L'appel du Vide (Call of the Void)
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wc: 4.4k
You blinked, forcing that memory away. Images flashed, blood spraying, and chaos echoing around city ruins.
That man—the astronaut— decapitated. His life ended. The way the sight haunted you even months after.
You’d forced yourself to digest the sight, the realization. You refused to touch the subject with your therapist, not allowing her the satisfaction of being right.
How the sight has altered your perception of… Everything.
A part of you whispered that it meant nothing mattered anyway—
You were different. You were allowed to change, so by those standards, so was Mark.
You definitely lived by no moral code. You had enough anger and resentment and power to do the same… to kill.
Maybe it wasn’t that Mark had killed someone, not when it was the lesser evil.
Maybe it was because it had been that last thread of before.
Before all this. Before Angstrom and the variants and… Before you’d been changed.
You swallowed, releasing a shaky breath as you zipped through the sky, hidden under the cover of the moonless night. Maybe making yourself digest the facts had left a jagged wound in you, left to fester and never quite heal correctly.
Whatever, you’d move on some way, somehow. You always did.
You were silent as your feet touched the stone of the courtyard, the yellow lights within the pentagon your only guide. Not that you needed them, of course, you could see miles away in onyx darkness.
No one paid you any heed as you slipped through the halls, your black hooded suit stark against the pearly white walls.
Your footsteps echoed off the marble only because you let it. Honestly, you were only noticed by the employees because you willed it. You could blend into the shadows—become one, at this point.
But you’d spent the day using your terrible gifts. You were tired.
He found you; you didn’t find him. Stepping up to you and matching your gait quietly, hands in his pockets like usual. You’d heard him coming from floors away. He knew that too.
“Report,” Cecil asked, staring straight ahead. Your eyes scanned the halls as you stalked down them, your hood still pulled over your head.
“Muniki plans to strike a week from now,” you began, voice sharp and near silent. “His contract with the weapons dealer will be signed then, as well as the transfer of such weapons. All within the same warehouse.”
Cecil nodded, sucking on his teeth as you both turned a corner. The number of employees thinned as you continued to descend into the depths of the Pentagon.
“That’s when we’ll strike, then.”
You nodded, letting the conversation die for the moment. One elevator down, and you were now stalking down a concrete hall, yellow lights embedded into the stone. Iron doors were nestled in the concrete every so often, very much resembling a prison.
You knew it wasn’t, but still. You suppressed your flare of annoyance when Cecil kept up with you. Seemed like he was your companion for the night, then. You huffed slightly, the hot air getting caught in your mask.
The compound had been quiet today, both a good and a bad thing. It meant people were busy, monitoring superheroes and/or supervillains. It meant there wasn’t enough downtime for those heroes to visit the compound you now sauntered through. But your missions had started after the sun set, with an order to stay out until then. So that meant.
His warm chocolate gaze flickered into your mind. Something deep within you tugged.
Another floor and the question finally broke free, bubbling up your throat and past your lips.
“How is he?” You asked, voice neutral, not risking a glance at the Director. Cecil was quiet for a moment, but if he was surprised by your question, he didn’t let it show.
“He’s… struggling,” Cecil said carefully. There was no one else on this floor, save for the two of you. This floor had no number and wasn’t even listed in the elevator. Completely secret. Utterly yours. Two doors appeared at the end of the wide but low concrete hall. “He needs therapy. He needs a broader support system.”
You said nothing as you arrived at the keypad beside the double doors, a retinal scanner appearing. You leaned down, lowering your hood as your left eye was scanned.
“Savannah Fawn,” You voiced to the keypad, earning a ding. A large clicking sound could be heard. Doors unlocking.
Cecil did not try to follow you as you opened one. You were halfway in when you finally turned.
“If this is some attempt to get me to talk to him—“
“It’s not,” Cecil said plainly. It was true. “You simply asked, so I told you.”
You stilled, pondering his words as they settled in your stomach. Your hand curled around the edge of the door.
“He killed that man,” You stated softly.
“He almost killed that dinosaur creature as well.”
A beat, Cecil’s eyes flashing as if he could see the war raging in your head.
“I can’t save him, Cecil,” You whispered finally, not able to meet his gaze. Cecil breathed deeply through his nose, shifting slowly from one foot to the other.
“I don’t expect you to, kiddo,” He began, low and weary. “But if there’s anyone in this universe who can relate to his pain and trauma, it’s you.”
You didn’t bristle at the bold and brazen statement, at the truth laced in every word. He was right. You knew it, and so did he. But eight months later was still too fresh. Too raw. You were barely a functioning person again.
Could you even stomach losing the peace you’d gained after tricking the world you’d died?
And, Mark? Good god, what would he think?
When you finally looked back at Cecil, you found him with a sad smile, a gaze full of understanding.
“Not saying that you’re responsible for putting him back together. But, that, if you ever decide to try, you might also somehow put yourself back together as well.” You blinked as he nodded to you before turning and heading back down the hall. “Night, kiddo.”
Your apartment was silent, dark, and empty as you strode through the entryway. Low warm lights flickered on as you passed them.
You sighed, feet padding on the concrete floor, passing the living room and through the kitchen to the office down a small hall on the back wall.
The room was small, fitted with a simple desk, three monitors, and a manila folder.
Your body ached, silently crying out for a hot shower and cool sheets, but you slid your hood off.
“Report,” you voiced, thumbing through the stack of charts in the folder. The first monitor blinked awake, the other two responding as well.
“Good evening, Miss Fawn. There are no new messages from the Director. Playing surveillance footage from today.”
Your eyes flashed up to the monitor briefly, watching as videos from today’s battles replayed. It was the best way for you to stay up to date.
Your fingernail scraped down the folder, tapping once. Twice.
“And,” you began, wincing at your own weakness. “Intel on Invincible?”
The monitors switched to health reports and videos of him, and damn you, your breath still caught.
You found yourself edging closer to the screens as his blue and black suit flashed across.
Time slowed, the darkness around seeming heavier, and you swallowed slowly.
You’d done this every night for almost a month now, stealing secret moments with him. Without him even knowing.
Your mask thudded atop the desk, chest aching with something you didn’t want to name. You watched. Watched as he fought with the Guardians. Watched as he defended this world, soaring through the sky and enacting justice. Watched his hands, protective and strong. His face, hard and guarded even under his mask.
There were only a few hints of familiarity there. Only a twinge of the Mark Grayson you once knew. But, still, it was there. Hidden well, but there.
“Not saying that you’re responsible for putting him back together. But, that, if you ever decide to try, you might also somehow put yourself back together as well.”
You continued to look as you started to undo your suit, tugging at the laces, zippers, and buttons.
The dark, stretchy fabric hit the floor silently, boots thudding as they followed. You stayed until you ached so badly you could barely breathe. And then, wordlessly, you left.
You showered quickly, diving into your bed before you’d even dried off.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ｡ﾟ☆ :. ───
His hand dwarfed yours, strong fingers interlacing and gripping. His palm, scarred and rough, pressed down into yours, flush with the bed. The ring, the one he gave you, nearly burned around your finger with the unspoken promises.
You were going crazy, you were sure.
Could someone go crazy with pleasure?
Your nails dug into his skin, his growl rumbling through you.
And he smiled, devilish, against your neck as you writhed beneath him. His lips were hot, his voice husky.
You blinked as a clock chimed in the wall above the desk, red-rimmed eyes flashing up to read, “3:45 A.M.”
You suppressed a yawn, turning your gaze back to the folders before you. Reports from the previous missions, stuff you'd already gone over last night.
But you'd dreamed about him, again. And like all the times before, those dreams had pushed you from sleep entirely and into some other distracting task.
You swallowed thickly as images of his lips and tongue and fingers flashed into your mind before you shook your head.
Jesus Christ, not only were you dreaming about Mark Grayson, but you were fantasizing about him.
You hopped up from the desk chair, starting for your closet. You were up now, might as well train.
Maybe that would distract you and get rid of the long-forgotten burning between your thighs.
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You were sent out again the next night, when you were less likely to be caught by those who thought you were dead. The agency and the heroes involved were aware of the hero, “Resonance.” They were not aware of her true identity, though. You planned to keep it that way.
You flew under the cover of darkness, yes. But at least you flew freely.
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You stormed through the halls, wrenching your hood over your braid. It had been choppy and rushed, but it would do.
You’d just returned from another mission, just in time to be summoned by Cecil.
You were swerving around people who were no more than mere flashes, their urgency equal to yours.
Apprehension bubbled within you. You were already so, so very tired. You’d fought all night. But you could do it again. For the man who had saved you, you could do it all over again.
The monitor room was a roar when you clambered in, combat boots squeaking against the freshly mopped floors.
You could barely see him over the sea of swarming souls. People rushing to and fro, with missions of their own. In panic to stop whatever emergency had occurred on the main screen.
You jumped, a mere lift of your feet, and landed just beside Cecil. The man didn’t tear his hardened gaze from the sight before him.
The flaxans had returned. with a vengeance unmatched. You felt your blood run cold as downtown Chicago became awash with blood and gore.
“Sir?” You asked softly, brows furrowed. A rare wave of nerves washed over you, but they were gone before they could take root. Cecil exhaled slowly through the nose and shook his head.
“Out of options,” He said under his breath, mostly to himself. But you heard it, along with the hint of dread coating his tongue. He finally turned to you. “I’m sorry kid, we need you out there.”
And you faltered, only for a moment, but you did. Faltered as all the familiar faces flashed across the screen before you.
As Mark flew by, distracted, but there all the same. Your breathing became increasingly difficult with each passing moment. Yes, it had been months. But you were sure you’d never see him again.
But, Cecil was asking for your help. A man, who had risked his life again and again to save yours. So, you steeled your resolve and calmed your mind. And then you turned to Cecil.
“Where do I need to report.”
It took everything in you to keep yourself present as you soared through toward Chicago. To keep yourself from flashing into the past, when the Flaxans had first attacked. You choked on a breath that was far too ragged. And you were drowning.
“The green alien—Flaxans—as the news had said, stomped over to Invincible. Many of them were dead, their bodies strewn about the city. The teen team, led by Invincible and Robot, had aided them, and thankfully, the battle was nearly over. But this one, the leader, stood over Invincible with a raging vengeance. The man, well, boy, was unarmed and almost unconscious.
You watched, crouched behind the shattered window, as the blue and yellow superhero took shallow breaths. It hit you like lightning, zipping up your spine. He was a kid, just like you. Deep down, he was just a person. And he had risked his life for you and the others around you. And he was about to lose his battle.
But not if you had anything to say about it. You didn’t care that you were about to break the rules. He couldn’t be mad at you if he were dead.
Your legs started moving before you could chicken out, tripping over cobblestone and debris as you near him. You don’t know what convinced you, no, compelled you to do it. There was just something about this boy.
He was in a crater, about 8 feet wide in every direction.
And maybe it was stupid. Perhaps it was more of a distraction than anything. But the other heroes were overwhelmed. No one else could help him.
The ground quaked as you fell into the crater, hissing as your ankle turned abruptly. You didn’t care, not even as the machine-clad leader approached you. You didn’t think twice as you threw your body over Invincible’s, shielding him.
You blinked through blurred vision, shaking your head as if to physically remove the memory. It hurt, god it hurt so bad.
Pain that you hadn’t let yourself feel in months came roaring back to the surface as the city skyline came into view.
“I’m fine,” you growled to Cecil via earpiece through gritted teeth.
You could do this. You had to do this.
“Jesus fuck,” you spat, arcing into a deep dive. Air whipped through your costume, so brutal you had to squint as you picked up speed. You zipped into the city, using the smoke and destruction as a beacon.
Faces began to appear, familiar faces from a lifetime ago.
Bulletproof leaped from one alien ship to the next, Samson and Shapesmith both protecting civilians and fighting the aliens on the street below.
And, holy God, they were outnumbered . Horribly so. Wave upon wave of sea-sick green-skinned aliens poured out of the burnt orange portal that swirled in the heart of the city.
Still, you plummeted, wincing as explosions rocketed through the air. You did not balk, even as the chaos of Chicago morphed into a memory of New York. Of hands clawing and tearing and taking as the world burned around you—
You prevailed, gritting your teeth and screaming as you raised your fists. The world blurred, your only target the great machines turning humans to jelly under their wheels.
You rallied that power within you, turned that anger and pain and bitterness into something usable. Your skin began to hum. And you were nothing but a whisper of shadow as you touched down. And then everything exploded.
A shockwave shot from you on impact, turning everything it came into contact with to dust.
Concrete cracked and rolled, opening to swallow the aliens that survived. The heroes faltered, gaping at the destruction you wielded, the shockwave that split around them and the civilians they were saving.
You flattened your palms along the crater you knelt in, groaning as you clenched your abdomen. And you willed everything to halt.
And that power obeyed, withering away into nothing but a breeze.
And half of the aliens’ forces were gone. Just. Gone.
A moment passed, heavy and oily and stark. Eyes, both ally and villain alike, locked onto you. In horror or relief, their emotions thick on your tongue or in your nose.
Some people whispered. Some screamed. Some downright sobbed.
Resonance would save them.
And maybe it would've been enough; maybe you could’ve done it…had the portal not grown wider, thousands upon thousands of alien reinforcements appearing.
You sighed, head dipping as you closed your eyes for one singular moment. And then you rallied.
The air stilled, the violence drowning into a dull hum. Countless pairs of eyes watched you, extraterrestrial and human alike, as you panted above the mangled boy’s body.
Invincible gurgled something in surprise, but you had your gaze focused on the leader, who was a mere six feet away. Your look was lethal, even if it was all bluff. You dared him to come closer.
The Flaxon leader eyed you incredulously before rearing back his tentacled head. A booming laugh flattened over the desecrated land, vibrating your bones. You didn’t move, though, even when the boy underneath you weakly begged you to.
But even if the alien did laugh, it was truly on him. You’d succeeded. You’d stalled him.
As the alien leader raised his machine hand, as you braced your head against Invincible’s chest and made your peace, a distant whooshing sounded behind you. You paid it no mind, trying to protect the superhero beneath you as much as possible. You felt shaking hands curl around your waist and back, halfway trying to move you and halfway trying to hold you closer.
And you knew you were going to die. And that was terrifying, but at least it was while doing something good.
But the spine-shattering, decapitating, world-ending hit never came—
You choked, fingers wrapping around the green hand that crushed your windpipe. Within seconds, the alien's hand was broken in 18 different places, its wrist hanging limply as it fell from your neck. And you'd barely put any pressure on it.
You hissed, kicking the thing square in the chest, barely glancing at it as it soared 50 feet into the air.
You had only a moment, a mere blink, to prepare yourself as a flash of blue and black crashed into the ground beside you. Just as one of the towering machines stomped so close to your head you could taste the heat radiating off the metal.
But it didn't hit you. No, not as it was yanked away and hurled into the ground.
“You okay?” Mark Grayson asked, one hand wrapped around your upper arm, steadying you. As if you were weary from battle.
Not that you were a ghost looking at your ex-lover. Not that you couldn't breathe standing less than a foot away from him. He didn't notice it, though. “You’re Resonance, right? We haven’t met. I’m—”
There was a moment. Thick and heavy with memory and melancholy. And it passed with claws outstretched, gouging holes and deep lines. It left you raw, off-balance, and shaking. And you couldn’t respond. Not with your voice, anyway. But it didn’t matter, not as a legion of aliens charged for the two of you. You and Mark took care of ten each, their limp bodies littering the street before they could so much as raise their blasters.
Mark chuckled softly in wonder at your work, turning to face you again. You didn’t raise any suspicion, and why would you? The Savannah he knew had been weak, frail, and utterly human. And you, apart from the panic attack, were wholly unbreakable and versatile.
“You new to the Guardians?” He asked, grunting as he caught a tank. You blinked, swallowing the rising bile. You answered with a curt shake of your head. “New to my eyes, at least.”
Another minute passed, and you found it impossible to rid yourself of Mark. Not that he was following you, but because of the sheer amount of alien forces. You could barely get a few steps away before being backed into a corner, or—God above—backed up on Mark.
Another flash, the familiarity of his body sending you careening through old times. His touch, his kiss, his smell. His fucking smell. Skin on skin on skin and a thousand familiar eyes. Tongues and teeth and—Jesus, you were going to puke or pass out or scream—
“Fuck,” You seethed, your hood bouncing as you shook your head.
“So she does speak!” A voice barked, whizzing past you. You blinked, Bulletproof’s grin tight as he tore through another group across the block.
“Cut her some slack, Bulletproof,” Hissed a flash of pink, and you felt your heart begin to crack. Eve, oh god, sweet Eve. Your eyes began to burn, chest heavy as your old friends fought, not knowing their friend was mere feet away from them. This was a horrible idea—why had you ever considered yourself remotely ready to be around these people again? Old wounds, hastily healed and scarred, began to peel and reopen, your lifeblood spilling free.
The battle was your anchor in the raging sea.
You forced yourself to stand straight and to focus.
And though you could barely breathe, you knew you had to push forward. It was either that or let your emotions consume you and die in the middle of the street.
You barely noticed that Mark had left—all of them—focused on their job. You were nothing special to them, especially not when they were in the heat of saving lives.
And…Maybe that was a good thing.
You adjusted your suit, brushing off the dirt and debris. And then you carried yourself back into the fray.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ｡ﾟ☆ :. ───
The debrief you received was late at night, after the fight ended, and you were alone with Cecil in his dimly lit office. You hadn’t talked through it, not as he read the death tally. Including, at least for now, Robot and Amanda.
More friends that didn’t know you’d actually survived, now gone.
“I know this is a lot and I know I pushed you, kiddo. I’m sorry. If I’d had any other option I would’ve—“
“It was my first fight seeing all of them and realizing Rex wouldn’t be there,” you whispered, staring down at your still hands. Cecil stayed silent, letting the words settle between the both of you. You’d changed after a quick freezing shower, not daring to look at yourself in the mirror. You knew you wouldn't be able to stomach your haggard appearance. The dark thoughts had chased you from downtown all the way to the chair you were now sitting on, crawling up your spine and around your shoulder like some life-choking poison ivy. And you couldn’t help it when it finally pushed forward and forced the words from your throat.
Your eyes burned as they met Cecil’s, lips trembling. And you ordered yourself not to cry, but it seemed your body would not listen. The Director stared at you, the shadows on his face growing darker and deeper with each passing second. Sadness, aching and bone-rattling, hid in the depths of his eyes. His body shuddered, almost curling in on itself.
“Savannah,” He murmured, voice pleading. You had to look away, your throat raw.
“Every time I get involved, someone dies,” You continued. Your hands began to shake as you unfurled them. Was there more power beneath your skin, power unknown to you? A power that cursed everyone you came in contact with? “Or…or someone gets hurt, or the world is set on fucking fire—“
You didn’t remember being carried back to your apartment. After hyperventilating and almost passing out. Your body ached, fragile and so so tired.
Cecil left a note saying he'd be back and that you two would talk again when you felt better.
When the fuck would that be?
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ｡ﾟ☆ :. ───
Days had passed, with you keeping to your apartment. You stayed in bed, clothes becoming a carpet upon your floor as you began to truly rot. You’d been set back, and you weren’t even sure how far. But you knew it had gotten bad when you received a message on your datapad, explaining that your therapist would be visiting you in the morning.
That fucking bad, then, huh?
You took to staring at the ceiling most days, then you began tracing constellations on the concrete. Stars upon stars upon stars, until your hands were so cramped you were sure they’d fall off. It wasn’t enough, but it was a way to put it somewhere, the pain. To give yourself an outlet. A beautiful outlet at that.
You kept one of your computer monitors on, with a video feed of the main monitor room, just to stay up to date. And to have some fucked up semblance of human social interaction.
In hindsight, you weren’t sure if that had doomed you… Or saved you.
You watched as the screen repeated the scene over and over, Mark wailing on Titan. He seemed so…Lost. Lost to that anger and that pain and… Broken. Nothing more than a product of his environment, a shattered hull of what he used to be.
But four days after the fight, you found yourself sprinting down the Pentagon’s halls barefoot and clad in nothing but an oversized T-shirt. You shoved the tangled hair that fell into your eyes when you slid around tight corners, too lost to realize you could’ve flown. You ran and ran and ran. Out in the open, without a mask or a hood or anything to keep your identity hidden.
The two guards that stood outside the doors to the monitor room eyed you warily, one even going so far as to ask if you were alright. But you ignored him, barreling through the doors. And you saw him, projected on the main screen.
Even as he was the one atop Titan, his fist connecting with Titan’s face over and over again.
He was losing himself to the pain and the bitter void within his chest. The same one you’d found yourself back in.
And you watched, something oily and cold filling your veins. And then slowly, so slowly, you almost missed it; it morphed. It began morphing into a dull ache, low in your chest. And you realized, with no small amount of shock and guilt, that you missed Mark Grayson. Your Mark Grayson.
“Not saying that you’re responsible for putting him back together. But, that, if you ever decide to try, you might also somehow put yourself back together as well.”
Could you do it? Could you put him back together? Could you save both Mark... And yourself?
I'M SO SORRY I'M SO SO SO SORRY I GOT SUPER MEGA ILL OVER THE WEEKEND. When I tell you sick, like I was passed out on the shower floor. BUT I'M BACK, BABY, AND ALMOST BETTERRRRRR.
Anyway, if this chapter is shit, I'm sorry; I'm pretty sure I hallucinated half of it lol. luv u guys. see u in a few days lololol.
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Next Chapter 06/6/26
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