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[color=808080][color=cb6b06][b]#cb6b06[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=d13b00][b]#d13b00[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]ghost rider[/b] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/RMJEeiz][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]............[/color] [color=00674f][b]#00674f[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]sentinel[/b] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/9f/2f/b1/9f2fb187ae06fc21f8a02d1bff323fbb.jpg][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]james's penthouse[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]The rest of the evening had been fairly quiet aside from the quiet hum of metal music that echoed throughout James’s apartment, giving their cooking endeavors an interesting soundtrack that somehow contrasted but also complimented their easy laughs and cooking chaos. They spent over an hour destroying his kitchen a second time, this time covering it in melted cheese, condiments, and grease, but by the time they finished Aria had managed to produce two respectable looking burgers along with a completed batch of kraft mac & cheese. 

Letting the mess be a tomorrow problem, they settled on the couch where James decided the best thing to accompany one of his favorite meals was one of his favorite movies. [i]10 Things I Hate About You.[/i] He would call it a guilty pleasure if there was a single fiber of his being that felt guilty for enjoying it. He didn’t know how much Aria got to watch movies and if he was taking on the responsibility of helping expose her to the better parts of the world, movies—especially [i]that[/i] movie—was a good place to start. So in the comfort of each other’s company, exhausted after a particularly draining day, they enjoyed burgers the way they were meant to be enjoyed, lazily and in good company. 

At some point between finishing their food and the credits rolling for the movie they both fell asleep, drifting off from their food comas, exertion from training, or maybe just the ease of each other’s presence. By the time the morning light had started creeping in through the windows James had sunk further into the couch. His feet were stretched out on the ottoman, one ankle resting on top of the other, arms crossed, and his head hanging, chin to his chest. Meanwhile Aria was curled up beside him, her head nestled in his lap unapologetically like that’s where it belonged.

When the sun had risen just enough to shine directly in his eyes, James began to stir. He went to stretch but once he felt the weight along his thighs he paused, forcing his eyes open to notice the mess of blonde hair splayed across his lap. In that moment a warm, unbidden and unexplainable feeling thrummed to life in his chest. He froze, scared to wake or disturb her, but also just enjoying the look of peace painted across her face. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it across her. James settled further into his seat and grabbed the remote. He did his best to quickly mute the T.V. the second he turned it on, and opted for watching with subtitles rather than risk disturbing her. 

Zaria dreamed of a balcony made of pale stone and moonlight. It rose out of nothing, suspended over a dark that had no bottom, its balustrade carved with the same severe, merciless geometry she had grown up memorizing until it lived behind her eyes. The stone was cold beneath her bare feet. Silk whispered around her legs when she moved; she wore a dress the color of old bones and winter roses, too fine for her hands, too delicate for the life she had lived, the fabric breathing like something alive against her skin. The air smelled like storms that never quite arrived, ozone and distant rain, sharp enough to sting the back of her throat. Somewhere in that vast hollow space, someone said her name.

She turned, heart lifting at the sound of it, James’s voice, unmistakable even in dreams, rough-edged and warm, threaded with something like concern. Relief bloomed so fast it hurt, fragile and dizzying, like stepping onto solid ground after too long at sea. But when she faced him, it wasn’t James who stood there.

It was her father.

Victor von Doom wore inevitability the way other men wore coats. Cloaked in shadow and metal and the cold certainty of being right, he stood with his hands folded behind his back, expression calm, disappointed, eternal. The world narrowed around him, warped by his gravity, by the familiar pressure of his presence. And at his feet—

Zaria’s breath locked in her chest.

James lay broken against the marble, blood dark against white stone, his body bent at angles no living thing should know, his face slack and unseeing, the warmth gone from him like a candle pinched between fingers. The balcony tilted, the horizon buckled, the sky seemed to pull away from itself. Her father said something she couldn’t hear, his mouth shaping words that had ruined her life a thousand times over, syllables heavy with ownership and inevitability.

She tried to scream. No sound came. Her eyes flew open. 

Air tore into her lungs like she’d been drowning. Her body jerked, fingers clawing at empty space, heart hammering so violently it hurt, each beat a sharp, panicked blow against her ribs. For one awful half-second, the dream clung to her, marble and blood and metal and inevitability still pressed against the inside of her skull, still slick on her skin, still whispering that nothing good was allowed to stay.

Then sensation rushed back in.

Warmth first. Heavy, gentle warmth draped over her shoulders, settling into her bones like something deliberate, protective. A blanket. The soft rise and fall beneath her cheek. Denim. Cotton. Heat. The faint scent of grease and soap and something uniquely [i]him,[/i] grounding and imperfect and real. She blinked hard, vision blurring, then clearing, the shapes of the room slowly assembling themselves into something safe and ordinary.

She was curled on her side, knees drawn in, her head resting in James’s lap, turned toward his stomach, cheek pressed into the worn fabric of his jeans. The steady, living weight of his leg beneath her temple anchored her in a way nothing else ever had, solid and undeniable. It took another second for her to register the bright wash of morning light creeping through the windows, the careful stillness of the body she was leaning against. Her breathing slowed in uneven increments, shuddering its way back into rhythm.

She became aware of the blanket tucked around her shoulders, of the way it had been placed with deliberate care, pulled close enough to keep the chill away but not so tight that it trapped her. And then, softly, impossibly, of the fact that James was awake. Her gaze drifted upward, hesitant, afraid that sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile miracle had carried her out of that nightmare. She tilted her head back slowly, neck craning until she could see his face.

The world narrowed to that. Sleep-soft eyes. Tousled hair. The faint tension in his jaw like he’d been holding himself still for her sake. Alive. Breathing. Warm. The sight hit her harder than the dream had. Her throat tightened without permission. A sound almost escaped her, something small and broken and relieved, but she swallowed it down, lashes fluttering as she tried to steady the ache blooming behind her ribs. For a long moment she just looked at him. At the person she’d laughed with until her sides hurt. Who had let her wreck his kitchen without complaint. Who had watched a stupid movie with her and somehow made it feel like a revelation. Who had, in the space of one strange day, rewritten what it meant to be safe beside another human being. 

She hadn’t known it could be like this. Not easy. Not quiet. Not warm.

Her childhood had been marble and discipline and blood beneath shut doors. Her life after had been running, always running—Logan at her side like a shield and a shadow, a father-shaped absence she had wrapped herself around because it was better than nothing. But this… this was different.

James had settled on watching Golden Girls, muted with subtitles. There were a handful of times where he had to muffle a laugh to try and not disturb her, but she slept so heavily that she didn’t even notice. He had made it through two episodes when he felt her stir. He remained still, breath even, a stoic pillow that would remain frozen in place under the assumption she was adjusting rather than waking up. But as a few seconds ticked by, there was a growing sensation like a tickle in his chest that made him feel like he was being watched. It was only when refraining became too unbearable that he spared a glance down to the mess of blonde hair in his lap, finding hazel eyes filled with more than just sleep staring back up at him. 

The corner of his mouth curved into a lopsided smile. His hand along the back of the couch where she had been sitting the night before shifted slightly, nearly moving with the subconscious urge to adjust the blanket or brush aside a lock of hair. But his fingers curled into a fist along the cushion, forcing restraint. [color=cb6b06]"Did I wake you?"[/color] he asked quietly like too much noise would break the fragile balance the morning rested in. [color=cb6b06]"I forgot how funny Dorothy was. Golden Girls might not have been the best decision."[/color] His smile grew, warm and softly apologetic in his guilt. 

Zaria let out a small, careful breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, the kind that loosened somewhere deep in her ribs. Waking was usually a violent thing for her, sharp and disorienting, all instinct and readiness to run, but this time the world had opened softly instead, layered in warmth and quiet and the low, steady presence of him. Seeing the faint curve of his mouth, the way sleep had gentled the hard lines of his face, the way his eyes looked clearer than they had the night before despite sleeping on the couch, it eased something knotted tight inside her chest. Not all at once. Not cleanly. But enough.

For a moment she just stayed there, cheek still pressed into his lap, lashes heavy, the blanket warm across her shoulders, the muted glow of the television painting pale shapes across the ceiling. She felt safe in a way that made her nervous to acknowledge it. Safe in a way that felt temporary and therefore precious.

Her voice came out before she could decide whether to keep it to herself, roughened by sleep and the ghost of fear still clinging to her throat. [color=00674F]"I had a nightmare,”[/color] she admitted quietly. The words didn’t tremble, but they were thin, worn soft at the edges. She shifted the slightest bit, not enough to move away, just enough to breathe more easily. [color=00674F]"It’s… better now,”[/color] she added, softer.

Then she looked up at him properly, really looked, at the way his smile hovered like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to keep it, at the gentleness in his eyes that hadn’t been there when they first met, at the careful way he held himself still for her sake. Something warm flickered through her chest, shy and fragile. She offered him her own smile in return. It was small. Uneven. A little uncertain around the edges. But it was real. After a second, she asked, just as quietly, [color=00674F]"Did you sleep okay?”[/color]

She didn’t move from where she was. Didn’t untangle herself. Didn’t pretend she hadn’t claimed his lap like a refuge in the dark. She knew he’d need his leg back eventually. Knew this couldn’t last forever. But for now, wrapped in borrowed warmth, with the echo of a nightmare fading and the soft proof of him still here beneath her cheek, she let herself stay.

[color=cb6b06]"I’m sorry,"[/color] James replied at first, like somehow the nightmare was his doing. He doubted it was, even deep down he knew the probability was slim, unless she had visions of the spirit smiting a village or something… but nevertheless, he felt the need to apologize anyway, like the food, or his couch, or just his presence was the catalyst for the troubling sleep. 

He cocked his head to the side with a lazy shrug at her own inquiry. [color=cb6b06]"I’ve slept in far worse conditions. So a night on the couch isn’t that bad… Aside from the crick in my neck."[/color] His smile was subtle, a small tug at one corner like he was uncertain if he was allowed more than that. James’s gaze fell back down to her where she laid unmoving against his leg, weary eyed with messy blonde hair. She was… [i]beautiful[/i]. The thought came on its own, like a train barreling through subconscious barricades and slamming into the forefront of his mind. It tightened in his chest and stole his breath. And for once the spirit said… [i]nothing.[/i] No sarcastic comments, or insults. Nothing. Almost like he locked himself away and gave James one sliver of a thought that was just his. 

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to repress the thought, to breathe and focus and not think about it. It was difficult for him to keep his expression unchanging, harder still to act like he didn’t have a tsunami of thoughts sloshing around his mind. James drew in a breath that was a little ragged, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment longer than he should have. He rapped his fingers against the back of the couch and then met her gaze once again, because he had to, because he couldn’t act like it felt different… [i]somehow.[/i]

[color=cb6b06]"Did you want to talk about it?... Your nightmare,"[/color] he offered, opening the door for her if she wanted it but in a gentle way that showed he wouldn’t pry or ask questions if she declined.

Zaria watched his mouth when he apologized, the way the word left him gently, like it had weight. It made something soft stir in her chest, tender and undeserved and painfully kind. Her lips curved in response before she could stop them, a quiet smile shaped by gratitude more than amusement. Even his attempt at humor, the small crooked admission about his neck, drew warmth into her expression. It was easy to forget, sometimes, how rare gentleness was when it wasn’t demanded. How disarming it could be when it was offered freely.

But when he asked about the nightmare, something in her faltered.

The smile lingered, but it thinned at the edges, turning fragile. Her lashes fluttered down, and for a long moment she let her eyes close, shutting out the room, the television’s flicker, even his face, holding instead to the rhythm of his breathing beneath her cheek. In and out. Steady. Real. The warmth of his leg pressed through the thin barrier of fabric, solid and anchoring, a quiet proof that the dream had lied.

She inhaled slowly, then again.

[color=00674F]"It’s… nothing new,”[/color] she said at last, her voice soft and careful, shaped as if by glass. [color=00674F]"Just another dream about my father.”[/color] Her fingers curled faintly into the blanket. [color=00674F]"About him finding me. Taking me back.”[/color]

The words were spoken plainly, but they carried the weight of years, corridors of cold stone, iron rules spoken like scripture, a childhood carved into obedience. Her voice lowered further, nearly a whisper. [color=00674F]"About what he’d take from me once he did.”[/color]

Her eyes opened again, and for a heartbeat she couldn’t look at him. Because the truth rose too fast, too sharp, the thing her father would steal first, if he could, would not be her freedom or her name or her body.

It would be this. This warmth. This quiet. This strange, fragile sense of being safe in someone’s presence. It would be James. The realization lodged in her throat like a splinter of light, painful and impossible to swallow. So she didn’t say it. She couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, she lifted her gaze back to him, letting only the softer truth show, the fear she had always carried, the one that was easier to explain.

[color=00674F]"I’m okay,”[/color] she added quietly, though it wasn’t quite true. Her mouth curved into the faintest smile, brave and aching and incomplete. [color=00674F]"I am. I just… needed a second to remember where I was.”[/color] And who she was with, that he was alive. 

It was only when she started to describe her nightmare that James moved, letting his arm fall from the back of the couch. His hand hovered over her arm, like he was second guessing himself or giving her the opportunity to stop him, but after a pause, his palm came to rest gently upon the cap of her shoulder. He wasn’t trying to force his way into her personal space or make her uncomfortable, just give a soft, grounding bit of reassurance that his words could never give. 

His thumb lightly stroked her arm through the blanket in a steady rhythm. [color=cb6b06]"This place feels [i]pretty[/i] safe,"[/color] James commented as he lifted his head to look around his new living arrangements. After all, it was built by Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne. He didn’t know if it got safer than that. [color=cb6b06]"There’s a lot of powerful people here who would help keep you safe."[/color] While he had some conviction behind his words, he realized that he couldn’t guarantee that. A lot of the people in the tower have a past, a history. Him and Aria were new. They were unknown, unstable variables. He couldn’t entirely blame their new [i]allies[/i] for keeping them at an arm’s length when all they knew was she was Doom’s daughter and he was possessed. It didn’t paint them in the best light. 

James sighed. His face hardened into something more pensive in the way his brows curved downwards and his jaw tensed. [color=cb6b06]"Ok, well… I can’t speak for them,"[/color] he confessed. The corner of his mouth tugged, not into a smile, but into a sympathetic sort of grimace. [color=cb6b06]"But I can protect you. Or I can try, anyway."[/color] He held her gaze for a second before shifting his attention toward the muted rerun of Golden Girls. [color=cb6b06]"I know your father is powerful but I’m [i]functionally[/i] immortal… [i]Sooo[/i]..."[/color]

There was a heavy silence that hovered in the space between them for a handful of minutes before James finally let his gaze fall back to her. He didn’t know [i]why[/i] he felt protective of her. Maybe it was because someone needed to look out for her with Logan gone. Or maybe it was because he could see the trust behind her eyes and while it was what, two days? Aria was the first constant thing in his life in a long time. Or it could be something else… that he wasn’t going to think about because that was stupid, and he wasn’t a blonde with boobs. 

He shrugged his shoulders. [color=cb6b06]"If he tries I’ll just have to kill him."[/color] There was a light sarcasm behind the weight of his words, but once he realized he just threatened her dad he cringed with a pained, apologetic frown. [color=cb6b06]"Well… You know, with your consent… Obviously. I’m not just gonna [i]murder[/i] your dad. That’s crazy."[/color]

There was a deep rumble in his chest, almost like a scoff that roared to life from the belly of a beast before the spirit decided he had been quiet long enough. [color=d13b00]"I think you mean [i]I’ll[/i] kill him. You’re just a meat suit."[/color]

James sighed, his head sagging as he felt whatever meaning or vulnerability that might have hung on his words was erased by his resident parasite. His jaw clenched, muscles along his neck flexing as he swallowed back his words and let his attention drift toward the window. 

Zaria felt herself soften beneath his touch, the slow, absent-minded rhythm of his thumb against her arm seeping through the blanket and into places she hadn’t realized were still braced for impact. The tension she carried so instinctively, like armor she forgot she was wearing, eased, piece by piece, until her shoulders sank more fully into the couch and her weight settled more honestly against him. His words warmed her in a quiet way, not loud or dazzling, but steady, like embers banked carefully through the night. He didn’t speak like a hero from one of the movies he’d talked about yesterday. He spoke like someone who meant it, even when he doubted himself, even when the promise was too big for any single person to reasonably carry.

She listened to him talk about the tower, about the people inside it, about protection and uncertainty and the strange, fragile politics of trust. She understood more than she said. She had felt the careful distance in the hallways, the weight of her name moving ahead of her like a shadow. Doom’s daughter. A risk. A story people thought they already knew how to end. 

It didn’t hurt the way it once might have. Not when she was here. Not when his voice was low and awkward and sincere above her, admitting what he could and could not promise.

When he said he would protect her, something warm and dangerous bloomed in her chest. When he fumbled over the idea of killing her father and tripped over his own morality, she let out a quiet, startled laugh, soft against his stomach, the sound more breath than voice. And when Judge rumbled through him, sharp and cool, she smiled fondly.

She shifted just enough to look up at him again, eyes gentler now, clearer. There was no fear in them this time. Only certainty, fragile but bright. [color=00674F]"I know they don’t really trust me,”[/color] she said softly. [color=00674F]"Most of them.”[/color] Her fingers curled lightly into the blanket.

[color=00674F]"I think… it’s easier for them to accept you. Even with Judge. You’re dangerous, but you’re… I’m just a reminder of something their parents fought for years.”[/color] She paused, then added more quietly, [color=00674F]"But Tobias trusted me.”[/color]

The name carried careful hope in it, fragile as spun glass. It wasn’t what she had with James now, not even close, but it was the only other connection in the tower she could hold onto. [color=00674F]"And his father was just as bad as mine. Worse, in some ways. And they trust him now. It took time, but… they do.”[/color] Her gaze lifted to James again, steady and unguarded. [color=00674F]"So maybe one day they will with us too.”[/color]

James shrugged his shoulders slightly, staring at the TV as a commercial about toilet paper or something played silently in the background. [color=cb6b06]"I don’t… care if they trust me,"[/color] he admitted quietly without looking back down at her. He wasn’t there to make friends or build trust. Sure, a team needed trust, he supposed, but he could tell when people were lying to him, Judge could sniff out the liars… Going at things solo was nothing new for him. If they didn’t trust him then he’d show up to kill or smite what was needed of him, then disappear back into his penthouse. 

But [i]Aria?[/i] With her father, the bounty on her head, and everything else, she needed that trust… For protection. For safety. One bad egg could get her sent back to Doom or worse. Tobias trusting her was a boon, not a big one, but if the people in the tower could learn to accept him despite his father, then it should be no different for her… He hoped. [color=cb6b06]"Tobias seems fairly level headed compared to most of the others here. If one of them was going to trust you… I think he might be the best choice."[/color] It was only then that his gaze dropped back down to her with a small, lopsided smile. 

A beat passed. Then her smile changed—softened, warmed, turned inward like something meant just for him. [color=00674F]"Maybe… but I’ll always remember who trusted me first.”[/color]

Her voice was barely above a whisper. [color=00674F]"Who promised to protect me.”[/color] Something resolute settled behind her ribs.

[color=cb6b06]"[i]Hmm,[/i]"[/color] he mused quietly, unable to fight the way the corners of his mouth curved into a more earnest smile. 

[color=00674F]"And I’ll protect you too,”[/color] she said gently, the words simple and absolute. [color=00674F]"Even if you are… functionally immortal.”[/color] There was a flicker of shy humor in her eyes.

James laughed quietly, nodding his head in a playfully placating sort of way. [color=cb6b06]"Sure thing, Killer."[/color]

She grinned, then, carefully, she lifted one hand from beneath the blanket and reached up, pressing a single finger to the center of his chest in a light, deliberate poke, right where his heart beat. [color=00674F]"And that wasn’t a very nice thing to call him, Judge,”[/color] she added, looking not at James, but at the invisible presence riding shotgun behind his eyes, her tone fond despite the reprimand. Her hand lingered there for half a second longer than necessary before retreating, her head settling back into his lap as if it had always belonged there.


His head dipped, gaze falling to where she softly touched his chest. It was small, a passing gesture meant to chastise and reprimand the spirit stirring in the back of his head, but his breath still drew in sharply and his heart skipped a beat. James tried his best to brush it off and mask it beneath a quiet chuckle that rumbled beneath his ribs. And thankfully Judge spoke up before he had to distract himself to try and not let the heat creep up to his cheeks that he could feel stirring in his chest.

[color=d13b00]"It’s the truth. I could call him my host, but ‘meat suit,’ or ‘puppet’ is more fun. Without me, James is just a man with a motorcycle."[/color]

James rose his brows in silent concession. As much as the spirit was a parasite that made him feel like he was losing a little more of his sanity day by day, without him… He wouldn’t be in the tower, wouldn’t be sitting there with Aria’s head resting in his lap. It was a weird sort of irony, the way silver linings presented themself around a cloud so black that he didn’t know if he’d ever see the sun again. There were some days where he regretted making the deal, the days where his father was especially spiteful or he felt more lonely than he could put into words. But even in a building of superheroes who didn’t trust him, he felt more accepted than he had for over a decade. Fate was… [i]weird.[/i]

Zaria didn’t think about it before she moved. One moment she was curled against him, wrapped in the borrowed warmth of his lap and the quiet comfort of morning light, and the next she was pushing herself upright. The blanket slid from her shoulders and pooled in her lap like fallen snow as she twisted to face him fully. Her hand came up, hesitant only for a fraction of a second, before she pressed her whole palm flat against the center of his chest.

She felt it immediately. The warmth. The steady, living thud beneath bone and skin and stubborn pride. It grounded her in a way nothing else could, and for a dangerous second she was acutely aware of how close they were, of the heat rushing to her cheeks, of the way her breath caught and then tried to pretend it hadn’t. But she ignored it, focusing instead on the firm line of her mouth as she frowned slightly, eyes sharpening with something protective.

[color=00674F]"No, Judge,”[/color] she said, voice steady despite the warmth climbing up her neck. [color=00674F]"You’re wrong. He’s not [i]just[/i] a man.”[/color] Her fingers flexed faintly against his shirt as if to emphasize the point, her frown deepening in quiet conviction.

[color=00674F]"You of all can see that. You live in him.”[/color] She shook her head softly, blonde strands shifting around her shoulders. [color=00674F]"He’s a [i]good person,[/i] genuinely good in a way a lot of people can never manage even if they spend their whole lives trying. He deserves better than being called a meat bag.”[/color]

There was no dramatics in her tone, just a calm, unwavering certainty that felt older than her years. She had seen cruelty, had grown up surrounded by it, and had learned to measure people by what they did when no one was watching. And James, for all his sharp edges and flippant humor, had chosen kindness in the small moments that mattered. Her gaze softened then, the sternness melting into something lighter, more playful as she finally withdrew her hand from his chest.

[color=00674F]"C’mon,”[/color] she added, a small grin tugging at her lips, mischief flickering behind hazel eyes. [color=00674F]"You’re creative. You could definitely come up with a better nickname than that.”[/color] The grin lingered, soft, teasing, fond, and she let her hand fall back into her lap, pretending her pulse hadn’t jumped at the feel of his heartbeat under her palm. 

James didn’t move, on the contrary he froze entirely. He felt the warmth of Aria’s palm radiant across his sternum as she pressed her hand against his chest. His Adam's apple jumped in his throat when he swallowed, breaths growing shallow like properly filling his lungs was too much movement. The hand that had been resting on her shoulder had shifted with her movement, returning to where his arm was stretched across the back of the couch, but his finger—one single index finger—twiddled and tapped against the cushion. He grounded himself in that solitary movement rather than the racing of his heart that he knew she could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt. His chin dropped, gaze falling to her pale, delicate fingers that pressed gentle but firmly against his ribs. He blinked slowly, trying to steady his breaths as his eyes trailed up her arm, along her shoulder, until they found their way up to her flushed cheeks and serious gaze. 

He was of multiple minds as her words filled the silence of his penthouse. James wanted to argue her claims, pointing out the obvious fact that she had known him for the better part of two days. So how could she know what kind of person he was? There was a smaller, strangely foreign part of him that almost wanted to defend Judge. While his words of choice were… [i]harsh[/i] at times, he also wasn’t wrong. Then, beneath his own warring stubbornness was a pull deep in his chest, like a tether wanting to lift his hand and rest it on top of hers, holding it in place before she could take it away. His thumb twitched, but before it moved she did and her hand fell into her lap. [i]Good.[/i] The last thing he needed to do… was something stupid, [i]like that.[/i] He cleared his throat and extended his fingers outwards before curling them tightly into a fist, like his own silent bid for restraint and control. 

[color=d13b00][i]Coward,[/i][/color] the spirit chastised him within his mind. James clenched his jaw, but did not respond. He hung his head slightly, loose dark locks fell from his messy ponytail, slipping from behind his ear and veiled part of his face. His gaze fixated on a grease stain in his jeans while Judge took over his vocal cords like his own personal puppet. [color=d13b00]"I’ve called him plenty of names: [i]liar, pussy… coward.[/i] I thought ‘meat suit’ was kinder."[/color]

James sighed, unable to remain stationary as he became the butt of a joke he didn’t want to be a part of. He ran his hands along his jeans before pushing off his knees and standing up. He groaned softly as he unintentionally forced his back to stretch quicker than he probably should have. He winced, sucking in a sharp breath when something between his shoulders twinged and pinched. [color=cb6b06]"Poptarts and coffee?"[/color] he asked, sparing her a quick glance with a small, fragile smile that lost a fraction of its warmth from Judge’s words. He didn’t wait for an answer, walking around the couch and heading toward the kitchen. He groaned and his face contorted with discomfort, reaching one hand up to rub the back of his neck in an attempt to soothe the ache. 


Zaria’s frown deepened when Judge spoke again, the words falling into the quiet room like small stones tossed into still water. She didn’t respond this time, though the disapproval lingered plainly across her face. Instead, her eyes followed James as he pushed himself up from the couch, and for a brief, dangerous second her thoughts scattered completely. The stretch of his shoulders, the quiet groan that slipped from him, the rough line of muscle shifting beneath his shirt—he was painfully, unfairly handsome in a way that made her chest tighten before she could stop it. Dark hair, tired eyes that were somehow still kind, the sort of rugged presence that made the room feel steadier simply because he was in it. She caught herself staring and quickly dragged her gaze away, heat prickling at her cheeks as if the moment itself had been caught doing something it shouldn’t.

They were [i]friends.[/i]

The thought landed hard, firm as a boundary she repeated to herself more than once. Friendship alone already felt complicated enough, already stretching the limits of what she understood about being close to another person. Logan had been safe, steady and patient like the father she’d never had. Her brother had been a protector, someone who stood between her and the world like a shield. But this strange, quiet ease with James, felt different in ways she didn’t quite know how to navigate, and that frightened her more than she wanted to admit. The idea of misstepping, of accidentally hurting him, made something inside her chest knot with a nervous intensity she couldn’t easily smooth away.

She sat up slowly, drawing the blanket off her shoulders and stretching her arms above her head. The movement loosened the stiffness that came from sleeping awkwardly on the couch, though her mind was still spinning faster than she liked. When she looked back toward him, she forced her thoughts into quieter corners and offered him a bright, steady smile—small but sincere, a fragile piece of normalcy she was determined to hold onto.

[color=00674F]“That sounds good to me,”[/color] she said lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice stayed warm, casual, though a careful listener might have caught the hopeful note she tried to tuck beneath the words. [color=00674F]“We could make something for lunch too, maybe?”[/color] She followed him toward the kitchen a second later, steps soft against the floor, the smile lingering even as her heart continued its quiet, complicated dance.

James grabbed the platter of poptarts she had offered him the night before which had been carefully set aside on the counter. He turned around to face her, gaze slowly rising from beneath dark hair to look over at her with a tired smile that still managed to be warm beneath the aches of his body and Judge’s snark. The quiet sound of the plate sliding across the kitchen island echoed throughout his open penthouse as he placed the pastries out for her. He rolled his shoulders and then his neck as he turned his back toward her and started brewing a pot of coffee. The caffeine wouldn’t work the tightness out of his muscles, but it would remove the haze that still clung to the edges of his mind. 


Once he heard the quiet whistle of steam and drip of coffee, James opened the cabinet beside the fridge and retrieved two mugs. [color=cb6b06]"Sure,"[/color] he replied softly, facing her once again while setting down the ceramic cups on the counter. [color=cb6b06]"You’ve already witnessed the extent of my culinary expertise,"[/color] he joked with a halfhearted laugh. [color=cb6b06]"But I’m sure we could find a recipe or—"[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"Good morning,"[/color] J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice rang throughout the apartment, cutting off James before he could continue. [color=d6d6d6]"Mr. Lehnsherr has requested everyone’s attendance for a meeting in conference room 01 on the first floor at noon. Thank you."[/color]

James sighed, followed by a weak laugh that was more irony and annoyance rather than actual humor. He pressed his hands against the edge of the counter, tapping his thumbs against the cool surface as he clicked his tongue. [color=cb6b06]"Guess lunch is off the table,"[/color] he mused with a smile that was lazy and frayed as it only curved on one side. [color=cb6b06]"Wonder what that’s about,"[/color] he thought out loud as he pushed off the kitchen island and went about gathering sugar and milk for when the coffee was finished. 

Zaria had already claimed one of the pop-tarts by the time James turned back toward the coffee machine. She chose carefully, one of the neat, golden ones Alfred had made compared to her culinary chaos, and held it delicately between her fingers as she wandered toward the fridge. Each bite was small, thoughtful, as though she were still a little amazed that food could exist like this, simple, delicious, shared between people without ceremony or expectation. She tugged open the refrigerator door and searched for a bottle of water, the quiet hum of the appliance filling the soft silence of the penthouse.

The announcement from J.A.R.V.I.S. stopped her mid-step.

Her hand paused on the refrigerator handle, pop-tart half-raised to her mouth as she turned her head slightly toward the living room. A faint crease formed between her brows, uncertainty settling into her expression as she looked back toward James. [color=00674F]“I… don’t know enough to know if announcements are a good thing or a bad thing,”[/color] she admitted sheepishly, the words leaving her with a soft breath that carried more weight than she meant them to. She closed the fridge and stepped back, forcing herself to take another bite of the pastry, chewing slowly as if normalcy alone might steady the strange heaviness that had suddenly settled in her stomach.

The anxiety crept in quietly after that.

Her thoughts slipped sideways, tumbling into dark corners she hadn’t invited them into. Maybe they had decided she was too dangerous to keep around. After all, who needed the daughter of Doom lingering in the hallways of a building full of heroes? Maybe they had found something out about the disappearances, about Logan. The thought hit hardest of all. What if they had news? What if the news was the kind that ended searches and closed doors forever? She swallowed hard, chased the bite of pop-tart with a long drink of water, and deliberately forced those spiraling thoughts down where they couldn’t claw their way back up.

James shrugged his shoulders as he set down the milk and sugar on the counter. He studied her face, the way her body seemed to go rigid lost in thought. Anxieties around the unknown were common. He could understand, even used to feel it at one point, but with the spirit in him… He had found himself significantly less [i]concerned[/i] with the what if’s. [color=cb6b06]"I imagine whatever it is, it isn’t urgent… Or our attendance would have been ‘urgently requested,’"[/color] he commented, trying to ease her tensions with a wry smile. 

[color=cb6b06]"But regardless, [i]I’m[/i] the flight risk, not you. Remember?"[/color] His brows rose in a silent challenge as he repeated Tony Jr.’s words. He wasn’t entirely sure why he said it, but Aria’s unease made him think back to their earlier conversation about their place on this team… in this tower. He had no reason to think either of them was about to be ousted, but even so, it’d make sense for it to be him over her. She seemed like the type of girl who could use reassurances and he was just trying to do his best where he could.

She looked at James, and in that moment he became the anchor in the storm of her thoughts, the simple reality that cut through the fog. The quiet steadiness of him, coffee brewing, mugs set out, shoulders loose despite the morning stiffness, felt like a lantern in a dark room. His words were kind in a way she wasn’t entirely sure she deserved yet, but it made her shoulders ease. [color=00674F]“Thank you,”[/color] Zaria murmured, voice soft and genuine as her lips tugged up into a crooked sort of smile. There was a pause, barely ten seconds, and then her face lit up like she’d just realized something.

[color=00674F]“Dinner, then,”[/color] she said suddenly. The words slipped out before she realized how long the silence had stretched. Heat rushed to her cheeks the moment she heard herself, and she turned quickly toward the living room, setting out to tidy the space unnecessarily. [color=00674F]“I mean—”[/color] she added, a little breathless now, [color=00674F]“If you want, we could cook dinner together. I can find something on the Tube.”[/color]

She paused, brow furrowing as the phrase caught up with her. Her nose scrunched in thoughtful confusion. [color=00674F]“Is… is that what people call it?”[/color] The uncertainty melted into a graceful shrug that somehow managed to be both elegant and deeply embarrassing at the same time, like someone who had grown up in marble halls without the internet suddenly realizing the world had its own strange vocabulary she was still learning.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and gravely as it rumbled somewhere in his chest, as he watched her nervous shift from the unknowns of their impending meeting to… Something else that he couldn’t quite decipher. [color=cb6b06]"[i]Tube[/i],"[/color] James mused quietly as he pivoted around and lifted the coffee pot from its base. [color=cb6b06]"Americans usually call it TV… or [i]television[/i] if you’re feeling fancy,"[/color] he clarified for her as he started to pour the steaming hot liquid into the prepared mugs. [color=cb6b06]"Dinner is good,"[/color] he reassured her quietly with a small nod of his head that made wild black locks fall from behind his ear. 

When he finished his gaze drifted over toward his fingers curled around the handle and the grease still caked under his nails. [color=cb6b06]"I should probably shower beforehand."[/color] he commented, more thinking out loud than anything. James’s attention slowly drifted across the penthouse to where Aria tried to tidy the small bit of disorder they made on the couch. His gaze fell to the white marks that still clung to her dark clothes like stubborn memories of her cooking endeavors. He chuckled to himself as he motioned toward her shirt. [color=cb6b06]"I imagine Betty Crocker might want fresh clothes too."[/color]

Zaria’s grin came easily this time, sheepish and warm as she brushed a stray smear of flour from the front of her shirt. The reminder of her earlier culinary disasters made her nose wrinkle slightly, though the expression softened with quiet amusement rather than embarrassment. [color=00674F]“Yeah,”[/color] she admitted, glancing down at the stubborn white dusting across the dark fabric like it might confess its crimes if she stared long enough. [color=00674F]“Betty Crocker definitely needs a shower.”[/color] The words were light, but the smile she gave him afterward carried a softness that lingered just a moment too long, as if she was reluctant to let the easy warmth between them slip away. 

She hesitated after speaking, the pause small enough that most people might have missed it. For a moment she simply stood there, fingers curling into the blanket she had been wrapped in earlier, the quiet familiarity of the penthouse settling around her like something safe and carefully held. It felt strange, how easily she had grown comfortable here, how quickly the space had begun to feel like somewhere she could breathe without watching every door and shadow. The thought made her chest tighten with a fleeting, foolish reluctance. She told herself she was being silly.

Her hands moved before her thoughts could linger too long on it. She began folding the blanket neatly along its seams, smoothing the fabric with careful strokes that spoke of practiced tidiness more than habit. The couch cushions were straightened next, the pillows lifted and fluffed before she set them back in place as if restoring the small island of calm they had created there the night before. The movements were gentle and unhurried, though the quiet domestic rhythm gave her something to do with the strange flutter of nerves in her chest.

[color=00674F]“Maybe I’ll go do that now,”[/color] she said softly after a moment, her voice warm but steady as she glanced back toward him. The faintest note of hesitation threaded through the words, though she masked it behind an easy smile. [color=00674F]“But I’ll probably come back up if I have time before the meeting.”[/color] The sentence came out more hopeful than she intended, though she didn’t seem to notice it herself. 

[color=cb6b06]"Don’t forget your coffee,"[/color] James tried to stop her before she left in too big of a hurry. Remembering the ungodly sweet coffee she had the day before, he grabbed the sugar and put enough scoops into the dark liquid that he was certain it would give cavities. He then grabbed the milk, adding a sizable helping that took the coffee from black to a warm caramel color. After giving it a good stir, he walked over to Aria and held out the steaming mug toward her with a soft, lopsided smile. [color=cb6b06]"Door’s always open,"[/color] he offered. It wasn’t like anyone else was likely to visit him. Plus, she had already seen him naked, he doubted either one of them could be scarred more than they already have been.

Zaria had made it nearly to the edge of the room before his voice caught her, and she stopped so abruptly she nearly laughed at herself. She turned back with a little startled blink, then doubled back toward him in a quick, light-footed shuffle that was almost comically eager, the kind of movement she would have denied if anyone ever accused her of it. The sight of the mug in his hand, and more importantly, the scandalous amount of sugar he’d clearly dumped into it for her, made her grin widen into something bright and unguarded, all warmth and sleep-soft affection.

[color=00674F]“Thank you,”[/color] she practically sang, the words lifting on a note of genuine delight as she accepted the steaming mug with both hands, careful and reverent as if he were handing her something precious rather than aggressively sweetened coffee. The heat of it seeped into her palms at once, comforting and sharp all at once, and she couldn’t help the soft little hum of approval that escaped her as she took a daring sip far too soon. It was scalding, painfully, recklessly hot, and she still smiled through the sting.

She lingered just long enough to glance back at him over the rim of the mug, her expression softening around the edges at his words, at the easy invitation tucked into them like it was nothing when it meant far too much. Then she backed toward the door, careful and clumsy in equal measure, and bumped it shut with her hip on the way out, laughter flickering across her face at the awkwardness of it.

[color=00674F]“See you soon!”[/color] The words floated back to him warm and certain as she disappeared into the hall, coffee in hand, heart lighter than it had any right to be, heading for the elevator with the taste of sugar on her tongue and the quiet promise of returning already tucked safely in her chest.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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