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[color=808080][color=962929][b]#962929[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]hell's angel[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/jx1gmM6][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [color=feffb5][b]#feffb5[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]redback[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/39/a5/79/39a579f2d90d81fa26d76c5aafca3c15.jpg][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]myla’s penthouse[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Morning came gently, almost shyly, spilling pale gold through the tower windows in long ribbons that stretched across the bed and painted Myla’s skin in warmth. Theo woke slowly with that light on his face and the unmistakable, grounding weight of her curled against him, soft and warm and blessedly alive in his arms. For a few long, precious minutes, he didn’t move at all. He simply lay there with one arm around her waist and the other tucked beneath her, watching the sun climb higher while her steady breathing rose and fell against his chest, as if the whole world had narrowed down to that one quiet proof that she was still here.

It felt fragile in a way that made his throat ache. Not fragile because she was weak, not Myla, never that, but because the peace of it was so rare, so achingly beautiful that it seemed almost impossible the universe had allowed them even this much. Her hair spilled across his shoulder and collarbone, dark and soft and a little wild from sleep, and every now and then the faintest brush of it shifted with her breathing. Theo let his thumb drift in slow, absent circles along the curve of her hip beneath the blanket, the touch featherlight, reverent, careful of the places that still hurt. If he could have stayed there forever, suspended in dawn and quiet and the warmth of her tangled with his, he thought he might have gladly let the rest of the world burn outside those walls.

But the world, unfortunately, had never once cared what he wanted.

The thought came with a reluctant practicality that sat heavy in his chest as his gaze shifted toward the brightening windows. Soon he’d have to wake her. Soon he’d have to coax her into eating something, because she needed food in her stomach and rest in her bones, and after that he needed to get her to the infirmary whether she argued with him or not. Theo’s mouth twitched despite himself at the memory of the day before, of his valiant, catastrophic attempt at grilled cheese and the utterly tragic fate of one blackened sandwich now still, as far as he knew, adhered to the ceiling of her kitchen like some kind of culinary crime scene. Yeah. Maybe not cooking. Maybe he’d find something already made unless he wanted to finish off Hell’s Angel by poisoning her with undercooked eggs and hubris. Still, the thought lingered with a small, stubborn kind of tenderness; he really did need to learn how to cook if only so he could take care of her properly without endangering structural integrity.

A soft sigh slipped from him as he let his eyes close for just a moment, trying to hold onto the fading hush of dawn before the tower fully woke around them. The silence thinned by degrees, giving way to the low hum of life beyond the room—faint footsteps in distant hallways, voices murmuring half-awake somewhere below, the metallic rhythm of weights being lifted in the gym, the creak of equipment, the muffled thud of something heavy being set back down. His hearing, traitorous as ever, caught more than he wanted, the world filtering in piece by piece whether he invited it or not. Usually he could laugh it off, let the noise roll over him like static, but this morning he wanted none of it. He wanted only her breathing, the rustle of blankets, the quiet heartbeat of the girl in his arms, so he turned his face into her hair and let the rest of the tower blur into irrelevance.

Carefully, Theo tilted his head and pressed the gentlest kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a second as though he could pour all the things he didn’t know how to say into that single touch. His fingers slid up from her waist to smooth a loose strand of hair away from her face, tucking it back with an affection so instinctive it made his chest feel almost painfully full. She looked softer in sleep than she ever allowed herself to be awake, all the edges of her stubbornness eased by exhaustion and trust, and that trust made something fierce and protective flare in him all over again. The stitches needed looked at. No more waiting, no more distractions. He brushed another kiss against her temple, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he murmured low enough that it was more breath than sound, [color=feffb5]"Morning, angel."[/color]

He stayed there another moment, memorizing her, because some small and fearful part of him had learned too quickly how precious any morning could be. Then his hand slipped to her cheek, thumb stroking softly along the warm line of it as he prepared to coax her back into the day. He could already picture the sleepy little frown she’d give him, the stubborn insistence that she was fine, the inevitable grumbling when he mentioned the infirmary, and despite everything, despite the ache of what waited beyond the room, affection swelled bright and helpless inside him. He bent to kiss her brow again, smiling against her skin this time. [color=feffb5]"C’mon, angel,"[/color] he whispered gently, voice full of warmth and reluctant duty all at once. [color=feffb5]"We’ve gotta get some food in you… and then I’m dragging your stubborn ass to the infirmary before those stitches decide to stage a rebellion."[/color]

Exhaustion had sunk into Myla’s bones like lead. Between the injuries that still riddled her body, training, and then getting lost in Theo for the remainder of the day, sleep took her not long after her head hit the pillow. His soft words and softer kisses did little to rouse her. She could hear fragments of what he said through her morning haze, just enough to piece together their meaning… [i]Unfortunately.[/i] A quiet groan murmured behind her faint grimace as she curled in closer to him, refusing to open her eyes as she settled into the warmth of his chest. [color=962929]"’m fine. Barely feel it,"[/color] she mumbled against his skin as she hooked her leg around his like a barnacle that refused to be moved. 

Theo’s grin had come easy and helpless at the feeling of her curling tighter around him, the sleepy little protest muffled against his skin and that stubborn leg hooking around his like she could physically anchor herself there and dare the morning to try its luck. There was something unbearably endearing about the way Myla resisted consciousness with her whole body, all stubborn instinct and exhausted affection, and he could feel the smile lingering against his mouth as he looked down at her tangled with him beneath the blankets. 

[color=feffb5]"Mm, sure you are,"[/color] he murmured under his breath, the words warm with fond disbelief as his fingers drifted lazily up and down her back, careful and featherlight. He should have pushed. He should have insisted. But for a brief, selfish moment, he found himself hesitating, because good sleep was a rare, precious thing these days, and if she was managing to sink back into it in his arms… God, maybe he could let the world wait five more minutes.

That thought should have stung more than it did. Somewhere in the back of his mind, beneath the soft haze of dawn and the ache of loving her, guilt rolled over itself in slow, familiar waves. The city was still out there, breathing and breaking and needing. Crime didn’t stop because he’d found a bed, or because he’d found her, or because for one impossible night they’d both let themselves be more than the masks they wore. He knew people would notice. He knew if Redback stayed absent long enough, someone would wonder if he’d vanished too, if he’d become one more name swallowed by the same dark tide that had taken so many others. 

But the thought of it, instead of hollowing him out the way it should have, only met the warm weight of Myla against him and dissolved into something quieter, something achingly human. He hated that there was a part of him willing to steal these moments at the expense of someone else’s safety, and hated even more that he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when she was here, not when she was breathing against him, not when for once the world had given him something soft and living to hold.

Myla had nearly managed to drift back off when there was a loud crack of wood splintering, followed by the slam of a door flying across a penthouse several floors above. [color=a8f9ff]"[i]Lucian Buchanan Rogers![/i]"[/color] The shout was loud, shrill, and bursting with a fury that demanded blood. 

She startled awake. The blankets pooled in her lap as she sat up abruptly, wincing quietly as she felt the movement strain against her torn stitches. The last remnants of sleep vanished beneath the commotion of the tower. New York was louder, but the noise was constant enough that she could drown it out at night, but here? It was so silent when everyone was still, that it was eerie… Until it wasn’t. Myla tried her best not to focus on the argument that was unfolding as the tips of her fingers ran along the bare skin of her torso, curling around her ribs until she found the gash that was half tied shut and half scabbed over where the skin was pulled apart. 

[color=962929]"People in this tower are [i]very[/i] loud,"[/color] she mused with a tired grumble. [color=962929]"And have a [i]lot[/i] of sex,"[/color] Myla added, laughing weakly as she turned her head toward Theo, lightly pressing her chin to her shoulder with a guilty smile. They might have been culprits of the latter, but last she checked no one else there had superhero hearing… she hoped. Her white, cloudy eyes widened at the thought of someone slipping into the stairwell at a [i]particular[/i] moment after training. She hadn’t really been paying attention to anything other than Theo. The thoughts flooded her mind before she could stop them… his heavy pants that entangled with her own between kisses, his breathy whispers that bloomed hot against her skin, or the electricity that tingled every place their bodies met. She turned her head as she felt the warmth of a flush creep across her cheeks while a traitorous heat churned to life deep inside her

He had just made the choice to let it go, to let her sleep a little longer, to pretend for ten stolen minutes that they were simply two normal people and not the kinds of people who bled for strangers, when the tower itself seemed to split open above them. Imogen’s voice cracked through the morning like a blade dragged across glass, shrill and furious and loud enough that even Theo physically winced before the words fully registered. The sound of splintering wood, the violent slam of a door somewhere above, and then that furious, unmistakable scream of Luke’s full name sent a jolt through the tower and through the girl in his arms. He felt Myla startle before she was even upright, blankets shifting and her body tensing with that sharp wince he hated, and immediately his hands were on her, one at her waist, the other steadying her shoulder as she sat up too fast. 

His lips twitched despite himself, because if the universe was going to conspire against his plan to let her sleep, at least it had done it with theatrical flair, and he leaned in to press a trail of soft kisses across her forehead while she gathered herself, unable to stop the warmth from spilling into his voice. [color=feffb5]"Looks like you’re up now,"[/color] he said, the words practically sing-song with a happiness he couldn’t quite hide, even if the tower sounded like it was one argument away from collapsing in on itself. He brushed his nose lightly against her temple, smile widening just a little as he added, [color=feffb5]"Sooo… that means we can go to the infirmary, hmm?"[/color]

Her sleepy grumbling about the tower being loud earned a quiet laugh from him, low and breathy and threaded with the kind of affection that seemed to live in his bones whenever she was near. He followed the line of her touch when her fingers skimmed over the injury at her side, and his expression softened with immediate concern even as her weak joke about the amount of sex in the tower made him huff out a helpless, crooked grin. [color=feffb5]"You know,"[/color] he murmured, thumb brushing gently over her hip, [color=feffb5]"At this point I think this place just runs on bad coping mechanisms and property damage."[/color] 

[color=962929]"I don’t think I’m strong enough to break anything in this place besides Ronnie’s nose,"[/color] she mused deviously, with a groggy levity lacing her words. [color=962929]"But bad coping mechanisms—"[/color] she wagged her index finger with a faint smile, [color=962929]"—I’m [i]really[/i] good at those."[/color] Since taking up the mantle of [i]Hell’s Angel[/i], Myla had inherited her father’s pension for coping, by avoiding her problems entirely and hoping they would disappear on their own. Along with the occasional confession mixed in there for flair. It was… [i]not[/i] healthy by any means. She didn’t delude herself into thinking otherwise, but it was better than the alternative. People who spent nearly every waking moment protecting others, and still coming up short, did not have the luxury of mental breakdowns or an hour hiatus for therapy. 

[color=962929]"[i]Although…[/i]"[/color] Her voice was soft and tempting like silk as she slowly turned to face him, having little care for the sheet that barely covered her any longer. [color=962929]"Now that I’m rested,"[/color] Myla continued, her words no louder than a whisper against his skin as she leaned in and placed a single lingering kiss against his collarbone. [color=962929]"We could… embrace some [i]bad coping mechanisms[/i] of our own,"[/color] she mused with a mischievous smirk, tilting her head up toward him slowly to press her lips tenderly along the underside of his jaw. The thought of staying locked away in their penthouse all day, rediscovering each other was far too enticing to ignore. The fact that it would also distract Theo and [i]conveniently[/i] keep her far from the infirmary was just an additional bonus. 

Theo nearly folded.

It was immediate and dangerous, the way she turned toward him like that, voice soft as silk, mouth warm against his collarbone, the sheet slipping low enough to make his brain short circuit in the most embarrassingly predictable way. Every part of him that had spent the night relearning the shape of her wanted to melt right there, to let her coax him into staying tangled in bed until the sun crossed the whole sky and the tower forgot they existed. His hands settled instinctively at her waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin there with a reverence that threatened to betray him, and for one terrible, wonderful second, Theo genuinely considered throwing every responsible thought he’d had that morning directly out the window. She was beautiful when she was mischievous, all quiet temptation and hidden sharpness, and he hated how badly he wanted to indulge every dangerous little suggestion that came out of her pretty mouth.

But then he remembered the stitches.

The thought hit him like cold water, and Theo forced himself to drag in a breath before he did something catastrophically stupid. His lips parted on a quiet, helpless laugh that sounded more wrecked than he would have liked, and then, very gently, very deliberately, he leaned back just enough to put the barest sliver of space between them. He lifted a hand, tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger like he was scolding a particularly beautiful menace, and gave her the firmest look he could manage while actively trying not to stare at her, not that it really mattered, but it was for the principle of it. [color=feffb5]"Nope, no way,"[/color] he said, aiming for stern and in-control and definitely not at all weak in the face of her, though the warmth in his voice threatened to ruin the effect. [color=feffb5]"Absolutely not. Nice try, though. Very convincing. A-plus effort. Gold star for weaponized distraction."[/color]

His mouth twitched then, the sternness cracking almost immediately under the weight of his own affection, and a soft grin lit his face despite himself. He smoothed a thumb over her cheek, unable to resist leaning in to steal one quick kiss from the corner of her mouth before retreating again, like he needed to remind himself what he was fighting for. [color=feffb5]"You’re going to the infirmary,"[/color] he told her, voice gentler now but no less certain, [color=feffb5]"And then I’m going to find some food for you, actual food, not whatever culinary hate crime I almost committed yesterday, and [i]then[/i] we’re going for a nice walk on the beach."[/color] The words came easier once he said them aloud, because despite everything, despite the tower, the disappearances, the ache that never really left either of them, he still wanted that for her. For them. Something simple. Something sunlit. Something that looked, for an hour, like life instead of survival.

The grin on his face softened into something deeper after that, something so fond it almost hurt. Because he meant it. He still wanted to take her there, to feel the sand under their feet and the salt in the air, to let her listen to the waves while he described the color of the sky to her in ways that would make her roll her eyes and smile anyway. He wanted to walk slowly enough that her side wouldn’t hurt, wanted to keep a hand in hers, wanted to pretend for a little while that the world had not sharpened its teeth around all of them. His fingers drifted down to lace with hers, lifting her hand to his mouth so he could press a lingering kiss to her knuckles, eyes bright with that stubborn, boyish warmth that somehow survived everything. [color=feffb5]"C’mon, angel,"[/color] he murmured, brushing his nose lightly to hers, [color=feffb5]"Let me take care of you first… then I can reward us both by being very bad at beach dates instead."[/color]

Whatever warm and playful smile had tugged at the corner of her lips melted away into an expression of frustrated stoicism that could almost pass as a pout in the right light. Myla didn’t argue, per se, but she was headstrong in her own right, all rigid muscles and silent determination. Her stubbornness prevailed through the featherlight kisses and the way he laced his fingers with hers while simultaneously pulling away like proximity alone was too much of a temptation. Her eyes slowly fluttered close as she felt the tip of his nose brush against hers, drawing a heavy, exasperated sigh from her parted lips. [color=962929]"You saved my life. It is impossible for you to take care of me more than that,"[/color] she argued and huffed, her words nothing but soft affection even when she dug her heels in. 

[color=962929]"Do you know how many times I’ve gone to the hospital for my injuries?"[/color] she asked softly, knowing that the truth would likely frustrate him more than he already was with her stubbornness. [color=962929]"[i]Never,[/i]"[/color] Myla answered her own question, lightly bumping her nose against his with a tender emphasis. Her fingers slowly slipped from between his, curling around his hand until she grasped the back of it. She then gently tugged it closer, guiding him until the tips of his fingers ran along a scar beneath her left collarbone. [color=962929]"Not when I was shot that one time in Chinatown and you [i]insisted[/i] on taking me to the hospital,"[/color] she confessed with a guilty, lopsided smile. Her softness lingered, warm and reassuring as she trailed the tips of his fingers along her skin down the length of her sternum before curving beneath her right breast where a crescent shaped scar cut across her ribs. [color=962929]"Or when I was nearly impaled on rebar."[/color] Myla then guided his touch along her stomach, grazing her navel before settling on a three inch gash in her hip. [color=962929]"[i]Or[/i] when I was stabbed."[/color]

She released Theo’s hand, letting him withdraw before he panicked and tried to say she was trying to seduce him… [i]again.[/i] The touches were sensual and selfish, but her goal wasn’t to make him cave. While the thought was tempting and Myla was almost certain she could make him give in if she really wanted to, she was trying to be respectful of his concern, even if she thought it was a bit dramatic. A cut to her ribs and a stab wound in her thigh weren’t going to kill her and would still hurt no matter if they were stitched up properly or not. [color=962929]"I dressed all of them myself and was back out on the streets the following night."[/color] Her right hand slowly reached out, cupping his cheek tenderly as her head tilted to the side slightly. [color=962929]"Assholes don’t rest because I do."[/color]

Myla’s thumb lightly stroked his cheek along the stumble that peppered his skin before leaning in and giving a gentle, lingering kiss. [color=962929]"I’ll go… [i]for you,[/i]"[/color] she conceded reluctantly through clenched teeth and a playful grimace. [color=962929]"But I’m cauterizing it,"[/color] she concluded with a finality that was like an unspoken compromise. She would not sit through more stitches that would tear or break within another day or two, so if Theo wanted her to go to the infirmary then the treatment was her decision. 

[color=962929]"[i]After[/i] a shower."[/color]

She leaned in, giving him one more fleeting kiss before throwing the blankets off of her and climbing out of bed. Naked and unbothered Myla circled around the foot of the bed and made her way toward the bathroom. She disappeared through the doorway, bare feet quietly padding across the tile before stepping into the shower. Rather than waiting for the water to warm, she stood beneath the showerhead and turned on the taps, letting the cold shock her system awake and snuff the temptation that was still burning deep inside her. She shook her head, then ran her hands along her face and back through her hair with a sigh. [color=962929]"[i]Fucking infirmary,[/i]"[/color] she grumbled pathetically under her breath.

Theo only pursed his lips as she spoke, that familiar mix of fondness and helplessness pulling at him while she laid out the quiet, ugly truth of how often she had bled and simply kept going. He knew that. Knew it in the intimate, infuriating way that came from having fought beside her long before they’d ever peeled off the masks and stepped into each other’s arms like this. Back then, there hadn’t been anything he could do except be there, except throw himself louder, brighter, more obnoxiously into the center of the fight so every gun, every blade, every furious pair of eyes would land on him instead of her. It hadn’t always worked, and some of the scars she guided his fingers over had settled beneath his skin too, not on his body but somewhere deeper, in the part of him that still remembered exactly how helpless he’d felt every time her blood hit concrete.

Even so, his smile never really left him. It softened, went quieter, tinged with ache when she dragged his touch over the map of damage she wore so matter-of-factly, but it stayed, because every brush of her hand over his, every guilty little smile, every stubborn confession was so painfully her that he couldn’t help it. The kiss she pressed to his mouth drew a long sigh from him, his eyes slipping shut for a beat as though he could anchor himself in the warmth of it before she inevitably said something else that made his heart misbehave. When she relented, if reluctantly, and set her terms, he didn’t even hesitate. [color=feffb5]"It’s your body,"[/color] he amended easily, thumb stroking once over the inside of her wrist before he let her pull away. [color=feffb5]"Whatever you think is best, as long as you get it looked at."[/color] It was the closest thing to surrender he was willing to offer.

Then she kissed him once more, threw off the blankets, and all coherent thought promptly abandoned ship.

Theo’s gaze tracked her on pure reflex, utterly doomed from the second she moved, bare skin, unhurried steps, that complete and effortless lack of self-consciousness that made something warm and boyishly stunned bloom across his face all over again. He flushed so fast it was almost embarrassing, the heat climbing his throat as she crossed the room like temptation given form and disappeared into the bathroom. For a second he just sat there, staring at the doorway as the faint sound of her feet on tile gave way to the shower turning on, and then he let himself fall backward onto the bed with a breathless, disbelieving laugh. The mattress caught him with a soft bounce, and he dragged a hand over his face, grinning helplessly up at the ceiling like the universe had personally decided to make a fool out of him. [i][color=feffb5]This is real,[/color][/i] he thought, not for the first time and likely not for the last, and the realization hit him with the same strange, almost reverent amazement it had yesterday. Myla was here. She loved him. She was muttering in the shower about the infirmary like some grumpy little raincloud the universe had somehow allowed him to keep.

After a beat, practicality reasserted itself.

He pushed himself up with a quiet exhale, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and tugged on a pair of jeans that had ended up somewhere between the floor and the chair in the night’s chaos. The denim was still a little twisted from being hastily discarded, and he fumbled one foot through the wrong hole before snorting under his breath and correcting it, running a hand back through sleep-tousled hair once he was finally dressed. The tower was louder now, the low hum of waking life filtering through walls and floors in a hundred little ways, but he let it stay background noise as he padded barefoot out into the kitchen with the singular determination of a man trying very hard not to burn down someone else’s penthouse. 

He opened cabinets cautiously, like they might judge him, squinting at shelves of neatly arranged ingredients and kitchen tools that looked far more advanced than his current skill level deserved. Eventually he found salvation in the form of instant oatmeal packets, a bowl of apples, and bread, which, all things considered, felt like the universe offering him a mercifully manageable challenge.

Theo set everything out on the counter with the solemn focus of a scientist preparing for a very low stakes but deeply personal experiment. He read the instructions on the oatmeal packets twice, just in case, then grabbed a small saucepan and measured water with an almost absurd level of concentration, holding the cup at eye level like a chemist making sure he wasn’t about to ruin the pH of a delicate solution. When the water started to simmer, he poured in the oats and stirred them with careful, slightly awkward motions, watching the texture thicken with the wary attention of someone who still half-expected it to rebel. 

The smell was warm and simple, comforting in a way that made the kitchen feel softer, and after a moment he found cinnamon and brown sugar in a spice cabinet, pausing to sniff both before committing like that somehow confirmed he wasn’t about to season breakfast with cumin by accident. He sprinkled each in cautiously, then added a small pat of butter and watched it melt into the oatmeal with a flicker of ridiculous pride, like he’d just mastered haute cuisine instead of instant oats.

He picked up the knife with the respectful caution of a man who knew he could dodge bullets but still had no business trusting himself with kitchen cutlery before coffee. He sliced slowly, cutting around the core in uneven but earnest wedges that were at least recognizably apple-shaped, even if one looked a little like it had lost a fight. He arranged the slices on a plate with a concentration so intense it bordered on theatrical, then dusted the fruit lightly with more cinnamon, because that felt like something a competent person might do. 


Buttering the toast while it was still warm, spreading it a little too carefully and tearing one corner slightly in the process, but otherwise the whole operation remained blessedly free of smoke alarms, ceiling-based disasters, or accidental kitchen fires. He spooned the oatmeal into two bowls, added the toast on the side, and set the apple slices beside them with the kind of earnest pride only someone with extremely low culinary confidence could muster. It wasn’t fancy, nothing close to the kind of breakfast you’d find in a glossy magazine or some cozy little cafe tucked into the city, but it was warm, sweet, and edible, and most importantly, it was done. 

Theo looked down at the small spread on the counter and let out a quiet breath, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth as triumph fluttered warm in his chest. [color=feffb5]"Look at that,"[/color] he murmured to the empty kitchen, equal parts smug and amazed. [color=feffb5]"Domestic as hell."[/color]

Myla’s shower wasn’t particularly long, especially considering they had spent a fair bit of time lost beneath the warm water at some point in their journey from the staircase to the bed. It was more of a reason for her to put some space between them since being a distraction [i]obviously[/i] wasn’t working, while also cleaning the saltiness of sweat and other scents that lingered on her skin from their night of reckless abandon. It may or may not have also been her final, last ditch effort to entice Theo, but where she had the stubbornness of an ox, he had the will to contest it. It honestly was impressive… [i]and frustrating.[/i]

After shutting off the water, Myla trailed water halfway across the bathroom to get a towel. She did her best to dry off, ringing out her hair until wavy ringlets started coiling through the damp brunette locks. Her touch was gentle along her bruises and wounds, dabbing the towel rather than rubbing or dragging it across her skin. She took note of how sensitive each bruise was, noting a couple fresh ones that bloomed along her lower back from the stairs or Theo’s needy hands upon her waist. While her other markings made her grimace and scoff, those were the ones her fingers lingered on as a small unbidden smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She knew he’d panic and apologize if he saw them, but to her they were no different than aching muscles or hickies. They were sentimental in their own right. 

Once she was dry… [i]enough[/i], Myla stepped out of the bathroom to an empty bedroom and the distant sounds of triumph coming from down the hall. She couldn’t be bothered to get dressed properly, not yet, not until he was actually going to force her downstairs to the infirmary, but the smell of oatmeal and toast told her she still had [i]some[/i] time. Instead, she snatched Theo’s shirt that dangled from the doorknob and pulled it over her head as she made her way toward the kitchen. Her fingers gently tugged her hair from beneath the collar, letting the wet curls rest on her shoulders, immediately darkening the fabric beneath them. 

Rather than taking a seat in the dining area, she slowly stepped up behind Theo as he put the finishing touches on their breakfast. Her hands gently rested against his sides, just above the waistband of his jeans before slowly running along his bare skin until her arms curled around him and her body lightly pressed into his back. Myla leaned forward, softly pressing her lips and the tip of her nose against his right shoulderblade. She peppered him with a kiss or two before settling into his warmth with a quiet sigh. Her thumb softly stroked his abdomen near his bellybutton as she nodded her head up toward the ceiling and the grilled cheese that still hung there that she was almost certain he thought she didn’t notice. [color=962929]"Do you plan on taking that down sometime before it molds?"[/color] she mused. Her words were muffled against his back from where her lips still lingered against his skin as she spoke. 

Theo heard her before he fully felt her, bare feet soft against the floor, the faint whisper of damp fabric shifting with each step, the subtle change in the room when she entered it and all at once the kitchen no longer felt like a borrowed space but something warm and inhabited. The second her hands found his sides and her palms slid over the bare skin above his jeans, a grin spread across his face so quickly it was almost involuntary, bright and helpless and boyishly pleased. 

Every little kiss she pressed between his shoulder blades sent a small, electric thrill through him, the kind that made his breath catch just enough to notice and his shoulders loosen despite all his determined efforts to remain on task. He wanted, God, he wanted, to lean back into her and forget every plan he’d made for the day, but he held onto it stubbornly, because if he could just keep his head on straight a little longer, he could get her to the infirmary, and then maybe to the beach, and maybe give her one day that felt like something other than surviving.

Still, the joy of her there, close and warm and wearing his shirt, rose in him like sunlight through water, too full and soft to ignore. He turned in her arms carefully, slow enough that he didn’t jostle her side, and immediately gathered her in against him with a gentleness that had become instinct, one arm curving around her waist while the other settled higher at her back, mindful of every bruise and healing place. His eyes flicked briefly to the shirt hanging off her, damp curls darkening the fabric at the collar, and something in his chest gave a stupid, affectionate little ache before her question about the ceiling made him huff out a laugh. 

[color=feffb5]"I could,"[/color] he said lightly, mouth already curving wider as he looked down at her, [color=feffb5]"Or we could treat it like a science project, see how long it takes. We could get lab coats, notepads, go crazy with it."[/color] The image of them both standing beneath a fossilized grilled cheese in matching lab coats was so ridiculous he couldn’t help it, and his laughter softened into something more tender as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to one cheek, then the other, each one light and feathery enough that she could feel the smile still lingering against his mouth.

Myla laughed softly as her hands grazed across his skin, settling against his lower back when he turned to face her. She tilted her head back slightly to better face him and though she couldn’t see him, she could sense the sharp curve of his smile and feel the affectionate warmth of his gaze. [color=962929]"You’re the scientist, not me,"[/color] she mused through quiet chuckles as he caressed each of her cheeks with soft kisses. [color=962929]"If you’re wanting to see me in a lab coat, you just have to ask."[/color] Her voice dipped low into a soft, playful tease, her smile blossoming before she lightly flicked her nose against his. [color=962929]"[i]And[/i] get rid of that biohazard on our ceiling,"[/color] she added, whispering the words dangerously close to his lips.

Theo’s grin turned instantly bright and helpless, the kind that always came easiest around her, all boyish delight and warm surrender as her teasing curled through him like sunlight. [color=feffb5]"Done deal,"[/color] he said at once, laughter tucked soft beneath the words as his hands settled a little more securely at her waist. [color=feffb5]"Want me to climb up right now? I can get a lab coat here by dinner."[/color] He looked entirely too pleased with himself for someone negotiating biohazards and flirtation before breakfast, and before she could say another thing, he swooped down to steal a quick kiss from her lips, sweet, warm, and fleeting enough to leave him smiling when he pulled back. 

She couldn’t help but laugh softly against his lips as Theo stole a kiss as if he were breaking his own rules, just for a moment because he couldn’t help himself. Myla’s smile grew soft and devious all at once when he pulled away. [color=962929]"If you take it down [i]now,[/i]"[/color] she replied with words like honey as her hands slowly slipped into the back pockets of his jeans. [color=962929]"I’ll wear [i]only[/i] the lab coat."[/color]

Theo did not say a single word.

The promise hit him like a live wire, bright and immediate, and in the span of a heartbeat he was moving, one sharp, effortless leap and suddenly he was flat against the ceiling like gravity had politely excused itself from the room. One hand braced against the white surface, the other reaching for the offending grilled cheese with the solemn urgency of a man undertaking a mission of critical importance. He gave it a firm tug… and blinked. It didn’t budge. [color=feffb5]"Huh,"[/color] he muttered, frowning down at it with genuine offense. [color=feffb5]"Maybe I need to use web solvent for it?"[/color] A few more determined yanks followed, each one a little more undignified than the last, until finally the sandwich came free with a stubborn [i]schlck[/i] that left behind a faint, unmistakably grilled-cheese-shaped stain on the ceiling. Theo stared at it for half a second. Whoops.

Then he dropped lightly back to the floor with a small, triumphant whoop, tossed the mangled sandwich straight into the trash, and scrubbed his hands at the sink with the brisk efficiency of someone trying very hard not to think too hard about what he’d just agreed to. By the time he turned back to her, he was practically glowing with smug victory, grin bright and shameless and just a little breathless around the edges. [color=feffb5]"So,"[/color] he said, far too brightly for a man who had just scaled a ceiling over lingerie-adjacent bribery, [color=feffb5]"About that lab coat."[/color]

Myla laughed quietly at his eagerness, lightly biting on her bottom lip in amusement at the speed with which he leapt onto the ceiling. She leaned her hip against the counter, listening to and observing his struggles like a man on a mission. It was silly and frivolous given the grand scheme of the tower and what brought them there, but in that small moment of a teasing promise and Theo’s rush to fulfill it, life felt strangely normal. She could almost forget about everything else as it all narrowed down to just him and her coexisting like this was where they belonged. 

When he turned back to face her, Myla’s smile was bright, entertained, and bashfully framed in a warm flush. Her arms slipped back around his waist like he had never left, grin curling mischievously as she tilted her head back to face him. [color=962929]"I am a woman of my word."[/color] Her palms pressed against the bare plane of his back, holding him in place while using him for support as her weight shifted up onto her toes. [color=962929]"You supply the coats and I’ll wear as much or as little as you want, [i]Mr. Parker,[/i]"[/color] she whispered, letting her lips hover dangerously close to his. There was a second or two where she let her words sink in, then she closed the distance before he got a chance to speak, seizing his lips in a kiss that was deep and passionate enough to make him second guess delaying their trip to the infirmary by a couple minutes.

Theo’s mouth actually fell open for a second, surprise flashing plain and unguarded across his face as her words landed one after another like little sparks against dry tinder. The whisper of Mr. Parker so close to his lips, the feel of her hands anchoring against his back, the warmth of her flush and that wicked, bashful smile, it all hit him at once, and for one dangerously fragile heartbeat, every single sensible thought in his head scattered like startled birds. Then she kissed him before he could even try to recover, deep and warm and devastatingly deliberate, and Theo made the softest, most helpless sound against her mouth, one hand sliding instinctively to her waist as if his body had forgotten entirely that he was supposed to be the responsible one this morning. He knew exactly what she was doing. That was the worst part. And he still couldn’t bring himself to be even remotely upset about it.

Eventually, eventually, he managed to pull back, though it looked like it cost him something. Theo frowned at her for all of one second, the expression more wounded by temptation than genuinely stern, before the smile broke through again anyway, warm and helpless and utterly fond. [color=feffb5]"It’s not going to work,"[/color] he told her softly, voice a little rougher than he probably would’ve liked, the words betrayed instantly by the way his thumb brushed over her side with shameless tenderness. 

Then, because apparently he was incapable of making a point without undermining himself, he leaned down and stole one more fleeting kiss from her lips, quick, sweet, impossible not to take, before forcing himself to pull back again with a quiet, breathless laugh. [color=feffb5]"Honorable try, though,"[/color] he murmured, forehead brushing hers for the briefest second, smile still lingering like he was far too pleased by being tormented.

For a few seconds he stayed there like that, stealing softness where he could, his forehead nearly resting against hers, his thumbs tracing slow, absent circles through the fabric at her waist, the whole of him caught between wanting to keep holding her forever and the stubborn promise he’d made to himself the moment he woke. Pulling back from her was reluctant in the truest sense, like trying to peel himself away from warmth after a freezing night, but eventually he managed it with a quiet breath and one last fond glance before gesturing toward the little spread on the counter. 

[color=feffb5]"I’ve made you the best breakfast ever… oatmeal and toast,"[/color] he announced with mock grandeur, like he expected applause for not setting the kitchen on fire. Then there was a beat, just long enough for his confidence to visibly wobble, before he added hastily, [color=feffb5]"And apples! That is good fiber… I think."[/color] The last two words came with a faint squint, as if he was trying to fact check himself in real time, and the whole thing ended in a sheepish grin that made it painfully obvious he was both proud of himself and only about sixty percent sure he’d done any of it correctly.

She sighed softly when Theo pulled away, reluctantly letting her hands fall to her sides. It really was cruel how he was torturing them both because of one wound she hardly noticed. Myla had similar injuries and worse, and had done plenty of worse things with said injuries than sex. They waited, for a time, then caved and now she was being forced to wait again. It was all incredibly frustrating… [i]sexually frustrating.[/i] She could behave, [i]for now[/i], but if he continued to make excuses once her wounds were tended too… [i]well[/i]...

[color=962929]"I think we might actually starve if we survive all of this,"[/color] she mused, distracting her thoughts with breakfast as she grabbed both plates and made her way across the room to the dining table. Rather than setting their plates beside each other, Myla pointedly sat them opposite one another before settling into one of the seats. [color=962929]"Maybe your mom can give us cooking lessons, because we’re both useless in the kitchen."[/color] She smiled toward him before scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal and taking a bite. [color=962929]"My dad could cook but I never got the chance for him to teach me… [i]before[/i]..."[/color] She waved her spoon in the air, gesturing towards the tower and the general [i]everything[/i] that they were currently involved in.

Theo followed her to the table with both a soft smile and a quiet sort of amusement at the way she deliberately set them across from each other, as if some stubborn little part of her still needed to prove she wasn’t about to let him hover too much. He dropped into the chair opposite hers, elbows resting lightly on the table as the warmth of the oatmeal curled up between them, and her comment drew a low, breathy laugh from him. 

[color=feffb5]"My mom could try,"[/color] he admitted, mouth quirking as he reached for one of the apple slices, [color=feffb5]"But honestly? My dad was always the good cook. My mom is actually where I got all my culinary expertise from… or, you know, the complete lack of it."[/color] The words came easy and light, but when she mentioned her father, when the sentence snagged on that unfinished ache, it made something in his chest soften all over again, his expression gentling in a way that had nothing to do with breakfast.

He shrugged after a beat, trying to keep the moment warm instead of letting it sink too deep, and lifted the apple slice to his mouth. The cinnamon hit first, sweet and soft, and he looked faintly pleased with himself before scooping a little oatmeal onto the buttered toast like he’d just invented something revolutionary. 

[color=feffb5]"Maybe someone else in the tower can teach me,"[/color] he said around a small grin, taking a bite of the oatmeal-toast combination with the concentration of someone evaluating highly experimental cuisine. He chewed, considered, then nodded once like he was making an official ruling. [color=feffb5]"I’ll ask around. I actually do wanna learn."[/color] Another bite, then a crooked little smile as he pointed the toast at her. [color=feffb5]"And if this doesn’t kill us first, I think that’s a good sign."[/color]

Even as Theo sat opposite her as intended, Myla couldn’t help herself from subconsciously bridging the distance. She slid forward in her seat slightly, just enough that she was able to rest her feet in his lap with her ankles crossed. Her smile faded a fraction at the thought of both of their fathers and the realization that they might never have the opportunity to learn something as mundanely domestic as cooking from them. It was a strange sort of regret that sat a little heavier knowing that things like family recipes or memories of flour covered Sunday mornings eluded her. 

She hummed softly, running through the roster of people inhabiting the tower as she took an apple slice and dragged it through the oatmeal like a dip. [color=962929]"Alfred’s a good cook,"[/color] Myla commented before popping the piece of fruit into her mouth in one bite. After swallowing, she shrugged and added, [color=962929]"He shared his breakfast with me yesterday… before Ronnie ruined it."[/color] Her foot softly bounced against Theo’s leg as she started absently stirring her oatmeal around with her spoon. [color=962929]"He’s what I imagine a grandfather would be like. He seems like the type of person who enjoys helping people. Although I have no idea how much or little everyone else cooks. I’ve been trying very hard [i]not[/i] to listen in on everything that happens in this tower."[/color] Her smile curled to the side following the slight tilt of her head.  

Theo smiled the second her feet found his lap, that soft, helpless kind of smile that always seemed to come easiest around her, and he settled deeper into his chair like his body knew exactly how to make room for her even in the smallest ways. There was something so absurdly, painfully domestic about it all, her toes nudging against him beneath the table, the half-finished breakfast between them, the quiet hum of morning still clinging to the kitchen despite the tower looming around them. It made his chest ache in that strange, tender way it had been doing ever since she’d stepped out of the shower in his shirt, as though every little ordinary moment with her felt too precious to trust. 

[color=feffb5]"I’ll ask Alfred then,"[/color] he said between bites, the corner of his mouth quirking as he pointed his spoon vaguely in emphasis. [color=feffb5]"I’ve been trying not to listen in too… half these people are worse than we are."[/color] The grin that followed was small but bright, warmed by the memory of the night before and the ridiculous amount of time they’d spent forgetting the world existed.

They both had nearly finished their breakfast by the time the P.A. buzzed to life, interrupting their surprisingly quaint morning. [color=d6d6d6]"Good morning,"[/color] J.A.R.V.I.S. greeted them like he had the day before. [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]

Myla groaned, pushing her plate away as the thought of a meeting, or more likely [i]aruging[/i], stole her appetite. She knew she signed up for this, but the whole [i]team[/i] thing was something she was still struggling to come to grips with. It was without a doubt their best chance at getting to the bottom of the disappearances without winding up missing themselves, but shoving all these big personalities with even bigger powers into a single building felt like a ticking time bomb. The only reprieve was knowing that it was a meeting, not training, and Tobias had called for it, not Jim. Otherwise she might have seriously considered skipping… which would have meant Theo dragging her there kicking and screaming, or more realistically, huffy and puffy.

She sighed as she slowly slipped her feet from his lap and went to stand. [color=962929]"I can’t believe I actually miss listening to police scanners,"[/color] Myla lamented, gathering up their plates before making her way back over to the kitchen. She took her time turning on the taps and waiting for the water to run warm. After plugging the drain, she put a dollop of soap into the rising water then rested her hands on the edge of the counter waiting for the sink to fill.

The announcement over the P.A. made that warmth falter, and Theo visibly deflated a little, shoulders sinking as reality came striding back in with all the grace of a brick through a window. He should have expected it. Of course there’d be meetings, plans, arguments, more names on whiteboards and more theories thrown around until everyone was exhausted and no closer to answers. He stayed quiet for a moment after Myla stood, chin settling into the heel of his hand as he watched her cross into the kitchen, his thoughts already drifting stubbornly toward the beach, toward sunlight and sand and maybe asking Alfred if he’d help him put together something they could take with them, some small salvage of the day after the infirmary and the meeting and everything else that wanted to devour it. Then he blinked, registered the sound of water running, and his brows climbed so fast they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

He was out of his chair in a heartbeat, crossing the kitchen with quick, easy steps before the sink had even fully filled. His hands landed gently on her shoulders, warm and careful as he tugged her back from the counter with the kind of soft insistence that had already become second nature with her. [color=feffb5]"Go get dressed,"[/color] he told her lightly, amusement and affection woven cleanly through the words as he leaned in to press a kiss to the back of her head, lips lingering for just a second in her damp curls. [color=feffb5]"I’ll do these, and then we can get the infirmary over with."[/color] His thumbs brushed once over her shoulders before he let her go, smile returning in that gentle, determined way that meant he’d already decided there was no room for argument. 

Myla didn’t fight him when he pulled her back from the sink, but instead let his warmth slowly radiate through her as she rested her back against his chest. She hummed a quiet laugh behind her closed lips. [color=962929]"You cooked. You shouldn’t have to clean the dishes too,"[/color] she argued quietly even though she knew her efforts were fruitless before ever speaking. She didn’t move, not right away, relishing in their closeness for a minute or two longer, content to believe the world began and ended with that simple peace. 

Once the sink was full, she leaned over and shut off the tap with a soft sigh. [color=962929]"[i]Fine,[/i]"[/color] she conceded with a grumpy little groan as she stepped away. When she reached the edge of the kitchen, she spun around to face Theo with squinted eyes and an accusatory point of her index finger. [color=962929]"Just know that after the infirmary, you’ll have no more ammunition to lord over me. Then it’ll be fair game."[/color] She wagged her finger at him for good measure, although she couldn’t mask the small smile that still dipped into her cheeks deceptively. Then, before Theo could argue, she turned back around and headed down the hall and disappeared into the bedroom. 

Theo’s grin only deepened at every ounce of her grumpiness, bright and shameless and so full of affection it nearly ached. There was something endlessly endearing about the way Myla huffed and threatened him like she was not, at that very moment, the most distracting person he had ever known. [color=feffb5]"I’ll treasure this warning forever,"[/color] he called after her lightly, laughter tucked beneath the words as he watched her disappear down the hall, that small smile of hers lingering in his mind like a warm ember. Then, with the kind of reluctant discipline he was rapidly becoming far too familiar with, he turned back to the sink and set himself to the dishes before he could be lured into abandoning all common sense yet again.

He worked quickly, more efficient than graceful, sleeves nonexistent and hands moving with the brisk determination of a man who knew if he stalled too long he’d absolutely get sidetracked. Soap slicked across his fingers, warm water ran over his knuckles, and in a matter of minutes the evidence of their surprisingly cozy breakfast was gone, the sink draining with a soft gurgle as he pulled the plug and watched the water spiral away. He dried his hands on the kitchen towel hanging nearby, scrubbing at them a little more thoroughly than necessary, then paused just long enough to glance toward the hall where she’d vanished, the corner of his mouth tugging up all over again.

The bedroom called to him with all the dangerous sweetness of a trap he was already happily walking into, but before following her, Theo cast a glance down at himself and decided that perhaps a shirt was, in fact, the socially acceptable move. Not because he particularly cared what Stark thought, Junior Jackass could survive the scandal of seeing someone shirtless, but because Phil would likely be at the meeting, and that thought actually managed to poke at his conscience. Theo liked Phil. Respected him. Maybe feared him a little. Which, unfortunately, meant he felt at least mildly compelled not to look like he’d just stumbled out of a very obvious walk of shame while escorting his injured girlfriend to the infirmary. With that in mind, he padded down the hall toward the bedroom, already half smiling at whatever stubborn, beautiful nonsense he’d inevitably find waiting for him on the other side of the door.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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