your grip. "Fuck you, fuck—Why!?"

His arm comes up in defense as you already start to make your escape. You don't look back, because you can't. You can't look at the limp corpse of a man you just barely knew, dead because you couldn't protect him. It's your fault, it has to be. That's why you run until your lungs burn as much as your hand does, until your legs are weak and practically useless until Mason is but an afterthought.

Your body collapses, crawling to a fallen tree and laying down. Your hands wrap around your body, pulling your coat closer to you as you lean your head against the dirt. You're no better than him, either by his hand or yours, people come to this forest to die. There's no other way out.

Mason stomps around the forest, scolding himself for being so careless. He got too excited, and now he's shoved you right back into hiding with no sign of you, again. Maybe he should have followed you last night, shot you, or broke a leg. To give himself something to follow.

Tree, tree.

Deer.

Tree, tree.

River.

Tree—

This is pointless.

He lets out a sigh, realizing that he's going to have to try a new strategy if he plans to keep this going. Mason turns on his path and begins to head home. He can take notes on places he's seen you, on what looks disturbed by something of your size. Trying to find you by smell became much harder the longer you stayed here. You both smelled like the forest.

He laughs to himself, warmth shifting to his cheeks.

Mason nudges the cabin door open with his shoulder, looking over his less impressive kills. They meant something to him once, but now all of them have grown so dull in the face of you. You're so much more than some prize to be mounted on his wall. However, the thought of pinning you against one isn't an idea he's as opposed to.

He frowns, dropping his tools onto a nearby shelf. The challenge is what he wants, but he hopes it isn't always going to be like this with you now. All this hiding and waiting defeats the purpose, he might as well be fishing. His shoulders crack as he rolls them back, accompanying a hefty groan.

It's far from over, he reminds himself as he shuffles off his coat. He just has to learn from you all over again. You've slipped once, and you'll slip again.

Mason pulls the large fur blanket over his body, eyes fluttering towards sleep. He dreams about nothing but a silent darkness or on some nights—nothing but you.

A creak pulls his mind from rest, his eyes not adjusting to the dark quick enough. His movements are sluggish as he tries to sit up. He's halted by a blade pointing downwards just over his heart. The feeling of your weight on top of him is nearly enough for him to fall back into a comfortable sleep. You're not as keen on the idea as you press the knife harder against his skin, beginning to break it.

"So, what now?" Mason grins, his voice gravelly from exhaustion. "You gonna finish the job this time?"

Your scowl trembles in anger, your whole body shaking with it. An embodiment of hate, your eyes begin to wet from the overwhelming emotion. Yet all he can do is look upon you like you're the stars painted in the sky, and it urks you. It leaves a deep and aching pain in your abdomen.

The knife pushes further down, but the feeling of it beginning to sink in stops you. You can feel his pulse through the blade, pounding against your trembling palms.

He chuckles in endearment, the bastard. "Nah, you're not gonna do it."

You want to. You want to kill him like he did that man. You never even got his fucking name.

"You ain't no killer."

Why is that such a bad thing?

His hand wraps around yours, shrouding it in his calloused skin. "But I can fix that for you, wildcat."

Your grip grows tighter, eyes hiding from his. You force down a heavy swallow, wishing you would just pierce this monsters heart and rid the world of one more evil.

You're soft. For fuck's sake, you're soft.

Tears finally fall as you roar at him like the beast you so desperately wish you were. Even now, as you cry, droplets hitting his collarbone, you never release the rage in your stare.

The scream steals breath from you, panting heavily. "Fuck you.."

"I—I hate you."

He nods, his free hand moving behind your head to brush down your hair and bring you closer. Your nose scrunches in a moment of confusion, but the nearer you get, the more you understand. His lips move against yours before they push harder. You retaliate, tilting your head as you find yourself melting into his form. He's so warm, and it's so, so cold out there.

Maybe, if you could just stay here. Just for a little—

Mason tosses the knife to the ground, placing a hand on your waist before he shifts you onto your side.

One arm raises the covers over his shoulder, bringing you in as he whispers against your neck. "Now, how's about you show me them claws one more time."

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i. The Bar

The target, Veselý, was a mid-level courier with a nervous tic and a refusal to talk to SHIELD. The file demanded caution. Bucky took the corner booth, ordered something dark, and watched.

He expected a standard extraction: calibrated flattery, a calculated approach. He had seen it a thousand times. He could do it himself when the timeline was tight enough, though his version lacked your particular brand of light. His version was gravity — a heavy hand, a cold stare, the promise of violence lingering in the air until the target broke. It was effective, but it was ugly. It left wreckage.

You, however, approached like you had been walking into this bar every Friday for a decade.

Bucky watched, his glass forgotten on the scarred wood of the table. You didn't loom, nor demand. You simply moved into Veselý’s personal space with an ease that made Bucky’s chest ache with a strange, sudden envy.

You said something low, something that cracked the courier's posture in an instant, turning his nervous, twitchy anxiety into something malleable.

For forty minutes, you held him there. You didn't just extract data; you performed a kind of alchemy. You made a man with a forgettable face and a guilty conscience feel like he was the only person in the room who mattered.

Bucky stared, genuinely baffled. He knew how to break a man’s spirit — he had the bruises on his own knuckles to prove it. But he had no idea how to make a man want to give you the world.

You leaned in, the bar light catching the line of your jaw, and the way you held Veselý’s gaze was so focused, so terrifyingly present, that Bucky felt like he was watching a masterclass.

Cool. The word felt insufficient. You were effortless, fluid, and entirely, dangerously magnetic.

Veselý leaned in to confide. You tilted your head, listening with that same unhurried, devastating attention, nodding like his words were gospel. Bucky caught the exact moment you pocketed the napkin with the coordinates — a sleight of hand so clean he barely saw it — while Veselý flagged the bartender for another round, practically tripping over his own feet to please you.

Bucky didn't look away. He couldn't. He felt a weird, protective spike of something in his throat, watching the courier lean a little too close to you, wanting a little too much. It was impressive. It was masterful. And it was starting to make Bucky’s fingers itch, though he couldn't have told you why.

You returned twenty minutes later, glass in each hand, and set one in front of Bucky without waiting for an invitation.

"West side of the rail yard," you said. "Thursday, oh-three-hundred. His direct supervisor runs the handoff."

Bucky looked at the drink, then back at you. He was still processing the shift from the man you’d been talking to and the calm, efficient operative standing in front of him now.

"He bought you a drink."

"He bought us drinks. I mentioned I was meeting a friend." You picked up your glass. "He’s lonely. I let him talk."

Just data. No satisfaction, no performance. "Did you eat? The kitchen closes at ten."

He hadn't. He had been watching you work for ninety minutes and had entirely forgotten the kitchen existed. He considered the gap between your methods and his own — the punches and the silence versus the smile and the napkin. He looked at you over the rim of his glass, quiet, studying you.

"You're good at that."

"Practice." You smoothed the napkin against the table, already moving on to the mission. "Okay. Rail yard. Do we have the layout, or are we going in blind?"

He pulled the site file and slid it across. Your shoulder brushed his as you leaned in, and Bucky held his breath, watching you mark the route with a focus that made the rest of the bar vanish.

ii. The Extraction

He didn't know about the driving until it was too late.

The tail picks them up two blocks from the rail yard. The car is already running, and you are already in the driver's seat. There is no clean moment to negotiate; Bucky gets in, a tactical decision he will later describe to Steve in a way that avoids mentioning the panic.

"Left," Bucky says.

"I see it."

"There's a —"

"I see it."

He puts one hand on the dash, jaw set, watching the world blur. The tail drops two turns later. You execute a parking manoeuvre he refuses to describe in detail, mostly because the detail would do nothing to preserve his dignity. You pull into an alley, cut the engine, and sit back.

The silence is immediate and complete.

"Okay?" you ask.

"Fine."

"You have the face."

"I have a neutral face."

"You have a very specific face. You had it when you told me my form on the last target was reckless." You are already checking the mirrors, split attention, completely calm. "I grew up with no public transit. You learn to drive."

"That wasn't driving, that was a —" He stops. The tail is gone. The case is intact. You are looking in the wing mirror with the expression of someone who has already moved on. He doesn't have a counterargument that accounts for the outcome. "Steve takes a wrong turn in the quinjet once and everyone acts like it's a war crime. You do that —"

"Did we lose them?"

"Yes."

"Then," you say simply, and check the mirror again.

He wants to argue. But the case is secure, and he finds he has no argument to make. This happens more than he’d like. He’s starting to suspect it will keep happening, and — more worrying — he is starting to suspect he doesn't entirely mind.

iii. The Debrief

The hotel room has a desk that is too small and a lamp that hums at a frequency that grates against Bucky’s nerves. He takes the chair — always the hard surface, no explanation needed — and gets the site layout open while you disappear into the bathroom.

You return in sleeping clothes, which Bucky registers and files away with the efficiency of someone who has learned to triage information by relevance. You settle onto the bed with the evidence photographs and your notes.

The next hour is the two of you working through the rail yard timeline. The lamp continues its low, discordant whine. At one point, you lean across to check something on his page and leave your highlighter on his side of the papers. He uses it without thinking and sets it back on the nightstand.

"Does the supervisor connect to the secondary location," you ask, "or is that a separate cell?"

"Separate. Different chain."

"So Thursday disrupts logistics, not the full network." You make a note. "Still worth it for the supply delay. I'll write up the structural piece. You've got the layout?"

"Almost done."

You nod and return to your page.

He watches you for a moment — cross-legged on the bed, photographs sorted into piles, highlighter in hand, brow furrowed at the file like it owes you something. There is lotion on one forearm. Your hair suggests the day has been longer than either of you has acknowledged. You catch the details about the secondary cell, note it, and move on.

He returns to his notes. He tells himself he’ll finish the report first. He does, and then he sits there anyway.

iv. The Night

You're asleep in under ten minutes, which he finds impressive. The lamp remains on, but you don't seem to need the dark; you go out like a switch.

He tells himself he’ll turn in once he checks the layout one more time.

He checks it. Then he sits there anyway, because you are, by any honest accounting, the most interesting thing in the room. You win by default.

You are sprawled across the bed with the total commitment of someone who started in a reasonable position and then stopped negotiating with gravity. One arm hangs off the edge. Hair is everywhere. The duvet is migrating, and he can see that it will be on the floor before morning.

He thinks: how. Then he sits with it for a while.

He knows what Steve said. His first friend. Steve had said it to Sam in the kitchen, and Bucky had been in the hallway and kept walking, because that was easier than standing there with it.

He understands friend. He has had those. He knows the shape — Brooklyn, the forties, James's version of himself that moved through the world easily. That version would have been named this already. He would have called you his crony, his mate, said it with one arm around your shoulders without awareness that it was a thing worth examining. James moved fast.

Bucky just uses your name. It isn't a lesser thing — it just feels like the whole sentence. Your name sits differently in his head than others. Quieter, like it has been there longer than it has.

He doesn't know when he falls asleep. Usually, sleep is a negotiation, something he has to arrive at deliberately. But at some point, the lamp is off, and there is grey morning light through the wedged window, and he is upright in the chair.

The duvet is on the floor. Both pillows are on the floor.

You are somehow still on the bed, in defiance of several principles he considers fixed, in a configuration he cannot physically reconstruct the logic of. One leg hangs off the edge. Dead asleep. The room looks like it survived something.

He sits with this, too.

In the field, you are structured with clean entries and good instincts. You finished the debrief before you slept because the work wasn't done. Then you apparently spent the night conducting an unconscious reorganisation of every soft surface in a three-foot radius.

 There is no report for this. You will wake up, look at the floor, and feel nothing in particular about it, and somehow that’s… something. The contradiction. Structured and chaotic, depending on the hour.

He knows that structure. It isn't so different from his own.

He waits, which he’s very good at. This isn't surveillance; this is just him in a chair in the early light, the duvet on the floor, waiting for you to wake up so he can see what you say when you clock the state of the room. He has a feeling it will be something good.

You wake up in an hour, staring at the floor, then flopping your sleepy eyes at him.

You say, with complete equanimity: "Huh."

He almost smiles. It’s close — closer than it usually gets.

James would have laughed already. Full and easy, the way he used to before laughing got complicated.

Bucky thinks: Yeah. Me too, actually.

Steve gets the mission report by morning and reads the whole thing. He texts Sam: Told you.

Sam doesn't respond. He does, however, show Natasha, who reads it once and says nothing, which for her means quite a lot.

In the hotel, Bucky picks the duvet up off the floor and puts it back on the bed without making a thing of it, because you have already moved on to asking where the nearest coffee is. Some things are just true without needing to be said.

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