finally caved in and made a blog for ships and stuff, so uh yeah. Throw asks at me and I'll try my best to give some good answers! :0c I also like to talk about other ships that aren't antiaverage, it's just that so far this pairing is what I've been mostly focused on... My main is ari-trash if anyone is curious
Short Marvin and JJ fic because I have dappermagic on the brain <3
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Marvin walks through the front door, tossing their hair over their shoulder with a sigh. They step over the mess of shoes by the door and hang up their keys. Their face sags slightly, boredom and a subtle tight strain making their features look angry.
That all changes as their supernaturally good hearing picks up the shuffle of socks on the wooden hall. They look up, and find Jameson smiling at them sweetly, his hands folded in front of him. He's in a dress shirt and corduroy pants, despite not leaving the house today.
"Je t'aime, Jamie, Jamieeee~" Marvin sing-songs as they approach him, throwing arms around him. JJ's hissing laughter warms every bit of cold in them as the two wrap together. Marvin nuzzles against the slightly taller man's neck, and Jameson cups their head against himself, letting out a gentle whistle.
"Rough day?" he questions, pulling back to sign.
"Mmm," Marvin hums, eyes closing. "Just the monotony of it all I guess. I miss the theater, is all."
JJ frowns, looking over their bedraggled appearance. He lets go of the hug, coaxing a displeased whine from Marvin, and disappears down the hall. Marvin takes off their coat in the meantime, too used to JJ's random bouts of ideas to complain. Their partner comes out of the bedrooms carrying nearly every blanket they own in a massive stack that threatens to topple him over. Marvin yelps and rushes to grab the other side, laughing.
"James, what are you doing?" They know he can't respond properly with his hands full, but he winks at them and begins waddling them towards the small sitting room where the telly is. Marvin can't help laughing again at their awkward hobbling, but the blankets are successfully deposited on the floor in front of the couch.
Jameson smiles, hands on his hips proudly. He scurries into the kitchen and grabs their two kitchen chairs, and Marvin just watches on with a faint smile. JJ sets up blankets across the chairs, places the couch cushions and pillows on the floor beneath, and then covers them in the two softest blankets they own.
He turns back to look at his partner with that beautiful, wide grin with crooked teeth, holding all the joy in the world right there. "Blanket fort!" He grabs the remote from the table and waves it, signing around it. "And we can watch that show you hate!"
Marvin tsks, shaking their head at him. "Comfy forts, hate binging The Witcher, goddammit you are just fishing for boyfriend points today, blue bird." They break into a smile, the weariness falling away. "The only thing that would make it better is..."
"My famous caramel popcorn!"
"You know it, baby."
-
An hour or so of popcorn making passes as Marvin practically dozes on the fort, petting their softest blanket - the black one with an ouija board printed on it - absentmindedly. Jameson comes in holding the biggest bowl they own aloft. He whistles a triumphant tune and plops down besides them. Marvin immediately digs their hand into the still warm popcorn, not caring about the slight burn. They dig their fangs into it greedily, making their partner laugh breathily. Jameson cuddles against them and starts up the show, more than ready to listen to Marvin critique every little detail.
They settle together as the sun begins going down, illuminated only by the television and the warm yellow light of the lamp on the side-table. Marvin sighs, leaning their full weight against Jameson's chest. "Thank you, baby. Je t'aime Jamieeeee," They drawl, pinching his cheek to make him giggle. JJ hugs them tightly.
"Never forget how much you mean to me. Boring cashier or flashy magician, you're magnificent. I'll remind you every day if I have to."
Marvin grins toothily, flushing and hiding their smile against his shoulder, cuddled up safe and warm. "Oh hush it, ya sap!"
"How are you so comfy?" with Chase and Jackie? -Trick
[ warnings: none! Enjoy a little fluff as my recompense for disappearing.]
"Chase."
Something jostles him; grumbling to himself, Chase curls further into himself. The bed really is very soft, and he's exhausted after rushing to plant the cabbages before the season turns, and the sun is nice and warm against his back...
"Chase."
A hand shakes him gently, but insistently; blindly, he bats at the hand in protest.
" 's early."
"It's nearly noon," Jackie says from somewhere to his side, and even half-asleep, Chase can hear the amusement. "If you stay in bed much longer, you won't be able to water the cabbages."
The fucking cabbages.
"Can't Jamie do me a favor, just this once," he grumbles into Jackie's shoulder; Jackie's resultant laugh shakes them both, rolling like a gentle peal of thunder.
Why couldn't it rain today?
"He helped you plant them yesterday," Jackie scolds, softly; Chase grimaces, but doesn't argue the point. Jamie'd gone above and beyond, waiting for Chase to sprint, covered in mud and out of breath, into his store; he'd even saved seeds for him, knowing that he'd been about to plant his batch for the summer. And he'd accompanied him back, to help him get them planted before sunset.
Chase swears again under his breath, and then sighs, rolling to his side and cracking open an eye.
"There you are." Jackie smiles back at him, softly, and presses a kiss to his forehead; the gentleness buzzes under Chase's skin, and he bites back a gleeful little hum. This thing between them is- new. Fragile. Chase doesn't want to shatter it.
He looks well rested, for once, too; the dark circles under his eyes are starting to fade, and Chase can't help but preen at the thought of being responsible for letting him relax as he never does. Instead, he turns to kiss Jackie's shoulder, before stretching out beside him.
"How are you so comfortable?"
"Henrik says it's the muscle," Jackie says, all mischievous glee, and Chase considers that; it's a compelling image, Henrik and Jackie twined together, and he's a bit of a poet- fire and ice, summer's warmth and winter's inevitability. For his own sanity, he has to not go down that road.
"That makes sense," he says, instead of something insane like I wonder if it's just as comfortable sandwiched between you two, I wonder if it's quieter. "I'm not entirely convinced, though. Might have to confirm that with more data. Another half hour or so."
Jackie laughs, but he also curls an arm around Chase's waist, pulling him close. "Only half an hour. Then we really have to get up."
Chase huffs a soft laugh, and shuts his eyes again, basking in Jackie's warmth. Just another half hour...
Hello! If you've been wondering where I have been for the last two months, this... would be the answer. Please enjoy 10k of past heroaverage, pre-antiaverage, and lots of bittersweet reminiscing all around. Many, many thanks to Ari for coming up with such a delightful idea; this was a delight to be commissioned for!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
How about “I hope that in every life, you are there with me" with Chase and your choice? -Trick ♡
Chase leans over Henrik's shoulder, squinting at the hastily scribbled diagrams strewn across the desk.
He couldn't make heads or tails of it, even if he had a gun held to his head; all he could parse was a frankly intimidating amount of calculus, and... mathematical proofs?
"When you said you're a doctor," Chase muses, resting his chin on Henrik's head, "I thought you were like- the medical kind. You know- 10 units of epinephrine stat, prep him for surgery."
"I do that too," Henrik says, and it's clear he's only half listening. Chase snorts softly; it's always a little funny when Henrik checks out this thoroughly in his research.
A little flattering, too, because insofar as Chase knows, he doesn't do it where he doesn't feel safe, where his back is exposed.
He presses a kiss to the top of Henrik's head at that, smiling a little as Henrik hums gently. "This looks distinctly less like medicine and more like my nightmares straight out of college."
"It's a proof," Henrik murmurs, and lays down his pen, finally; always a good sign, when Chase can get him talking and back to them. "For time travel. Or, well, what could theoretically be time travel. It could just as well be a separate doorway to a parallel universe that happens to be on the same, but delayed, path."
"You're saying a lot of words at me," Chase informs him, cheerfully. "They sound like very interesting ones, though. So- is it time travel or alternate dimensions?"
He feels, more than hears, Henrik chuckle underneath him. "Both. Or neither, depending on if this proof fails."
"There's not a single cat here," Henrik protests, and this time, he turns to loop an arm around Chase. It's an awkward position, but Chase snuggles into it regardless, grinning. Mission success.
"It's the spirit of it! It either is or isn't, right?"
Henrik sighs, and when Chase offers him a hand up, takes it, allowing himself to be hauled out of his chair. "That's not even remotely how a proof works."
"Maybe I'm reinventing the field," Chase fires back, and reaches out to snag Henrik's ID before he forgets it on the table, as they make to depart. "If Mr. Three Doctorates and Two Full-time Jobs can do it, surely dear ol' Bro Average can?"
"If anybody could, it would be you four," Henrik says, fondly, and reaches out to pull the door shut behind them. He frowns up at the fluorescent lighting- it's long since gone dark outside.
"I didn't realize I was out so late."
Chase hums. "You need to start setting a timer, doc. Or we can just have Marv come in, both are effectively the same."
"Do not," Henrik snaps, and Chase tips his head back to cackle.
"I won't send your research rival into your lab, don't worry, don't worry. What's the worst he can do- he proves time travel isn't real, alternate universes are?"
Henrik grumbles under his breath; Chase's grin widens, as he leans in. "Didn't catch that, doc."
For his trouble, he gets a flick to the head, and pouts, but Henrik doesn't pull away when he snuggles closer against the night chill.
They lapse into quiet, then. It's not a long walk; there's little traffic to cross, this late, and the faded orange glow of the streetlamps gives the whole scene a dreamlike sort of feeling.
It's only when they turn into their neighborhood does Chase nudge Henrik gently.
"Question."
"Answer," Henrik says dryly, and Chase narrows his eyes at the tiny smirk he spots.
"Rude, first. Second- you think that we'd know each other in a different world?"
Henrik hums in thought.
"I'd be surprised if we did... and didn't. You know the point of it is that anything is possible."
Chase tilts his head, considering this. Henrik sighs; he's gotten better, as of late, heading off the meandering paths that Chase tends to wander down in thought. He's even better at telling how maudlin they'd get.
A cool but steady hand cups Chase's cheek; the rare affection startles him out of the spiral he'd been wandering down. When he looks up, Henrik's looking steadily back at him, blue eyes dark in the hazy light of the lamps.
"I think, no matter the life, we'd eventually find each other. And I'd spend each lifetime gladly with you."
Chase can feel his own expression soften, and leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Henrik's lips, though he nudges Henrik as he pulls back.
"We'll make a poet out of you yet," he teases, hoping the levity will mask the wateriness of his voice; Henrik snorts softly.
"I'll leave the arts to you, I think. Come on, in with you, mein stern. We'll catch cold."
Chase snorts a soft laugh, and leans into Henrik as he swings the door open, the warmth of their home welcoming them home.
Words: 796
@glass-trash-bab (let me know if you still want me to tag you!)
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“Honestly, the audacity of some people.” Marvin leered indignantly at a man who stooped over a coffee carrier tray and walked by the café window. His eyes followed, unblinking, and seared through the upturned collar he hid behind.
“Don’t stare, baby,” Jackie rebuked frivolously, focused intently on buttering his toast.
“I will stare,” Marvin countered, arms folded, “the asshole leaned over you and started ordering like you weren’t there!”
The bathroom door opened, and the smell of cold mint and lemon flooded in through wisps of shower steam. Chase emerged a moment later, combing his fingers through his freshly blow-dried hair to tame its wild defiance. He ambled into the bedroom, still managing a yawn.
Henrik gazed over the rim of his glasses; his noise pointed down towards a long-neglected book he’d finally picked up again. He watched from his lounged spot on the bed, pushing his lenses up his nose to see his boyfriend clearly.
Maybe I'm asking this a little in advance but the thought just occurred to me and I need to ask- Do your versions of Jackie and Marvin have anything planned on Valentines day? :> Do they celebrate it or is it just another day for them? -A
Like many holidays, Marvin typically doesn't hold much interest for them. When he was young, he was extremely cynical (one might say just sour) about Valentine's Day. "It's a corporate tactic to extort money from people", "it's cheesy", "it's clichė", all of the usual opinions!
Jackie, on the other hand, loves being romantic. He'll buy all of the silly cards and teddies and pour his heart out. By the second Valentine's Day, he knew Marvin's preferences and opted for more personal gifts. Not to say that he didn't fill cards up or carefully pick out gifts, but personalising them to Marvin's tastes was so much better.
Surprise, surprise, Marvin's opinion mellowed from an "it's clichė" to "okay, it's pretty sweet", to "oh my god, I'm clichė and happy about it".
Being with Jackie has allowed him to let his guard down and simply enjoy life because they want to make things special for each other.
Nowadays, they like to quietly spend the day together. Sometimes they go out or get gifts, but they prefer to stay home in comfortable clothes and enjoy each other's company. Jackie might cook something romantic, or they might order something - it depends! Marv loves to smother him with attention throughout the day because it makes him shy and flustered.
Red Stitches Marvin would just take the day to look after himself with the same love and care Jackie gave to him.
Thinking of like... An egoship between fucked up serial killer!Chase with either C!Jack or Anti. Maybe they're a fae or demon or they're just another messed up murderer.
OH OH OR WAIT. Some form of god who deeply admires Chase's creativity and his passion for uh doing his "hobbies". Or maybe Chase like... Offers up these acts to him and it's basically a very messed up relationship.
Astraea you have mentioned one of the ships that has consumed my stupid brain recently. So hrngshdbjznshzk Anti following Chase home to make sure that he's safe because only HE can annoy him (kinda sorta torture him). He's so infatuated and Chase doesn't even notice.
GODDDD i love this kind of thing. anti being a weird little freak and protective but more protective in the "you belong To me" way. maybe even thinkin chase knows and loves him too but no hes just being fuckin Bonkers
can we get some schneeplebro fluff to comfort us after ur last fic?
Sure! It’s not exactly pure fluff, but it’s what I want to write right now lmao!
Words: 3, 378
CW: Mentions and aftermath of torture, painkiller dependency
Summary: Henrik moves into Chase's apartment after what happened and, slowly but surely, starts to recover.
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Nothing about the past few months had been easy; that was a fact.
Henrik arrived at Chase’s apartment after receiving a complex discharge and could only be described as a husk. They carried him inside, lay him down in the bed, and there he remained until they sought to tend to him.
It had been a nightmare cleaning out Chase’s apartment, but one that he refused to grow despondent of. It took weeks, almost an entire roll of trash bags, and a wide variety of spells to get it spotless. He sifted, scrubbed, and organised through piles of mess, each layer another spiral or episode he could pinpoint exactly.
The spare room, once a truly disheartening mountain of clutter, was completely gutted out and rebuilt to make way for a bedroom. Marvin hummed dubiously at his promise to keep it that way, but Chase was determined. He always was when it came to anyone besides himself; especially Henrik.
Jackie helped him strip the animal-themed wallpaper, which had long since been ruined as the room lay abandoned. They repainted it a soft shade of sage green — Henrik’s favourite colour — accented by a print of pastel-toned sunflowers adjacent to the bed.
For weeks, Henrik watched the wallpaper with the blinds pulled down. A lamp illuminated the rooms at all times, soft enough not to strain his eyes but enough to bring light to the corners.
The first month was a maze Chase barely navigated. He had never been known for his organisation skills or even overt responsibility, and life was suddenly a balancing act.
Brody had taken his first “real” job in years for a consistent wage, enough to afford more than junk food and prepare actual meals which Henrik could stomach. He’d quit drinking downright and physically forced himself out of his depressive episode, and his body and mind despised him for it. As he tried to battle the withdrawal, he upheld the housekeeping as he promised, took care of Henrik, and simultaneously remained available for his children.
As a group, he and the others traded their days off from work, interchanging between one another as Henrik’s caretaker. They passed the scheduling planner like a relay baton, then switched to a group chat when Brody forgot it one too many times. Life was a series of routines, appointments, check-ins, and medications; for both Henrik and Chase.
Every night, Henrik awoke screaming and thrashing. Every night, Chase comforted him. Sometimes he mistook him for Anti in his panic, and Brody would later sit at the kitchen table, stifling sobs as he smoothed bandages over bites and scratches.
Still, he kept going, because Henrik was all that mattered. His best friend, the one who cradled him through his relapses. The one who dropped everything to help no matter how many times he broke his promises.
Chase kept going, holding on to every moment. He kept going, to watch him respond to his voice, hear him speak, see him move just a little more.
He found his gaze caught in his eyes. Pale blue, now dulled and darkened through torment. Pale like the sky just before dawn; cool like sunlit water. They used to glisten as they observed everything so calmly, two perfect mirrors into his mind. Now they reflected nothing but fear, always wide open and alert, awaiting the moment everything collapsed.
Still, he gazed into them. Still, he smiled. Every day, they looked just a little bit brighter.
Months passed. Henrik could walk now, albeit slowly. He drifted like a ghost, the only sign of his presence being the double rap in one step as his cane struck the hardwood floor.
Chase’s actions had to be deliberate now. The painkillers were strictly rationed and hidden, out of reach, no matter how many times Henrik asked for them. He could speak again, now a hushed whisper, and used his voice to plead for their location.
On a particularly bad day, Chase caught him doubled over the counter, rummaging frantically in cupboards. When he tried to intervene, Henrik shrieked at him, demanding their location and grabbing at his arms. Moments later, he collapsed into sorrowful sobs, wailing apologies, and Chase caught him without hesitation.
On the floor, Henrik grasped his shoulders in trembling hands, clutching him like a hopeless soul would to the marble fixture of a god. His head bowed shamefully and pressed to Chase’s chest, too afraid to look him in the eye but desperate for his touch.
“Chase, please... please just leave me...” his quiet voice begged one thing, but the way he held him proved the opposite. “I–” the word stammered, breathy, from his mouth, stifled by sorrow. “I can’t...”
I can’t keep going. I can’t do this. I can’t keep hurting you.
The words unsaid could have been any number of those thoughts; perhaps it was all of them at once.
“I’m not going anywhere, Henrik.” Chase said, and it was the most certain he’d ever sounded.
His hand rested gingerly in his hair. It was longer now, enough to form a new, untouched abundance of curls. The patchiness had filled out in place of soft, gentle locks which unravelled between his fingers and bounced back into place. They caught the sun in auburn, stray strands glowing gold like a halo while plentiful rivers of silver streaked each spiral.
Henrik lifted his head, his tear-sodden face swollen and flushed. Chase pushed back the curls from his eyes, his fingertips tracing a crescent around his ear to still at his jaw.
His touch was so tender, so thoughtful.
Everything he had in life was held in hasty, fickle hands, never ebbing nor ceasing for fear of the anxiety which followed. He acted quickly so he never had to think, never had the chance to fear the present before it became the past. When he allowed himself to think, he would never act at all. It left him clumsy, his past experiences shattered into a thousand mistakes across a floor he then had to walk across.
Yet with Henrik, a thousand thoughts flitted through his mind before every touch. He used his cuff to wipe away tears so carefully, as though he were made of glass. His hands cradled him like they wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Henrik was safe, and Chase ran his fingers through the proof.
Brody awoke that night to a hushed voice calling him out from sleep. He opened his eyes with a start, ready to leap out of bed at a moment’s notice, only to see Henrik’s hunched outline in the doorway.
He only managed a groggy hum, wincing and rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his tall silhouette hovered hesitantly.
“Is... is it alright if I stay with you?” Henrik asked ever so quietly, his voice trembling.
Chase paused for a moment with surprise before his expression softened, and his hands drifted from his heavy eyes. He nodded, but Henrik still hesitated as though the next step forward was an invasion.
It took him a minute to finally sit on the empty side of Chase’s bed and even longer to lie down. His eyes seemed to investigate the room, darting across any possible exits and hiding places.
“D’you want the light on?” Chase drawled, barely able to keep his eyes open. Henrik made a note of appreciation, so he fumbled blindly for the lamp.
The corners softened into a gentle yellow, and the shapes which once mutated in the dark revealed themselves as clothes and furniture. Only then did Henrik’s taut body recline into the mattress.
Chase shuffled onto his side, away from the light, and mumbled a dreary “g’night” before promptly falling asleep again. Usually, such a sudden awakening would kick off another bout of insomnia, yet he was too exhausted.
It had been a long time since he had someone lie next to him, and the familiar weight to his side drew him into a deeper sleep. Knowing Henrik was within reach soothed him, in a way, and helped his rickety old bed feel far less lonely.
It hadn’t been the first time Henrik occupied the other half of his mattress. There had been a few occasions; two being the outcome of too much to drink, which remained strictly unspoken of. The other was one of the countless episodes where neither trusted him to sleep alone.
Just like that night, there was no conversation, drunken tugs, or awkward shuffling. The space between them remained unhindered by pillows framed as borders, yet neither intruded on either side. Not out of fear but out of respect, to allow the other to sleep soundly as their loneliness lulled.
When Chase awoke first in the late morning, he was unafraid to reach over and brush one of Henrik’s curls from the corner of his mouth. His fingers loitered there for a moment, still ghosting over his hair. He exhaled softly through his nose. In his chest lay the feeling that roused each morning he awoke next to him.
The feeling that left him warm at the thought of this being normal, the feeling that left the remnant of Henrik’s drunken lips on his skin. One that remained unspoken, buried deep within him, and deeper still. A feeling he would never, ever, call attention to — not while Henrik was still healing.
He loved him too much to burden him with that.
So Brody slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the fragile peace Henrik found himself in. He turned, still sat on the bed, and gazed once more at his face. His features shifted without his glasses on; his stress softened while his nose appeared sharper. Its ridge became more defined since it had broken, broadening his silhouette on the pillow. The creases in his forehead and eyes from years of frowning and squinting were faint. He looked undisturbed, weightless. Peaceful.
It was a state Chase wished he could hold him in forever.
But knowing Henrik would soon wake up, he opted to readjust the covers instead. He delicately tucked them around his shoulders and over his rarely-unstirred hands to warm them.
Every time his knuckles fortuitously brushed his scarred skin, that feeling fizzled like a firework in brilliant, shimmering hues. With every bursting colour, he wanted to run his fingers through his soft curls and kiss the ridge in his nose that he always caught him examining in the mirror. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and shield him from it all, hiding him away in peace and safety.
Chase – clumsy, tousled, endlessly ill-fated Chase – wanted to protect him more than anything. He loved him so much that being loved back didn’t matter so long as he was happy.
Henrik was roused from his slumber by the smell of cooking and the mundane chorus of its creation. He stretched out slowly with a laboured grunt, his bones crackling and joints throbbing.
Opening his eyes to anywhere but his room would have normally sent him spiralling, but no such fear bubbled. He stared at the base of Chase’s dusty lamp for a while, still illuminated even as daylight crept in through the stormy grey curtains.
Henrik turned very slowly, every movement punished by his own body until he lay gazing at the blurred shapes of Chase’s disturbed covers. His lips remained pressed together as thoughts flitted in his dreary mind.
He had bruised Chase’s arm gripping him too hard yesterday. The specific, drawling words he shrieked at him were ones Henrik couldn’t even remember. What remained in his memory was a sweltering mass of regret, enough to recall that what he said was cruel and belligerent.
Yet he still lay in his bed, listening to the sound of Chase pottering in the kitchen.
Henrik hated how lax he was.
He did not deserve his forgiveness, no matter how much Chase would argue it wasn’t his fault.
Goddamn pushover...
Henrik reached across the sheets to Chase’s side. It was just barely warm.
His hands trembled beneath the duvet, yet his mind was still. He slid his fingers under Chase’s pillow where it was warmest, barely able to make out the plush dent where his head had lain.
Slowly, he retracted his hand and gritted his teeth as he rolled over again.
He was breathless by the time he got to his feet; both hands pressed down on the handle of his cane. Any reasonable knowledge and respect for his own career told him he should not even be standing, yet the advice he gave to himself and countless patients before him went unheard.
He did not rot away in a morgue for nine months to merely lay in bed.
Though internally his will was potent, reminiscent of the man Anti had murdered, externally, Henrik drifted like the aimless soul.
Chase heard his cane first and turned to see him propped against the wall, taking slow, shuffling steps. Immediately, the plates were set down, and Brody hurried to his side. He reached out to help, but Henrik shook his head firmly with a grunt.
His eyes were pointed down. Not at the ground today, but rather at his arms. That was progress, Brody noted to himself.
“I made breakfast,” Chase said cordially, walking backwards into the kitchen to oversee his every step. “Hungry?”
“Wh-Where’s the first aid kit?” Henrik murmured, a sotto voce question carried only in the air.
“Are you hurt?” Chase asked back immediately, to which the doctor shook his head. “It’s just in the cupboard.”
He watched the doctor drift to where he pointed, chewing his lip as he eyed him for any sign of new injuries. Henrik winced as he reached up, and Chase restrained himself from intervening.
“You okay, Hen?”
Henrik did not answer, instead carrying the well-worn box to the dining table. Chase, hoping to feign nonchalance, picked up two plates of the only cooked breakfast he could rely on; bacon, eggs, and toast. He set them down in their usual seats alongside a handful of cutlery and stood next to him to observe what he was doing.
The doctor rummaged with purpose past stray bandages, gauze, and adhesive tape. It wasn’t until he produced a forgotten box of painkillers did Chase’s breath catch in his throat.
In a split second, his mind raced. How could he be so careless as to forget he had a spare? He gave him pills from that exact box, and Henrik stocked the first aid kit himself so he knew exactly what was in it. Had he known about them the entire time and was sneaking extra doses outside of Chase’s monitoring?
Shit.
He had moved the first aid kit yesterday to tidy up. Was that why Henrik snapped?
But when his eyes flitted to Henrik’s, they held the same acknowledgement. Though he did hesitate in consideration, he seemed focused elsewhere and irritably tossed the box aside with other supplies.
Chase gulped and picked up the box as though Henrik would change his mind and snatch it back. He hastily opened it up, only to find two empty capsules in the first row popped open by his own hand. The rest remained sealed and untouched. He couldn’t even muffle his sigh of relief.
“Oh, do you want a dose?” Chase asked, gulping again to swallow the trembling in his voice. “Henrik?”
Finally, Henrik tutted and took out a small green tub, which Brody recognised as aloe vera.
“Your arm,” he said softly, opening his hand expectantly.
Chase blinked, bewildered, before following his gaze down to his arm. Deep purple streaks like paint smears were shadows of Henrik’s fingers blotched by blackish tones where his nails had dug into his skin.
“Oh!” He realised, rubbing his hand over the phantom handprint with a little laugh. “No, no, I’m okay, really!”
But Henrik didn’t waver. His fingers twitched urgently. Chase looked up and locked eyes with him for the first time in over a year.
His gaze hadn’t changed. Behind the glassy distance was the same poised doctor he knew, looking at him tenderly despite all his mistakes.
His heart fluttered, and he rested his arm in his shaking, calloused hand. Chase felt heat melt across his chest, and he quickly broke their gaze, averting his to the ground.
Henrik practically collapsed into his seat and gave a strained groan before returning to his task. Chase followed suit, his arm outstretched, too bewildered to remember to even breathe.
The doctor struggled with the lid at first, and it dropped into his lap when he finally twisted it free. He didn’t bother to retrieve it, instead gliding his fingers across the aromatic contents of the tub.
Chase winced as the cold gel made contact with his skin but sat there in silence and watched him rub it over his forearm.
They had been in this exact spot many times before, Henrik cleaning and bandaging his arms without a word. Somehow, even now, the guilt still festered.
His brow was tensed when he focused, his nose slightly scrunched to keep his glasses from slipping. Unruly curls framed his face, something he would have never allowed a year ago. Chase preferred his hair untamed; it was cute.
It was embarrassing how much his heart fluttered like a bird in his ribcage. He was almost certain Henrik could feel his pulse each time his gentle touch glided to his wrist.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor then whispered, his thumb caressing the bruise that the same thumb had left. He said nothing more, no attempt to explain the loss of control nor plead for forgiveness. There was only guilt.
He didn’t deserve another dose. The pain was his rightful punishment.
“It’s okay,” Chase replied simply, watching his thumb and wondering if the heat in his cheeks was noticeable.
“It’s not.” He stated bitterly, both hands now cradling the bruise. “I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to,”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“I’ve already forgiven you, Hen, so don’t worry about it, yeah?” Chase said, picking up the painkillers with his free hand, “I just don’t want you taking too much.”
“I know.” His voice was so faint, almost mouthed.
“D’you want two?” Chase asked, gently pulling back his hand to pop two from their capsules. Henrik’s hands lingered for a moment, chasing his touch before he pulled back again.
The doctor swallowed thickly and then gave a solemn, defeated nod.
He nodded once more in thanks as the pills were dropped into his palm, two white eyes leering at him.
Chase set down a fresh glass of water in front of him, yet he still hesitated.
“C’mon,” he coaxed in a lighter tone, “breakfast is getting cold.”
Henrik gave another grunt, but this time in the grumpy acceptance Chase remembered so fondly. He put his hand to his mouth, tipped his head back, and took a generous swig of water alongside them.
Brody marked the time on his watch right down to the second.
Whether he was hungry or just guilty, Henrik ate without any trouble. Chase assumed it was the latter, but he didn’t think much of it so long as he ate.
Henrik pushed his plate closer to him and shifted seats despite the exhaustive effort of doing so. He kept his head down and ate very slowly as though it made any difference, but he could see Chase’s subdued smile in the corner of his eye.
He stole a glance to confirm the sight, and the corner of his lip twitched in the tiniest, fondest smirk.
As time passed, Chase’s bed found itself occupied on both sides more often than not. Henrik awoke less with each night that passed, the times he did to lamplight and gentle snoring beside him. He could turn over slowly and see his shape in front of him, utterly sound.
One night, he found himself edging closer. On another, he could reach out and rest his hand on his back. Then, finally, Henrik shuffled as close as he could and wrapped his arm around him, his head rested on his shoulder blades. Chase stretched in his sleep before he lay his hand over his knuckles, fingers sleepily intertwined between his.
Eventually, Henrik’s bed was made and never disturbed again.
.
These two are always so sweet to write, I love them so much <3
Thank you for the request!
Hopefully this was alright! Sorry for any mistakes, I’ll fix them when I see them!
I'm a day late but I just wanted to say that I love what you did with the love potion prompt! :] Poor Jackie though, it seems he dared to get his hopes up only for them to come crashing down. (Although I'm sure the situation isn't as bad as he thinks)
What was the thing that Marvin wanted to tell him about the potion though? I feel like I might have a good guess at it but I'm curious 👀 -A
((So! I read this ask, and I said, we can make a ficlet out of that. And then work kept me busy for... several days, but I am here, now, with the missing side to that story! There may be a third part with Jackie's POV, but we'll... see how long it takes to write.))
In the end, it takes Henrik three fucking days to corner Jackie.
This is a feat! This is a feat because short of Chase, who has a sixth goddamned sense for where any of them are, nobody is better at finding Jackie than Henrik is; he knows all of his hiding spots and when he's out sulking on rooftops and when he's actually working his emotions out on the streets.
And for all of his knowledge, Jackie keeps just out of sight like his very own ghost; out by the time Henrik's up for shift and only returning well past once Henrik is asleep. Which, again, given that Henrik has clocked as little as three damned hours of sleep, is a feat.
In short, he has a problem, and he has no clue what to do about it.
(A small part- a small part of him, that still remembers the warmth that had finally unfurled in his chest as he'd curled around Jackie that night- says I told you so, says you're losing him, says-- well, best not to linger on it. But he can't stop thinking about the expression Jackie had been wearing, the exhaustion shuttered tight around the defeat and the pain.
He's known Jackie to come home with his abdomen laid open, with bone gleaming under the warm light and barely conscious, and he still hadn't seen that raw pain, laid open as cleanly as it had been for a split second.)
What does it, eventually, is something as laughably ridiculous as timing. Henrik sits at the table, coffee gone cold in his hand, and idly sifts through his email; work had called in, unexpectedly, and so here he was, bracing himself for another day of no answers.
Up until the door swings open, nearly clean off its hinges, that is.
Henrik looks up, halfway through a sip of coffee with a question on the tip of his tongue; it dies as he sees Jackie, leaning against the doorframe, hand braced against his shoulder.
The two of them freeze, caught in each other's gaze.
"Jackie," Henrik says; he's stood without really realizing it, eyes roving over the absolute mess that Jackie'd made of his shoulder.
Jackie grimaces. "Henrik. It's worse than it looks, I just need to set it and stitch it, go back to- whatever you were doing-"
His words die off as Henrik levels him with a glare laden with the worry of the last few days.
"What you need to do is sit down and stop moving it," he snips, moving to the cupboard where they keep their first aid, a familiar song and dance, and Jackie- grimaces, again, and Henrik pauses.
Remembers only bothers with me to lecture me, remembers not like this.
He takes a deep breath, and gentles his tone with an effort he'd learnt from-- Jackie himself, ironically. The old formulas don't work. They have to try something new. Improv, Chase says, research, he calls it.
"You won't be able to stitch the back of it. The best thing you can do is rest that arm and relax as much as you can."
Jackie watches him, cautious, careful, and Henrik makes an effort to not look any further as he pulls out the kit.
He bites back the hisses of pain as Henrik sets his shoulder and stitches him back up, stays rock steady, because of course he does. Jackson, son of the sun and their city's very own angel, has never once broken or cracked, has never once turned heel and ran. He can't leave a job undone.
He'd ran from Henrik, then.
Thirteen neat little stitches, black and stark against angry red skin. Clean white bandages. Bandage up the hurt, offer pain medicine only just barely strong enough to knock the edge off of the burn. He knows how to fix this kind of hurt. It settles something that the potion had dredged up, bleeding thick and black, in his chest.
Jackie stays, frozen in that chair, warm brown eyes locked onto Henrik. He doesn't know what to do about that.
Henrik lets autopilot carry him forward. Throw out the sterile gloves, the used kit. Put the rest of it back. Wash his hands, don't scrub, don't scrub 'til his knuckles are red but not from blood.
Jackie doesn't seem to know what to do any more than he does, but he's getting that look, glancing out the door.
Henrik does not wince, but that snarled knot in his chest pulls tight again.
He eventually pulls up a chair, and he wonders if he sounds as tired as he thinks he does when he says, quietly, "We need to talk."
Jackie's already shaking his head, eyes flickering away, away, away. "We don't. It's fine. Henrik, I get it. Marv's potions do all sorts of weird shit, I know that it's not-"
Henrik watches him flounder, and frowns, reaching out a hand to steady that bouncing knee. He's ready to run, and Henrik doesn't think he'll catch him again if he does. He's the one left on the ground, as Jackie soars up above, hoping that one day he won't break his neck from the fall--
Something clicks, then, and his eyes narrow.
"It's not what?"
Jackie tries to tug his knee free, but Henrik scoots his chair closer. "Nothing. I know love potions aren't to be trusted, or whatever, I'm not- expecting anything, seriously-"
"Jackie," Henrik interrupts, because he is reaching the end of a very, very taut line. "I want you to hear me out. Just once. You can do whatever you would like, after it, including- if you make the decision to never see me again. Hear me out for these five minutes."
It's a credit to how off-balance they both are that Jackie doesn't even crack a joke about Henrik's monologues.
He just nods, horribly lovely eyes going wide before narrowing in thought, and Henrik casts a prayer to- someone. Whatever gods watch for fools and madmen. Maybe Chase? No, that'd give him too big a head.
"Marvin explained the potion, the morning after," he says quietly. Jackie's mouth tightens, but he stays, wound tight in his chair. "It was a love potion, in as loose a sense of the word as exists. They exist on a... a scale- obsession, to something milder. He doesn't brew anything for infatuation."
Jackie goes very, very still. Henrik feels for his next words through the fragile silence. "That potion didn't introduce anything that didn't already exist," he settles for, and Jackie's starting to shake his head already, and there, again- that flicker of bitter, bitter pain.
"Don't. Henrik, don't. You've made it clear you barely tolerate me as a fucking friend. Don't do this out of pity. I don't need that."
"It's not pity," and- he can't keep the snip out of his tone there. "You know as well as I do that I don't waste breath on pity."
Henrik takes a moment, willing his tone to drain into something quieter. "I don't wait for you, every gods-damned night, to make sure you're alright out of misplaced pity. Nor do I see you off to patrol out of-"
"You can barely look me in the eyes outside of patrol," Jackie tells him, voice cracking into something raw. "You never join us for our night out, anymore; or when you do, it's when I'm out on patrol. You can't sit here and tell me that you feel something for me if you can't even share a room with me."
Henrik winces, at that, and he knows Jackie catches the movement by how Jackie looks away.
He casts about, once again, for the words. How did Chase make this seem so easy?
"Do you remember," he asks quietly, "that night that you came home with the concussion from the wreck you'd stopped?"
Jackie hums quietly, still not meeting his eyes. He nods, once.
(Henrik will not know this, but he remembers that night, hazy as it was through injury, and pain. Gentle hands tucking hair out of his face, a murmured prayer of safety, of recovery, a warm presence at his side, until-- it wasn't. It was the last night he treasured of Henrik being gentle as he never was.)
"It scared me, that night," he says, again.
Jackie looks back at him, brow furrowing. "You've patched me up before that. Patched me up from worse, too."
Henrik grimaces again. "It was always- hm. I don't enjoy causing any of you undue pain. But I wanted to be tender. I wanted to stay, not just for the nights where you are injured. I wanted to see you wake up, hale and whole and smiling."
He thinks he sees something like understanding beginning to crack through the shuttered pain on Jackie's face. He swallows against the tightness in his throat, and wrenches that last rib aside. Here are two hearts, beating out of sync on the same table, by mere fractions of a second. Here is one slowing down, here is one quickening to catch up.
"I didn't know what to do. So-"
"You ran," Jackie finishes, voice dropping to match Henrik's. He shuts his eyes, and Henrik watches him quietly, before Jackie leans forward to tangle a hand in his with a sigh. "You can be such a smart man, Hen. You're the smartest of us. But you can also be so fucking dense."
Henrik snorts, at that, and tentatively, tentatively, curls his fingers around Jackie's. "James calls it 20 intelligence, zero wisdom."
"Jem is right, as usual, if brutal." Jackie cracks open a weary eye to smile at him. Henrik, with a dawning sort of realization, glances between their joined hands, and back at him.
"...You ran because-"
"Because I loved you, Hen, yeah." Jackie watches him, carefully. "Thought we'd maybe work our way up from friends, and if not, then that's that. And then I stopped seeing you, and I thought- maybe I came on too strong. Maybe you somehow figured it out, didn't want anything to do with me. I thought I ruined it, somehow, and then you came in that night-"
"-like nothing had happened," Henrik finishes, barely able to force the words out through the weight in his chest. He doesn't have the words for this- not this confession, so he does the only thing he can think of, and hauls Jackie close to fold him into his arms.
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "That was cruel."
"You could've told me," Jackie agrees, and slots himself against Henrik more comfortably.
Henrik shuts his eyes. Jackie is warm, against him. He's not leaving. He's still talking. "I could've. And I am, now."
Jackie hums, and Henrik feels the sound against his chest more than he hears it, a gentle rumble. "I'm sorry for running."
"You were hurt," he murmurs, and brushes a free hand through tangled curls, picking a splinter of debris free. "You were hurt. Thank you for coming back."
Jackie hums again, and abruptly, Henrik remembers he's been up all night.
With a sigh, he shifts Jackie's weight, gently, and stands, still holding him. Jackie squawks, and wraps himself around Henrik a little tighter.
"What-"
"You're exhausted, and I could use the rest," he says bluntly. "We can- well, we can decide where to go from here. But later. Right now, rest."
Jackie studies him, quiet and solemn. "Will you stay?"
Henrik bites back the swell of emotion, and leans down to bump their foreheads, gently. "If you'll have me."
"Stay, then," Jackie murmurs, and it's not just exhaustion that softens his tone. Henrik's chest hurts at the tentative, tentative affection.
