ic Until You've Crossed

[Gizmo]

Trevor made a grumbling sound that emerged from his mask's filters like gravel grinding against concrete. "Worried," he admitted after shifting about in his chair for a few moments, folding his arms across his chest as if daring Erin to point out that with her recuperative abilities she'd been in very little danger from the moment Nina had pulled her out of the water. "Can still drown." There was no need to clarify that the real reason he was ill at ease was that she'd been injured in the process of taking a hit aimed at him. Just because she was far more capable of taking that hit that he was didn't make him feel any better about seeing her hurt.

[Electra]

Erin made a dismissive noise and reached out a hand, inviting him to unfold his arms and take it. It was looking much better already, the fingers straightened and the bruises faded to a fascinating swirl of green and yellow. "Not with my teammates there. I knew you wouldn't let me stay down there too long. Hell, by the time I figured out where I was and which way was up, Nina was practically on top of me already." She glanced over to the other bed. "I think she's more freaked out about the trip than I was. The whole Mark power boost thing can be kind of overwhelming." 

 

She shifted and turned onto her side to face him, wincing a bit as her ribs protested the movement. "You know why I had to do it," she insisted quietly. "I couldn't stand there and let him hurt you." 

[Gizmo]

Taking Erin's hand gingerly in his own, Trevor let out a long, slow breath. "I know. Don't have to like it." The faint sound of the material of his mask shifting wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone with the recuperating young woman's enhanced hearing but she recognized it as the telltale sign that one corner of his mouth was twitching upward in the barest hint of a smile. Following her gaze over to the other side of the room, he asked softly, "Think she'll be alright? Rude awakening." Trevor didn't have the best grasp of traditional family dynamics but he had to imagine attempted assassinations and physical confrontations were enough to upend most anyone's worldview.

[Electra]

"I don't know," Erin admitted, shaking her head a little. "It's a lot of trauma to all happen in one day. First her mom, then her dad... it's probably gonna be rough." Her own lips quirked ruefully. "I can't exactly claim to know what goes on Nina's head on normal days. But at least she's got Mark, and they seem... okay, still. I guess? A lot to take in there, too. I don't know if she really understood what he can do before now." She sighed, pleased when that didn't bother her ribs or lungs, and ran her thumb back and forth over his fingers. "I should probably send her a gift basket or a card or something, the 'thanks for hauling my ass out of the ocean' gift. Do you think we're gonna bring her onto the team?"

[Avenger Assembled]

Nina and Mark pulled close in a passionate embrace at his words, one cut short by Nina's still broken rib. "Ow," she said after a moment, gingerly laying back down on the hospital bed. "I..." She squeezed his hand tight, looking up at him, and changed the subject before her lips could betray her. "I will need things, Mark. Half of the bedroom closet, and a place to put what I have from my apartment. And a job. One I find for myself," she added, meeting the suggestion she knew he was about to make. "I will not just live on your charity." 

 

Nina had always been good about kicking in for things like food and entertainment before - but of course that had been when she'd lived on an allowance that was now going to be bone-dry. "Baby, I didn't even think about money till you brought it up," he assured her, which was perfectly true. "And you know I wanted to make this a more long-term thing. I knew I'd never find another girl like you," he added. "So about that other thing..." It was evidently something of a familiar subject

 

"Not with the pink costume," said Nina, shaking her head firmly. "It is not what all the girls wear! Look at you two," she called to Wander and Midnight, just a little strain in her imperious voice. "You have no flowers or pink sparkles on your costumes! And even if Midnight were a woman he would not!" 

 

"Hey, it wasn't _all_ pink," Mark shot back, "and I was willing to wear it too if you switched first! And you said you liked parts of it!" 

 

"I did like the crown," she conceded reluctantly. "But it needs more blue and white. More Socotran colors."  

[Gizmo]

"Empirically true," Midnight agreed is a monotone deadpan, privately hoping that his counterpart in alternate dimension colloquially known as Earth-XX was having a better day. Given that the female version of Edge hadn't demonstrated an inclination to even ask before adorning someone in pink sparkles, that seemed unlikely. "Suggest black," he added with a subtle nod to his own attire and the primary colouration of Wander's costume in turn. "Headwear is good, though." Costume design was something he had quite a bit to say about, relatively speaking. He looked over to Erin with a faint shrug on one shoulder. It seemed as though her question had been answered.

[Electra]

"You always suggest black," Erin pointed out with a grin for Trevor. "I'm with you on the no pink costumes," she told Nina, "but if you want it to be a secret identity thing, you might want to avoid the national colors too. And you'll need at least a mask." She'd shed her own salt-sodden mask as soon as she could get her fingers to cooperate, but then, Erin had very little in the way of secret identity to protect. She pushed herself to a sitting position, very carefully. "So are we done here for tonight? Can we go home?"

[Avenger Assembled]

"Let's go home," Mark agreed, holding Nina's hand. "Together." 

 

-

 

Far away, in his palace in Socotra, Amir al-Darsah sat alone and unarmored in his royal bedchamber. Bruised and battered after the bloody struggle at sea, he felt his years heavily on his narrowed shoulders. His elaborately carved dragon's blood chair enveloped his aged body with the comforting reminders of his youth - symbols carved of glorious battles won in his name, in the name of Typhoon, lord and master of Socotra. Sitting on his writing desk was a single oil painting - a smiling young woman with a baby in her arms, the two of them dominated in the picture by the armored figure of Typhoon, lord and master of Socotra, posing with his new bride and his youngest child. 

 

As his desk clock ticked away the hours, he stared at the painting - the only one of its kind in his private quarters. 

 

It was a long time until he slept.