rex splode: the playlist
track 28: guess we're going back to real life
summary: You get a chance to redeem yourself.
rex splode x female reader warnings and tags: mdni, 18+, self-indulgent, canon divergence, kinda slow burn-ish in reverse?, angst, more plot incoming because i said so, non-sexual intimacy and vulnerability (touch, closeness), yearning (both ways), Cecil is not your friend, but Donald definitely is, idiots in love word count: 6198
Track 27
The Playlist
The room is still and quiet, with only gentle snores coming from the pile of bedsheets and duvet under which you're buried. The alarm on your phone goes off, and you're unsure whether it's still a dream or the waking world. Face smushed into the pillow, you reach out blindly to quiet the damn thing down.
Then, nine minutes later, you hit snooze again.
When your phone twirls around your bedside table for the third time, you completely ignore it, letting it sing the morning praises. That is, until it falls down over the edge. Somehow, still half-asleep, you catch it before it reaches the floor. You smile weakly—Rex would have been impressed, whistling low if he saw it.
Your eyes fly open wide.
"Oh, shit!" You yelp, scrambling to unlock your phone but it declines to recognize your face.
Yesterday before falling asleep—or was it already today, doesn't really matter now—you've texted him. But you don't remember a word of it, and that's what terrifies you. You were so out of it you might have given him the nuke codes. After a few attempts you finally unlock the damn phone and go straight to your message thread with Rex.
explosions guy 3 new messages
Cold sweat runs down your spine. There is no way to take whatever you've written back now anymore, and to make matters worse, he's responded almost immediately. You gulp down, wondering if you should read it now, or maybe after coffee and a hearty breakfast.
Then you break out in laughter. What difference does it make? You're feeling nauseous anyway, and whatever his reply is, your heart is beating so fast how it does after three energy drinks.
"Fuck it" you sigh and open the chat.
You scan your messages first, an uncomfortable reminder of your sorry state, cringing at your own words. You might have slipped a little too much honesty in there.
Compared to your wall of text, his messages are short and straight to the point.
Rex misses you and wants you to come over.
A hollow thud follows after you fall out of the bed right on your ass. But there's no time to waste and sulk over your clumsiness. You start going through the piles of clothes on the floor, searching for something that doesn't stink and is somewhat presentable.
Living in the redhead's room proves to be a terrible idea when it comes to wardrobe options. In a hurry, you put in the earpiece out of habit, throw Rex's zip up hoodie over your pajamas and head to your own room. Thank god it's literally next door.
When you run out to the hallway, you yelp when you hear the familiar voice in your ear.
"No, fuck, no." You catch your head, your fingers digging into your skull. "I don't have time for your lectures now, I have to—"
"In fifteen minutes I'm teleporting you to the Pentagon," Cecil cuts in. His tone is clipped, but not cruel.
Oh.
"You're not going to chastise me for my latest antics? Or missing therapy?"
"I have more pressing matters. Now, get ready. In fifteen minutes sharp I want to see you in the control room ready for the jump."
Even if you wanted to bark something back to the boss, you hear a slight crackle that tells you he turned off the channel.
Now you have even less time than you anticipated. At least it's the same direction you were headed to, so you won't have to spend hours on the jet flying to D.C. Still, you're not thrilled with whatever Cecil is going to throw your way. Hopefully, it will be a quick, solo thing.
Exactly twelve minutes later you're chewing hurriedly on a rice waffle while on your way to the control room. Somehow, you managed to have the fastest shower in your life, chosen the world's most okayest outfit and told Rudy you're having a meeting with Cecil.
With a little less than two minutes to spare, you start typing a response to Rex, but decide against it, deleting every word. Who knows how long the briefing will take. And Rex is the type of guy who loves surprises, so it'll be even better.
It hits your nose first, the sharp smell of electricity, followed by a blue crackle, and there he is. Judging from his face, brows furrowed over the icy cold blue eyes, it's not going to be a quick thing. It never is, with him and his undercover missions.
You groan and walk up to the man, he grabs your arm without a word, and then both of you are gone, leaving behind yourselves only a charge rippling through the air.
You will never get used to being teleported.
It fucks up with your head, your stomach and your whole sense of self. A large, white door to the conference room materialize first in your eyes. Only after a few seconds do you actually feel the cold, smooth floor underneath your feet. You look down, confused.
Shit.
You forgot to put on proper shoes.
So here you are, about to meet with one of the most important people in the country, possibly to discuss a major threat; in fluffy, cow-shaped slippers.
Great.
"Coffee?" Donald greets you with a full cup ready in his hand. You smile and nod, thankful. Maybe it has the taste of old battery acid, but at least it's hot.
When you walk in, you recognize almost everyone. And just as you expected, everyone is wearing suits, meanwhile you're in an oversized hoodie and lounge clothes.
But there's one face you're seeing for the first time, and a handsome one at that. As you pass him, he smiles at you with his big, brown eyes and you mirror the expression instantly.
"Alright everyone, we have one hell of a situation," Cecil starts when everyone is seated and the lights are dimmed. The projector shows a map of Texas and New Mexico with too many pin points on them to your liking.
"Our intel tells us there's an organized crime group that seems to be specializing in kidnapping refugees coming to our country through the south border. They're—"
"Seriously?" You whine, slumping down in the uncomfortable chair. "That's why you dragged me here at 7 in the morning?"
"Are immigrants not important enough to you?" Cecil asks with a sly smile, one you know all too well.
"It's not that and you know it. It just doesn't seem relevant to, you know, the Global Defense Agency?"
"And if I tell you we believe they're kidnapping people and performing barbaric experiments on them in order to create super-abled killing machines ready to wreak havoc all over the world?"
A few chuckles can be heard coming from around the table.
"Go on," you mumble from behind your cup.
As Cecil continues, explaining the ins and outs of the whole gang profile, from the corner of your eye, you notice the new guy glaring at you. Every time your eyes meet, he doesn't look away, only nods at you. Until one time he winks at you, which, to your disliking, makes your cheeks go hot.
"Sir, if I may. I'd like to sum up what we know so far." The man gets up when the lights are turned on and you wince at the sudden brightness. Cecil gives him a sign to continue.
"You believe this group may have access to some internal GDA files on artificial recreation of superpowers, mainly the durability serums and grafting possibilities." He has a surprisingly noticeable southern drawl, thick and sweet like honey.
"Correct, Agent Blackwood."
"Why then instead of surrounding and capturing them, you want us just to do recon?"
"Hear, hear," you tap the table top a couple of times.
Someone has finally told Cecil what they think straight to his face. It's nothing short of impressive, and when the man sits down, he smooths down his tie and turn to you to mouth 'thank you'. This time, it's you who wink. He snorts quietly and then turns to Cecil who was watching you two have a silent exchange.
"I know you're rushing to see your boyfriend, Agent," Cecil shifts his stand to face you, narrowing his ever tired eyes, "but I believe we still owe you all a thorough explanation of the plan."
Again, the room fills with quiet cackles, and you furrow your brows and cross your arms like an upset kid.
"He's not my boyfriend," you mumble, trying to ignore the blood rushing to your face.
"Donald, would you take over?"
"Certainly." Donald gets the light and loads the next slide while Cecil quietly leaves.
"Agent Blackwood made a very good observation. We have enough suspicion to hold and question the group members. The thing is, we still haven't zeroed in on who exactly is in charge of such a wide-spanned group."
"So you don't even have main suspects?" You ask, voice laced with disbelief.
What the hell happened with this organization since you've joined the Guardians full time?
"That we do, but there's too many of them." Donald smiles weakly and goes to the next slide, revealing pictures of six men and two women. "And that's where you and Agent Blackwood come in. You will be traveling to the locations shown earlier, the hot-spots of kidnappings."
Donald jumps to the next slide with aliases for both of you. You don't bother reading through it, you know you'll receive printed out version anyway.
"There, firstly you'll be gathering data from the locals. After you find sufficient data, you'll be blending in their crowd as possible clients of theirs, willing to pay for their services or their… erm, soldiers," Donald makes an air quote at the description, "for lack of a better word."
"Got it." You straighten up, putting your coffee mug a bit too hard on the table, almost spilling the liquid gold. "Are you sending me to Texas or New Mexico then? And when?"
"I believe you misunderstood Mr. Ferguson, Agent…?" Blackwood trails off, and you realize you haven't even been properly introduced. You ponder for a few moments how much to reveal, but you decide on your real last name in the end.
"Pleasure," Blackwood replies with a stretched out hand. "Haven't heard of you before."
"I've been assigned to the field for a while now," you say and take his palm into yours. It's large, strong and rough. His handshake is firm but polite, and it's been a while since a man wasn't trying to assert dominance right upon the first touch. "What did you mean by misunderstanding?"
"Oh, just that we are assigned to the Texas locations together. Haven't you been told?"
You choke on your coffee, barely managing to swallow it. Of course you haven't been told, because you'd have made a scene. You have always done undercover ops on your own. With your abilities you don't need a second agent with you; you can easily blend in and spy without spoiling the mission.
"No, I think Mr. Stedman omitted that detail." You respond, voice dry and rid of any humor that seems to hold onto the agent.
"Don't hold that against him," Blackwood smiles, his eyes dragging up and down your body, "he's a busy man."
"No, of course." You wave a hand, trying to keep your voice flat and devoid of any emotion. "I get that."
"When are we leaving?" You turn to Donald now, trying to get all of the info before you erupt with anger.
"In a month, give or take." He slides two identical folders your way, the one with your name being a little thicker. "You two have to go over some additional training together. And for you alone, we have assigned a dialect coach here onsite."
"Thank you, Donald. Is there anything else?"
"Same as always—do not engage unless strictly necessary. We cannot risk you revealing your identities."
When the briefing's finally over after a few long hours, you exchange the minimum amount of pleasantries and barge into Cecil's office without knocking.
The Director is sitting with his legs up on his desk, nursing a drink in his hand. He looks like he was expecting you, hence something to take the edge off.
"I gather you've been told already." He doesn't grace you with even one look of his empty, blue eyes.
"Why?" You ask simply, tone cold and measured.
The glass clinks gently against the ebony desk as he puts it away, his legs following suit and landing on the floor with a quiet thud. He sits up, straightens his back and brings both of his hands in front of his half-scarred face. You know the pose all too well, he always does it when he wants you to know it's final.
"Because you're a liability."
You gasp, raising your arms up. But no words come from you, and your arms flail down. Because as much as you'd like to prove him wrong, you know deep down in your gut that he's right.
"So why send me at all? Am I not needed in the Guardians?"
There's a long, heavy pause, filled with all of the unsaid grudges.
"The team is afraid of you." Cecil says, and you swear you hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Your hands start trembling and you curl them into fists to hide the tremor. "Did Zandale come and whine about me to you?"
"I'm not going to name anyone. There are protocols."
"You and your fucking protocols," you scoff, planting both of your hands on the wooden desk. The furniture piece starts slightly rocking under your fingertips, your powers quietly humming in your veins. "You only use them when they fit you."
The Director sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, seemingly unbothered by your scare tactics.
"Is that all, Agent?"
"For now," you say through clenched teeth and turn on you heel. But before you reach the door, you hear Cecil get up from the desk.
"I don't I think I have to tell you it's a classified operation."
You don't look back when you slam the door with all your might.
The moment you're out, you're met with a wall of muscle right in front of your face.
It's Blackwood.
"We'll be seeing each other more often now," he smirks, gazing at you with a bit less professionalism he's shown in the conference room. You take a good look at him as well.
The suit he's wearing seems expensive—the fabric not too shiny, but not to dull, either. It hugs his large frame in all the right places, and you hate that you notice it. His square face is framed by locks of blond, wavy hair. There's also a faint scar going over both of his lips. Must be a great conversation piece.
"I guess so," you sigh, and it comes out meaner than you expected. It's not the poor guy's fault you've been tricked.
"I promise I won't waste your time," he holds out both of his hands in front of him, flashing you a toothy grin.
"Sorry, it's just… I usually go undercover alone. I'm not used it, is all."
"We should stay in touch." He hands you a slick black card. It says only 'Thomas Blackwood' and below the name is a phone number.
"That a private or a work card?"
"Whatever you'd like it to be," he winks at you again.
Maybe you'll get along just fine then.
"Oh, look who we have here!" Eveline grins from ear to ear when she sees you walking out from the elevator. "Levi, Annabelle, come here!"
"Hi y'all, it's so good to see you too," you wave to the nurses as they gather around the reception desk. "I finally had the time to come and visit Rex."
The man and two women exchange knowing looks.
"And Rae, of course. Her too." You add quickly, chuckling nervously. Who are you trying to fool, them or yourself? "How is she?"
"Rae's still in a coma, darling." Levi leans in closer with an apologetic smile, resting his forearms on the counter. "But the doctors said they might be waking her in a few weeks. She's been healing pretty well."
"Thanks Levi." You reach out and squeeze his arm once, genuinely thankful. "Can I come over to Rex now?"
"Oh sure, honey. But we moved him now to a regular unit, room 17. Do you want me to take you there?" Annabelle offers, already halfway up from her chair.
"No need. I know my way around here," you gesture with your hand she doesn't need to get up, "but thank you."
"He's still in R&D now, but he should be coming back any minute now." Levi adds, glancing at the clock behind his back.
"I'll wait in his room then." You pat the counter and head towards the staircase. Using an elevator for one floor seems pointless.
As you climb up the stairs, the folder feels heavy in your hand, heavier than a dozen of pages should be. You clutch it close to your chest as you pad towards the new room, counting the doors down until you reach number 17.
One month.
And then you're off for God knows how long.
This type of recon can stretch for weeks, if not months. It doesn't help that you'll be spending this time with a man who seems way too happy that you're his designated partner. It also doesn't help you're kind of excited about it as well.
If the nursing staff wasn't there to tell you Rex was moved, you'd have found his room anyway. The smell of sleek paper from dozens of magazines scattered across the room is unmistakable, and would have lead you to him anytime.
When you walk inside, you notice a sofa instead of that plastic chair from hell. Your lip corners curl up; it must have been Rex's request. You flop down heavily, throwing the folder on the cushion next to you, and you wait.
Seconds stretch into minutes, and you're already fidgeting with the zipper. If you're this restless after less than ten minutes, you can't even begin to imagine how Rex must have felt for all these weeks.
And soon, he'll have to go through that again. But maybe he'll be out by then. Busy with hero life, flashing his crooked smile towards fans cameras, pranking Rudy to all his heart desires. The vision makes you snort; a miniature clone of Rex being goofed on by big, OG Rex.
You hear it first, the sound of a wheelchair against the linoleum flooring two floors down. The rhythmical footsteps of a nurse, the way he nips at the armrest's leather, bored out of his mind. You wonder if they have already told him you're waiting for him, or if you get to surprise him after all. Judging by how talkative the staff is here, there's a big chance they have already spoiled it.
"Ban!" Rex almost jumps out of the wheelchair when he notices you laying on the sofa.
Surprise saved.
You're up momentarily, grinning back at him. Then he's standing in a blink too and tumbles onto you, catching you in a tight hug which knocks all air out of your lungs. It takes you a second to hug him back, curling your arms around his neck in a warm embrace.
"You're walking," you notice, your voice muffled, your mouth in the crook of his neck.
"And you're here," he quips, his lips brushing your hair with every word.
Neither of you are planning on letting go anytime soon. Your eyes flutter close, and you let out a sigh of relief, feeling all of the tension of these last few weeks melt away from your body. When your body starts going limp against his, he winces.
"Oh God, I'm sorry—" you jump off like you've touched fire, but then come up close again, scared he might fall.
"I'm not that weak anymore, y'know?" Rex says, but doesn't oppose more when you put his arm around your shoulders and help him walk to bed.
"Just let me do something nice for once."
"For once," he echoes, stifling a laugh.
"I see they can't help you with the asshole problem," you quip when he nestles against a giant pillow.
Normally, he'd bark back something equally petty and stupid, but it doesn't. Instead, he's just looking at you with soft features, eyes glimmering with more life and hope you've seen in a long while.
That's when you notice the change in his appearance.
His right eye is almost back to normal, only a couple of blood specks left. The fresh scars on his face are still shiny, will all the stitches removed. Gone is the metal brace around his head, revealing more hair growth than you've expected after only a few weeks. They are bit of an awkward length, but with that speed he'll be back with a man bun in a month or two.
Your smile falters.
You're probably going to be thousands of miles away when he's discharged. You're most likely to be gone when Rae is woken from her induced coma as well.
"Hey," Rex's voice comes soft around the edges, careful, like he knows what you're thinking. "You alright?"
"Hm? Yeah, no." You force a smile on your face and you pray he doesn't see right through you. "Just—had an early morning."
Whether he sensed you're lying or not, he's not pushing, just gazing upon you with those big, evergreen eyes.
"Me too," the redhead sighs, sinking deeper into the pillow. "They had me at 6 in the fucking morning in R&D."
"Why were you there anyway?"
"Okay, hold your panties," he grins, the upturn of his lips all cocky and smug. It would be a lie to say you didn't miss that view. "You're not going to believe this shit."
"Good that I'm not wearing any then," you say with an exaggerated wiggle of your brows.
A deep red creeps up his neck as Rex clears his throat, fidgeting with the duvet cover thrown hastily over his legs.
"You can't just say shit like that," he huffs, raking a hand through his unruly, spiky hair.
The giggle that comes out your mouth is nothing short of juvenile.
"Are you going to tell me or what?"
Rex looks around the room, like he's gauging the level of suspense from an imaginary audience. You wait, patiently, letting him have this moment of fun. You owe him that much.
"I'm getting a new hand!" The tanned hero announces triumphantly, raising his arms up in a 'ta-dah!' gesture.
You blink once at him, then cock your head to the side, knitting your brows together.
"Huh?"
"I've just been fitted, at the R&D." Rex stumbles over his words, practically vibrating with excitement. "Turns out, GDA can do fucking anything."
"Rex, that's…" You trail off, failing to find good words. It shouldn't have such a conflicting effect on you, yet it does. "How do you feel about it?"
The redhead opens his mouth, then closes it, looking at you a tad disappointed, shocked, even. It's not the reaction he was expecting.
"I'm fucking stoked," his voice goes up higher, bewildered to even be asked such a question. "It really fucking sucks not having your dominant hand, you know? Even picking your nose is no fun anymore."
"Eww," you drawl, swatting him on the leg.
"Oh, stop it." He catches you by the wrist, leaning in closer with a mischievous grin. He's so close you can count his freckles, make out every single scar, new and old. "Everyone picks their noses and you won't make me change my mind."
You snort, shaking your head with warm laughter bubbling up in your throat. "That's not a hill I'm planning to die on."
His skin is warm against yours, his fingers still curled around your wrist. Your eyes meet and for a second you forget how to breathe. It's been a while since you could lose yourself in his emerald irises. With the broken blood vessels healed, the sheer beauty of his eyes pops up again.
The thick atmosphere breaks when your phone slips out of your pocket, hitting the floor with a worrying sound. You clear your throat and the redhead lets go so you can reach your rude device.
"Are you not happy for me?" Rex shifts, rubbing the back of his neck when you look up from the floor.
"Of course I am, Rex. It's not that."
"Then what is it?" He asks quieter now. Your throat starts to get thick at the change in his tone.
"I just…" You look down at your hands in your lap, clutching your phone. Taking a deep breath in, you search for the right words. Only when you find them, your eyes drag upwards to his face, the sad story of his life written down in scars and bruises. "Do you ever think about our ties with the GDA?"
The question hangs heavy in the air, the silence loaded as he mulls over all the possible answers.
"What do you mean?" He finally says, deciding on a safer choice of a follow up.
"Well, whatever happens to us—they can put us back together. Again. And again. Until there's nothing of us left. And even then, we will still be working for them."
His thick brows knit together over his pretty eyes, now tainted with a drop of sadness. And it pains you to know you're the reason of anything else other than joy, especially in his current state. The redhead opens his mouth, but only a choked splutter comes out of it.
"What else would we do?"
You have to look away or else the lump in your throat will turn into a sob.
"There's more to life than being a hero, Rex." You say, voice small and broken.
"Maybe for you."
You don't need to see him to know how he's feeling now. You reach for his hand, but decide against it and instead hide it in your pocket.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Then why did you say that?" Rex raises his voice a little, not cruel or angry, just hurt.
Mustering up some courage, you look him in the eyes again, fighting the tremble in your chin. This time you take his palm into both of your hands. "You deserve more. We deserve more. More than just giving our blood, youth and health for a lost cause."
Rex lets out a long exhale through his nose, resting his head on the soft pillow with closed eyes. When he opens them, he's looking at the ceiling with a weak smile, not the usual one that matches him like a damn glove.
"That must have been a really fucking early morning for you."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sour your mood."
"Don't sweat it," he turns his head toward you, face more relaxed now. "I kinda missed your doomer vibes."
"And I missed you, Rex."
"I can tell," the redhead smirks and catches the fabric of his hoodie between his fingers.
"It's just cozy—none of my sweatshirts fit me the same way."
"Whatever makes you sleep at night." He quips and pinches your cheek.
It's easier this way, when you fall into your usual back and forth with him. If nothing else, you've missed that the most.
"Since I'm already here, how about you show me your latest hits and misses from your beloved magazines?"
"I thought you'd never ask," he squeals like a child and grabs a copy from the bedside table, moving on the bed to give you space to hop in.
You think about it for exactly two seconds, then you're toeing your slippers off, fitting against Rex's arm like a puzzle piece. His eyes follow to the floor, one brow cocked up.
"Weren't you cold on the jet in these?"
"Oh, no. Cecil teleported me to the GDA."
"How kind of him," Rex mumbles under his breath. Then, more serious, "What did he want?"
"Well…" You trail off, playing with the hoodie string, the metal part cold in your hands.
"I guess it's connected to that folder on the sofa?"
Shit.
"Yeah, it is." There's no point in lying now. Not that there ever was.
"And I assume you can't tell."
You hum, nodding your head solemnly.
"Even if I ask real pretty?" Rex tries again, absolutely butchering his attempt at puppy eyes.
"Cecil's orders," you bring your hands up in surrender.
The redhead makes a sound reminiscing a cackle, then opens the magazine on his lap.
"I'll get this out of you one way or another," he mutters under his breath, loud enough for you to hear
"You can try. Now, let's see the 10 Fails in DIY Home Renovations. I can hear it calling my name."
You don't know how much the time has passed. You've been making fun of the spreads and questionable decor choices for hours on end, as well as filling him on the hero life gossip. In return, Rex has been telling you all about his last weeks in the hospital wing. He's the only person you know who can make such a non-story interesting.
The most peaceful hours you've had in a long while.
"What you said about the GDA before…" Rex trails off when you finish going through a fourth magazine.
"Yeah?" You gaze upward from a bathroom spread and find him with a stern look on his face.
"I've been thinking about it." His tone is colder now, and he's staring down at his stump.
"And?" You nudge him gently on the arm when he doesn't continue for a while.
"Before Cecil told me about the prosthetic…" When he looks up to the ceiling, you notice his eyes are glassy now. "I was scared shitless."
You close the magazine and put it away before shifting on the bed, turning your whole body towards him.
"Why?"
"'Cause without my hand I'd be useless for the rest of my life."
Blood almost fills your mouth with how hard you bite down on your lips.
"Rex…"
A cross look flashes his face, "Don't 'Rex' me, it's true. I have no other skills."
He closes his eyes shut tight, an exasperated sound coming deep from his chest.
"What would I even do?" He almost shouts, all vexed and heated.
"You could do literally anything you'd like. Besides, you wouldn't be alone in this. I'd help you. Eve, too. Hell, maybe even Mark. I know you two have beef, but he's a good guy."
"Oh, right." Rex chuckles nervously, most of his frustration fading away as he rubs the back of his neck. "I forgot to mention. Me and Mark are besties now."
Your brows shoot up almost to your hairline, and you blink once, twice, sitting up straighter.
"Yeah, I know. Took me by surprise too."
"I did not expect that on my bingo card," you admit, poorly hiding your growing grin. Then, you change position, resting your head on the giant pillow next to Rex's head. It's so soft and cozy, reminding you of neglecting your sore muscles and healing ribs.
"He visited me a few weeks ago." The hero notices you're much closer than just a few seconds before and shifts, lying on his side. He's so close his warm breath tickles your nose.
"That's it?" You press on with a smirk.
Rex rolls his eyes and sighs, "Aaand he brought me snacks."
This time you break and barely stifle a laugh. "You're impossibly easy to win over for someone this stubborn."
"Do you know how tragically boring the food is here?" He whines in an overtly dramatic tone.
"You mean healthy?"
"Potato, potato." A lazy smirk flashes across his features.
Silence that follows is easy, light and familiar. You let this last for a while, trying to get as much of it as possible before you're shipped to your very dangerous mission. And the suspects are not the worst threat in it.
When the weight of his gaze starts becoming uncomfortable, you break the silence.
"Rex?"
"Hm?"
"How do you feel now? Knowing you'll get a prosthetic, and all."
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he starts playing with the loose threads on the cuff of his hoodie surrounding your arm.
"Terrified."
That's a level of vulnerability you did not see coming.
"Why?"
"I almost died fighting the lamest criminals on Earth, Ban. If I wasn't good at my job then, what's the new hand going to change?"
Instead of showering him with solutions or empty promises, you let him marinate over his thoughts in the safe haven of shared silence. It seems to be just the thing he need, as he doesn't say anything for a while, just stares blankly at the bed sheet where his right hand is just a hair away from yours. Your eyes are fixed there too, but you don't dare move.
"Stay the night?"
You glance at the clock over the door, and you curse under your nose when you see how late it is. Blowing a raspberry, you lift yourself up on your elbow with intent to get up, but he stops you, pulling you back down.
"You know I can't." Even if you want to sound frustrated, the smile stretching across your face betrays you.
"I'm pretty sure they have backups of our suits here. Plus, I don't think Cecil will teleport you back, and before Rudy or whoever gets here to—"
"Okay, fine." You cut his ramblings short, putting a hand over his mouth. "But I'm taking the sofa."
"We haven't even fought about the dirty dishes yet and you're already sending yourself to the naughty bed?" He cackles, taking your hand away, but keeping it close to his chest. You flatten your palm against it, feeling the steady beat of his heart turn into something faster, wilder.
"Rex, you sleep like a starfish." You deadpan, not even a little angry he managed to make you stay. "The only naughty bed is the one with you in it."
"You know I'd love to deliver on that end, but I still need a couple more weeks before I can deliver."
"Oh God," you groan, but there's no irritation in it, "do you ever think about literally anything else?"
Rex looks up at you from below his long, auburn lashes with a devilish smirk.
"Rarely."
The private bathroom door unlocks with a rough click and you step out in your pajamas, which is just Rex's tee and boxers. Asking him for something to sleep in brought back bittersweet memories of the one, sweet night you've shared. It hasn't even been that long, yet it feels like a lifetime ago.
Still, it's better than a walk of shame to the nurses and begging for the GDA thin, scratchy sweats.
"You're staring," you mutter with a smirk, folding your clothes and putting them into a neat pile on the dresser.
"I'm admiring," Rex corrects you, not taking his eyes off of you. "And I still think you're doing your back a major disservice sleeping on that thing."
"Yeah, well." The makeshift bedding proves useful when you hide half your warming up face beneath it. "We don't want to be the hot gossip in the hospital wing, do we?"
"We already are."
There it is again.
The long gaze, one that tells you there's more he'd like to say but hasn't found the right words for it just yet. The one that makes you wonder what actually goes on inside his head. The one that makes you realize, there's so much more to him, and you don't even know the half of it.
You take one last, deep look into the vastness of his emerald eyes before getting the light.
"Goodnight, Rex."
"Night," he yawns, mumbling your name.
It's the scream that wakes you.
"No, stop—leave her alone—" Rex mumbles through sleep, completely delirious, tossing all over the squeaky bed.
"Rex?" You sit up and immediately scan the room for threats, but there aren't any.
Before you have the time to think about, you're already climbing into his bed, resting your hand on his forehead. Initially, he tenses at your touch, but it doesn't take long until he starts to relax. You brush your fingers through his spiky, red hair, soothing whatever nightmare he's having.
It seems to do the trick—his ramblings come more sporadically, body softening against yours, his legs and arms at ease at last.
"Mm, Ban?" He reaches out, feeling your body, as if to make sure you're really here.
"Shh, it's okay. You had a nightmare," you whisper, not stopping the caresses, letting him curl his arm around your waist. Only this once, you can't just leave him now all alone—it would be cruel.
Rex nuzzles into you, his head resting heavily on your chest.
"Stay. Please."
Just this once.
maddie's scribbles: please lmk your thoughts in the comments. specifically, the new character/plot twist of sorts. it means a lot to see your engagement and read your feedback! 🥹
Track 29
⬅️ Rex Splode masterlist
⬅️ main masterlist
if you enjoyed reading, click here to sign up for my taglist so you'll never miss an upload ❤︎
🔥 taglist: @cheeyan @queen-of-gotham @brokenbillionaires-club @enchantedstarfish @spaghetti6622 @not-a-robot1 @poetryearns @halloween666lover @x-intothevoid-x @woahhajimes @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @colonelfish @fanneartist @nishiology @madebyesquishy @stringucheezu @elainewonderswriting @slut4hotppl @huffman24 @libbi5001 @alaniuser @a-memey-pile-of-trash @firebug404 @thelostsea @cassiecasluciluce
divider by @dividers-are-us