[A lot has transpired in the last few weeks. The lurch backward in time, consequences of the dreams, new arrivals — one of which among them who has painted Cain's days in equal parts tension and euphoria — and Hideki Maeda's constant presence. It's a relief to return to New Amsterdam in the end. And inevitable he seeks out Fitz, even with the looming sense of guilt he hasn't managed to entirely shed since their last conversation.]
[ Fitz finds himself pleasantly surprised at the message. New Tokyo had been about piecing himself together and helping others wherever possible. Now, they have time to regroup, ease back into where they left off — and, undoubtedly, fill in the gaps in what they know of each other, twisted and muddled by the dreams. ]
Was just writing up the official notice of closure.
[ the date he gives is three evenings from this message, a couple hour window of time before he has another commitment, the only tell that he’s busier than he seems, followed by the SHIELD flat address. it’s a middle class area of town (and mid-rise in a building, to boot). ]
I’ll be in the garage associated with the flat number. Doors will open for you, so just come in. Bring gloves, fingerless or otherwise.
[A quick reference of the address has one dark brow lifting as he tracks it on a map, date set in the automatic calendar hooked into their brains via neural implant.]
cool. see you
[Just that simplistic last message while he lingers over the next three days and tries to temper any low-key excitement... True, they had access to the hoverbikes while in New Tokyo, but it wasn't comparable. There were missions to run, new arrivals to deal with, and the stinging bite of frigid wind didn't much make him enjoy the experience. Only brought with it a reminder of home.
Day of, Cain chooses fingerless gloves and one galaxy-patterned hoodie, setting out for Fitz's flat. Public transportation isn't the tangle it used to be, since he relies on it now to reach most places, and he arrives a few minutes early.
Fitz didn't say he had to knock, so he strolls through the garage's automatic entrance with hands tucked into the hoodie's front pocket. Dark eyes curiously take in the interior of the building.]
[ It's just a small block, paid for with team SHIELD's combined excess income: Minimal shelving on the side for tools and supplies, frightfully organised, with his multitool sat on a nearby counter — 17 carved into it in life just as it was in the dream. Personal transport serves them all well in times of crisis, and Fitz is working on programming the bike so it comes when they call. Homing, like the drones he first made for SHIELD.
With Cain's ID on the keychain, doors open for him as promised. Despite the light hum of synthwave from a nearby speaker (Fury's favourite trick to avoid being overhead), Fitz catches the sound of footsteps from where he sits criss-cross beside the bike. Used to be banged-up, but now it looks like a new release, shining black and chrome in the overhead lighting. ]
Down here! [ As Cain moves closer, he doesn't look up, instead drawling: ] Work ran over today and yesterday and the bloody, shit — [ something sparks, and he shakes out his hand ] — the day before that and so on. Unbelievable. [ with Jose shitting the bed and Fitz on clean-up. (Whose fault is that, dream saboteur?) ] We'd be behind schedule, if I wasn't faster than the schedule.
[ referring now to the bike, with a wave of his grease-stained hand. ] Pass me 17, would you? [He finally looks up to Cain, mouth curved and eyes alight with a keen excitement for the test (and for seeing the other like this, back in their not-quite-home). ] The multitool, I mean. Up top. [ belatedly. ] Hi.
[As his eyes sweep the area, taking stock, before coming at last to settle on the multitool in a vague echo of familiarity. He's seen it before, but he can't quite place where. The whole place is a terrain at once alien and nostalgic. Like walking into a miniature version of the hangar onboard the Sleipnir, silver hulls of imposing starfighters shrunk down to a single black-and-chrome bike.
Cain crosses the room, following the sound of that voice until he spies him on the ground. The corner of his mouth twitches reflexively, but by the time he kneels nearby, he's managed to school it into cool indifference.]
Lucky they got you to save their asses. [ ... The tool. His attention swings toward it, hesitation prickling over his skin as he picks it up.] This thing? So where are the other 16?
[Kneeling again, Cain offers it out. His jaw is set in a tight clench, only the slightest waver, because he remembers now where he's seen it before.]
[ Before he takes the tool, he claps a hand on Cain’s shoulder, at ease in this space and with the other despite all they’ve been through together. Back to work, then, tinkering away.
Finishing touches, fortunately. ]
It’s the only one. [ his words quicken, but his tone remains even. ] Seventeen functions. Had a bit of a, well — [ a two-fingered rolling gesture, indicating his head. ] Brain injury. Mission gone wrong. [ Is that what they call a traitor in your midst, sinking everyone down, down, down? No, but it’s too complex to explain off-hand. ] Couldn’t remember the names of things. Or say them, I suppose. Brain to mouth disconnect. [ could keep it clinical (call it hypoxia and aphasia), but Cain’s no doctor. ] Had to carve in the seventeen, so I could ask for it quick, when I was still recovering.
[ ‘Cause of course he was working and recovering simultaneously. A sidelong glance, assessing Cain beyond his immediate reaction. He’s whizzing through things awfully fast, as he does in all work related to his expertise (which Cain likely noticed in their conversation on the train). And the injury is years old now. Not quite so troubling to speak of any longer. Being a SHIELD agent has its risks. ]
On that note, might need your steady hands. [ A beat. He motions between Cain’s and the hoverbike. ] For the bike, obviously. Not just... generally.
[A snort, Cain raises both hands: fingers bare from knuckle to tip in the black pair of gloves.] Just tell me where to put 'em.
[He's not resistant to being guided in this, curiosity nagging through the rest of what he feels in the wake of what Fitz has shared with him. Of course, his disbelief isn't gone, and he does give a look at the story.]
Why does that sound exactly like something you'd do? Get a fuckin' brain injury and then work right through it. Most people try that whole sleep thing when they're messed up that bad.
[Dark eyes drag over the bike, somewhere else that isn't the tool or Fitz's face.]
Maybe that's why you listened to my stupid idea, down there. Still got a few screws loose.
[ A duck his his head, at the apt read of his inability to stop. Then, Cain’s sharp quip startles a laugh out of him, short but genuine. Fitz doesn’t doubt that it’s still on the other’s mind (all of it, not just their own dreams but dooming his friends in the underwater facility; guilt doesn’t end with a single conversation). ]
Definitely, so what’s your excuse?
[ The question doesn’t need to be answered, joking as it is. Fitz knocks lightly on Cain’s chest, for want of his full attention, and indicates a section of the exposed inner workings of the bike. ]
Need to replace this — the hover-balancing mechanism. It’s dead fiddly.
[ teeny tiny screws hold a fragile silver cylinder in place, wedged tight between other parts. he offers 17, the correct setting already extended. ]
[Cain's mouth quirks, sure he's never heard someone say dead fiddly in his life, but it's endearing. And the work unhooks his mind from a lingering, obsessive guilt whenever he's around Fitz now. The tangle of it is slowly beginning to unravel.]
My excuse is nobody's followed my shitty ideas before. They knew better. [A razor-sharp smirk, taking the tool and kneeling in closer to the bike's inner components.] Or someone else was making 'em for me, so I never had a choice. Better at just... running away, I guess.
[Than anything in the heat of the moment. Maybe that's how his mistakes have played out in the past, the ones he most regrets.]
Sucks I didn't get to keep those posters you found. They were pretty cool. [Cain begins to work at the screws, unwinding them from their holes. It's easy to talk and not think when his hands are busy.] Made up for taking us to Death Planet.
[ Fitz leans back on his hands, content to let Cain work the repairs for the moment (and get a better look at him, besides). Glimpses of Cain's inner world come through even in this — the experiences that have shaped him and how he views his own shortcomings.
He recently told Markus you don't do yourself justice. It seems no one does. ]
[ dry as anything. ] Got lulled into a false sense of security by your daring rescue, didn't I. [ of Fitz himself, from the clinical world they first found themselves in. He doesn't say that the death planet was the better option by far, instead snorting as continues. ] And all the bloody man-handling.
[ Not much running or "shitty" ideas there, just fighting to the last and dragging Fitz along with him. A teasing, veiled correction. ]
Yeah? [ Cool, huh? His focus shifts to the bike, and his next words tumble out quick, far from the halting speech of the dream. ] Sorry I dragged you there, and for how I was in the — other place. Not that you can't handle it. [ He can. He did. ] I just don't want to be the reason you have to handle it, y'know.
[ If he isn't capable of being the helping hands that others need, he ought to disarm himself, at the very least.
[A vague shrug follows that reply. Hands occupied, he loosens another pair of screws and begins to pry out the indicated part for replacement with care. At least in this, Cain feels certain. He's handled simple repair tasks on the ship alongside Abel a number of times, and the guidance was similar.]
Not your fault. None of us really wanted to be there, right? Just kinda happened. [Lunging through time and space, lurched from one place to another — he and Fitz with the additional mechanic of their individual powers to simplify that process.
All it takes is a jump, or a glowing portal. A strange symmetry.] Anyway, all the weird shit was worth it. Got you out of there.
[Setting the part aside, he glances toward Fitz. Both for further direction and to anchor himself back into the conversation.]
Not gonna ask you to tell me about it unless you want to.
[ Can’t help but look back to Cain, eyes widened a fraction. There’s an ease to his reassurance here that Fitz hadn’t anticipated, naively thinking this might bring about the end of their connection if mishandled.
And there are questions he wants to ask, too. About the name Alexei, the fear he saw in the other, Abel — ]
I want to. [ ‘cause Cain got him out of there. and they’re friends (and he’s tired of hiding in plain sight, worried about how anything in his head might be made real). ] It’s just — complicated.
[ he retrieves the replacement from a nearby pile and drops it into Cain’s open palm, marking an unusual avoidance of empathetic touch.
after a pause, ]
Do you pay attention to all the chatter we [ the Displaced ] have about multiple worlds and timelines? S’okay if you don’t.
[After returning from the brink, Cain's mental state possessed a fragility fresh from the experience, but he's had more time now. Hours and days and the reassurance Abel soothed the worst of his uncertainty even alongside the newness of a second ability, although he's hesitant to bring mention to that. A topic held for later.
His eyes lift as Fitz drops the part into an open hand, bare fingers curling over it.]
Not really. I mean, not enough to tell you what's the running theory or whatever, but I've... thought about it. Not everyone comes from the same place or even the same time. And Loki mentioned he's met different versions of himself. [His mouth twists, briefly occupied in the task of bolting the piece into place in the bike's inner-belly.] It just kind of... doesn't make much sense to me. But I feel like I've gotta try to understand it.
[It matters here. Especially since they seem to have some impact on time and the unraveling of certain events. They have an impact on reality.]
[ he grasps a nearby towel, cleaning his hands as Cain finishes the job. ]
Definitely a good theory to have in your back pocket, even in broad strokes.
[ a nod, then, approving and encouraging. Cain seems to grasp the essentials. ]
I suppose I mention it ‘cause it’s the easiest way to explain what happened to — what’s going on with me. [ Can’t lock it in the past. His focus settles back on the bike. ] Loki’s met multiple versions of himself, yeah? From different timelines or worlds. Take your pick. And I’ve got — I’ve lived two of those versions. Two timelines, two sets of memories. [ a beat for that to settle. Bit mad, isn’t it? Total science fiction, but Cain’s from Mars, so. ] There’s the one where I’m the person I’ve told you about — the person I want to be. [ he inhales ] Work for SHIELD as a scientist. Spend a decade trying to help people. Fall in love with Jemma.
[ Rattled off with surety. Those are things he uses a guiding stars, even now. ]
But another one, too. Just as real, just as true. [ uncompromising, that, though his breath catches before he continues. ] Where I wasn’t — I was a hateful person. [ His mouth curves downward, jaw set tight. ] That’s what you saw, in those first moments with me.
[ in the dreams, in his head, caught in otherworld. ]
[ wryly, ] Reckon that’s more than a few screws loose.
[He listens, attentive, hands falling still and then away from the bike in a flutter of movement. He retrieves a nearby scrap of cloth to clean his own fingertips while Fitz paints two versions of himself: two blueprints in time. How he's lived both — and how easy it must be to feel lost between.
SHIELD. Helping people. Jemma. He hasn't heard the name before, but his mind fixes on it like a hook. He decides to set aside the burning questions that threaten to follow.]
You're not that other one. You're the nicest fucking asshole I've met in this... [Cain waves a vague hand.] Place. Does it really matter what you were at one point in whatever timeline if you're not like that now?
Somewhere out in the multiverse, maybe I'm still in prison. Or I'm just... killing people 'cause I don't got a choice. Or I'm dead. Or some other stupid bullshit. [Something rests hard in his tone, like a stone buried beneath.] Not fucking true here.
[ A swell of conflicting emotions rises, with guilt and relief chief among them. You're not that other one, offered so quickly, even with the barest explanation of the truth. It's not so different from what was said to him in the moment, You're not this man.
But it'd been easy enough to prove them wrong, with the swivel of his revolver and a cold click. He huffs a breath of air, humourless. ]
Pretends he doesn't get the multiverse, then reels off three theoretical case studies.
[ He reaches out to grasp Cain's shoulder, a light shake. Fitz attempts to catch his eye this time. ]
I appreciate that, more than I — I can say.
[ Never quite has the words for such things, even though he thinks of Cain following him on a ruined planet or protecting him on Mars, too. ]
But it matters 'cause it wasn't some other Fitz. [ pressing a hand to his chest, curling into his dirtied shirt. ] It was me. [ A quick nod, more to himself. He lived that timeline, his every deed propelling it onward and bringing it crashing into the world he calls home. ] It still is me, and if I don't own that, if I don't do better — then I'm not doing myself or anyone hurt by me, then and now, justice. [ firmer. ] And I'm certainly not the man my partner deserves.
[ More than anything, he has to be able to look her in the eye, when they meet again. ]
[Attention caught, he maintains the eye contact, Fitz's sincerity translating clear as daylight. Afterward it has Cain's gaze tilting down out of conscious self-awareness. Neither are quite practiced at this, it would seem. Yet so much of what Fitz says connects with him, even if the stories are different, even if what Fitz describes is perhaps far worse than his own experience with crime and prison. He still thinks he can understand.]
Okay. Then do better here.
[He already knows that, Cain reasons, but that doesn't stop him from saying it.]
Jemma, she's your partner, right? You'll get to see her again. And then you'll get to tell her about all the cool shit you did here to help people. [His attention's superficially back on the bike, so he can reel off these sentimental things while pretending like it's no big deal.] With Morningstar, with Peggy, and everyone else. Me. I'm reading fuckin' textbooks because of you, asshole.
[ Maybe he does understand, with how he volleys back what Fitz knows needs to be done. It's good to hear (to hope he might be held accountable, if he should slip). Fitz hasn't forgotten all Cain has told him (or what he saw in the dreams). Dropping out, living on some sort of compound, being made a fighter.
Cain manages to push that from his mind for a few moments more with his disarming sincerity. A tightness in his chest, first, at the reassurance he'll see Jemma again. Sometimes, he thinks that has to be true — that he has time, even though it aches to be apart. (And some nights, he thinks they've been separated intentionally by curse or by fate, protecting her from what he might be). What Cain offers him is something he desperately wants to be true, despite how he won't allow himself to believe it just yet.
Any reply is caught in his throat, gaze fixed on Cain, even as he looks away. 'Cause he never sees himself the way others do, but if he looks at them long enough he might catch a glimpse, yeah? It's only when Cain gets to the bit about himself that Fitz's mouth curves, helpless to do anything but brighten. ]
Shut up. [ he slings an arm around Cain's shoulders, but it's more of jostle than a proper hug, just begging to be amicably shoved aside, though he'd gladly settle into the proximity. His gesture bleeds warmth and appreciation through the bond, the feeling of being knocked off-kilter and moved by another, impossibly fond. More than he can say, indeed. ]
Which ones? Are they any good? [ quickly, deferring his thank you for a spot of levity. ] Been after some light reading after slogging my way through a load of tosh on dream theory.
[ this is not 100% a joke... he really does wanna know what Cain's reading... ]
[At the arm slung around his shoulder, Cain feels heat rise in his face as a product of the vulnerable sentiment he's shared and the ease of physical proximity. The gratitude radiates from Fitz's end of the empathy bond and in return Cain channels in-kind fondness, if a bit gruff and reluctant to show it. Shared emotions speak for themselves.
Of course, he does inevitably elbow Fitz off with amiable annoyance, sharp side smile belying the playful shove back. That's just how he is.]
You think textbooks are light reading? Wow. As if you couldn't scream "huge nerd" any more than you already do.
[Brushing off his hands, Cain rises to his feet. There's some reluctance to share if only because all the titles will reveal the level of his knowledge, i.e. extremely beginner. Most follow remedial math class outlines.]
By the way, wanna ask you about something. Not about textbooks, though. Before you get your hopes up.
[ By the time he’s elbowed in the side, a laugh has replaced the lump in his throat. It might surprise others who know him for his sincerity, but he takes comfort in the quick shift to teasing and normalcy. He lets himself sit back on his hands and watch Cain again, just for a minute. What’s the point in being clever, if he can’t commit moments like this to razor-sharp memory? ‘Course he wants to help Cain in every way he can, whether that’s helping explain concepts or standing back, as he does now.
Up on his feet, then, attention on the bike for final checks. ]
Oh, they’re already dashed. [ tossed over his shoulder without a hint of dourness. ] Go on then.
[Given the space now to talk, Cain crosses the small garage and finds a bench to rest his weight down onto, eyes following Fitz as he goes through the motions of assessment. The bike is good-looking, he realizes now with some distance from it — sleek and shiny and likely to tear up the road (metaphorically speaking) at fast speeds. He can see the outlines of their reflections in the glossy side, a blur of darker color.]
So, something weird happened... after we got back from New Tokyo.
[The placement of we in this sentence stands in for him and Abel, although he won't say straight out. Fitz can likely connect from context clues.]
Finally got rid of Hideki, went back to my place, dropped off our shit, and uh. I think Giovanni's gone, didn't see him the whole time we were there, and his room was dark. [Cain's mouth presses in a line.] Can't remember, did you know him? Kind of a psycho.
[But not bad, and he knew how to handle a person like that most of the time. Giovanni did well with a firm hand. He feels guilty for being grateful Abel won't have to tangle too much with him, concern bred mostly from his own intense desire to protect Abel from people who are far rougher around the edges than Cain himself.]
Anyway, most of his plants were dead... he had a bunch of 'em on shelves and a couple tables. Went over to look, and it was like I could feel them. All I did was touch, but— [He glances furtively toward Fitz, then away.] They grew back? Totally alive again. Not withered, or dry, or whatever. I have no idea what the fuck I did. Still haven't tried again, freaked me out. [Sharing now is a testament of his trust in Fitz.]
[ The engine revs, low but still audible. He stops short of testing the hover-mechanism to glance over his shoulder at Cain. ]
Odd duck. [ Giovanni, that is. Unfortunate to lose anyone, of course, when they've no idea where the Displaced go (if they go anywhere at all). Though Fitz can't imagine him doing well with a kindhearted lad like Abel, so perhaps it's for the best. He sets about tidying up his tools, then, with a hum of acknowledgement and another look, when he starts talking about feeling the plants.
With a hand towel over his shoulder and wee box of materials, he walks nearer to Cain, setting the contents down on a nearby worktable and smoothing his hands over the surface. A neural command ups the volume on the radio (better to be safe, in matters involving Cain). ]
It's certainly unusual [ unprecedented, too, but he deigns to keep that thought to himself. Even as he speaks, he's running through his mental list of every ability among the Displaced, of the Inhumans in his main reality and every superhuman who signed the Sokovia Accords, too. Multiple abilities tend to be complementary, as in the case of Spider-Man or even Captain America. They don't have any powers as unrelated as spatial displacement and... plant growth on record. And any evolution in their abilities has been linear, as with Markus' shields or his own portals changing in size. ] But so are all our abilities.
[ He'll never forget Daisy's first day after activating her powers, hands and earth both shaking. The move is to reassure Cain, first, despite his own uncertainty. ]
And this has never happened before? [ measured, with a rap of his knuckles on the metal surface. After New Tokyo places a change in Cain alongside the shifts in the wider ecosystem of this world. He looks back to Cain, concern flickering in his eyes and the crease of his brow. ] Was there any knockback on you? [ He's intimately familiar with an ability that needed to take life to give it, and most things have a cost. ] Tiredness, weakness, et cetera? What about the glow?
[His own thoughts follow a similar channel, but without the broader scope of Fitz's experience in superpowers or knowledge of the Displaced at large. It hasn't been a priority up to this point to keep track of who can do what. Often, he stumbles across discovery out of necessity, as in the heat of battle, or through sheer luck of accident. Or he's simply been told. The gift of the first power, his ability to shift objects (extended even to himself only in that realm of dreams), has always sat awkward with Cain. He's never had anything like this before. Never seen anything like it except in the otherworldly technology of a whole separate intergalactic species, and to possess something so similar now has always made him uncomfortable.
As the weeks pass, he's accustomed. He's gotten stronger, too. Perhaps that's inevitable. This place wanted them to be able to do what they now can do for a reason. Or is it random, and this appearance of a second ability just a fluke?
Cain forces his attention to the narrow point of those questions. Trusts Fitz, more than anyone, to help him puzzle this out.]
No, never. Not till now. No kickback far as I know, uh... I was pretty tired already when it happened. Maybe there was something small and I just didn't notice. [It will require attempting again, he knows, but he's hesitant. Without guidance, without reassurance — it'll be the disorienting frustration of his first ability all over again. He wonders when it's supposed to get easier.]
Glow was there, [a sharp nod.] Felt almost exactly like my usual power. But still weird and different, I mean. Obviously. The spatial thing? Makes sense for me. But plants? No clue, nothing grows on Mars.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@cain.fighter / post-return
hey
that hoverbike offer still open?
no subject
Was just writing up the official notice of closure.
[ DAD JOKES SOZ ]
You got time this week?
no subject
sure
evenings work better
gimme a time/place
handwaves the exact timeline for now
I’ll be in the garage associated with the flat number. Doors will open for you, so just come in.
Bring gloves, fingerless or otherwise.
[ what do fuckboys wear?? ]
Need a strong grip for the jump accelerator.
[ Alexa play shut up and drive ]
what are timelines
cool. see you
[Just that simplistic last message while he lingers over the next three days and tries to temper any low-key excitement... True, they had access to the hoverbikes while in New Tokyo, but it wasn't comparable. There were missions to run, new arrivals to deal with, and the stinging bite of frigid wind didn't much make him enjoy the experience. Only brought with it a reminder of home.
Day of, Cain chooses fingerless gloves and one galaxy-patterned hoodie, setting out for Fitz's flat. Public transportation isn't the tangle it used to be, since he relies on it now to reach most places, and he arrives a few minutes early.
Fitz didn't say he had to knock, so he strolls through the garage's automatic entrance with hands tucked into the hoodie's front pocket. Dark eyes curiously take in the interior of the building.]
no subject
With Cain's ID on the keychain, doors open for him as promised. Despite the light hum of synthwave from a nearby speaker (Fury's favourite trick to avoid being overhead), Fitz catches the sound of footsteps from where he sits criss-cross beside the bike. Used to be banged-up, but now it looks like a new release, shining black and chrome in the overhead lighting. ]
Down here! [ As Cain moves closer, he doesn't look up, instead drawling: ] Work ran over today and yesterday and the bloody, shit — [ something sparks, and he shakes out his hand ] — the day before that and so on. Unbelievable. [ with Jose shitting the bed and Fitz on clean-up. (Whose fault is that, dream saboteur?) ] We'd be behind schedule, if I wasn't faster than the schedule.
[ referring now to the bike, with a wave of his grease-stained hand. ] Pass me 17, would you? [He finally looks up to Cain, mouth curved and eyes alight with a keen excitement for the test (and for seeing the other like this, back in their not-quite-home). ] The multitool, I mean. Up top. [ belatedly. ] Hi.
[ dressed-down and distracted, oops. ]
no subject
Cain crosses the room, following the sound of that voice until he spies him on the ground. The corner of his mouth twitches reflexively, but by the time he kneels nearby, he's managed to school it into cool indifference.]
Lucky they got you to save their asses. [ ... The tool. His attention swings toward it, hesitation prickling over his skin as he picks it up.] This thing? So where are the other 16?
[Kneeling again, Cain offers it out. His jaw is set in a tight clench, only the slightest waver, because he remembers now where he's seen it before.]
no subject
Finishing touches, fortunately. ]
It’s the only one. [ his words quicken, but his tone remains even. ] Seventeen functions. Had a bit of a, well — [ a two-fingered rolling gesture, indicating his head. ] Brain injury. Mission gone wrong. [ Is that what they call a traitor in your midst, sinking everyone down, down, down? No, but it’s too complex to explain off-hand. ] Couldn’t remember the names of things. Or say them, I suppose. Brain to mouth disconnect. [ could keep it clinical (call it hypoxia and aphasia), but Cain’s no doctor. ] Had to carve in the seventeen, so I could ask for it quick, when I was still recovering.
[ ‘Cause of course he was working and recovering simultaneously. A sidelong glance, assessing Cain beyond his immediate reaction. He’s whizzing through things awfully fast, as he does in all work related to his expertise (which Cain likely noticed in their conversation on the train). And the injury is years old now. Not quite so troubling to speak of any longer. Being a SHIELD agent has its risks. ]
On that note, might need your steady hands. [ A beat. He motions between Cain’s and the hoverbike. ] For the bike, obviously. Not just... generally.
no subject
[He's not resistant to being guided in this, curiosity nagging through the rest of what he feels in the wake of what Fitz has shared with him. Of course, his disbelief isn't gone, and he does give a look at the story.]
Why does that sound exactly like something you'd do? Get a fuckin' brain injury and then work right through it. Most people try that whole sleep thing when they're messed up that bad.
[Dark eyes drag over the bike, somewhere else that isn't the tool or Fitz's face.]
Maybe that's why you listened to my stupid idea, down there. Still got a few screws loose.
no subject
Definitely, so what’s your excuse?
[ The question doesn’t need to be answered, joking as it is. Fitz knocks lightly on Cain’s chest, for want of his full attention, and indicates a section of the exposed inner workings of the bike. ]
Need to replace this — the hover-balancing mechanism. It’s dead fiddly.
[ teeny tiny screws hold a fragile silver cylinder in place, wedged tight between other parts. he offers 17, the correct setting already extended. ]
no subject
My excuse is nobody's followed my shitty ideas before. They knew better. [A razor-sharp smirk, taking the tool and kneeling in closer to the bike's inner components.] Or someone else was making 'em for me, so I never had a choice. Better at just... running away, I guess.
[Than anything in the heat of the moment. Maybe that's how his mistakes have played out in the past, the ones he most regrets.]
Sucks I didn't get to keep those posters you found. They were pretty cool. [Cain begins to work at the screws, unwinding them from their holes. It's easy to talk and not think when his hands are busy.] Made up for taking us to Death Planet.
no subject
He recently told Markus you don't do yourself justice. It seems no one does. ]
[ dry as anything. ] Got lulled into a false sense of security by your daring rescue, didn't I. [ of Fitz himself, from the clinical world they first found themselves in. He doesn't say that the death planet was the better option by far, instead snorting as continues. ] And all the bloody man-handling.
[ Not much running or "shitty" ideas there, just fighting to the last and dragging Fitz along with him. A teasing, veiled correction. ]
Yeah? [ Cool, huh? His focus shifts to the bike, and his next words tumble out quick, far from the halting speech of the dream. ] Sorry I dragged you there, and for how I was in the — other place. Not that you can't handle it. [ He can. He did. ] I just don't want to be the reason you have to handle it, y'know.
[ If he isn't capable of being the helping hands that others need, he ought to disarm himself, at the very least.
Easier said than done, as ever. ]
no subject
Not your fault. None of us really wanted to be there, right? Just kinda happened. [Lunging through time and space, lurched from one place to another — he and Fitz with the additional mechanic of their individual powers to simplify that process.
All it takes is a jump, or a glowing portal. A strange symmetry.] Anyway, all the weird shit was worth it. Got you out of there.
[Setting the part aside, he glances toward Fitz. Both for further direction and to anchor himself back into the conversation.]
Not gonna ask you to tell me about it unless you want to.
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And there are questions he wants to ask, too. About the name Alexei, the fear he saw in the other, Abel — ]
I want to. [ ‘cause Cain got him out of there. and they’re friends (and he’s tired of hiding in plain sight, worried about how anything in his head might be made real). ] It’s just — complicated.
[ he retrieves the replacement from a nearby pile and drops it into Cain’s open palm, marking an unusual avoidance of empathetic touch.
after a pause, ]
Do you pay attention to all the chatter we [ the Displaced ] have about multiple worlds and timelines? S’okay if you don’t.
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His eyes lift as Fitz drops the part into an open hand, bare fingers curling over it.]
Not really. I mean, not enough to tell you what's the running theory or whatever, but I've... thought about it. Not everyone comes from the same place or even the same time. And Loki mentioned he's met different versions of himself. [His mouth twists, briefly occupied in the task of bolting the piece into place in the bike's inner-belly.] It just kind of... doesn't make much sense to me. But I feel like I've gotta try to understand it.
[It matters here. Especially since they seem to have some impact on time and the unraveling of certain events. They have an impact on reality.]
Why?
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Definitely a good theory to have in your back pocket, even in broad strokes.
[ a nod, then, approving and encouraging. Cain seems to grasp the essentials. ]
I suppose I mention it ‘cause it’s the easiest way to explain what happened to — what’s going on with me. [ Can’t lock it in the past. His focus settles back on the bike. ] Loki’s met multiple versions of himself, yeah? From different timelines or worlds. Take your pick. And I’ve got — I’ve lived two of those versions. Two timelines, two sets of memories. [ a beat for that to settle. Bit mad, isn’t it? Total science fiction, but Cain’s from Mars, so. ] There’s the one where I’m the person I’ve told you about — the person I want to be. [ he inhales ] Work for SHIELD as a scientist. Spend a decade trying to help people. Fall in love with Jemma.
[ Rattled off with surety. Those are things he uses a guiding stars, even now. ]
But another one, too. Just as real, just as true. [ uncompromising, that, though his breath catches before he continues. ] Where I wasn’t — I was a hateful person. [ His mouth curves downward, jaw set tight. ] That’s what you saw, in those first moments with me.
[ in the dreams, in his head, caught in otherworld. ]
[ wryly, ] Reckon that’s more than a few screws loose.
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SHIELD. Helping people. Jemma. He hasn't heard the name before, but his mind fixes on it like a hook. He decides to set aside the burning questions that threaten to follow.]
You're not that other one. You're the nicest fucking asshole I've met in this... [Cain waves a vague hand.] Place. Does it really matter what you were at one point in whatever timeline if you're not like that now?
Somewhere out in the multiverse, maybe I'm still in prison. Or I'm just... killing people 'cause I don't got a choice. Or I'm dead. Or some other stupid bullshit. [Something rests hard in his tone, like a stone buried beneath.] Not fucking true here.
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But it'd been easy enough to prove them wrong, with the swivel of his revolver and a cold click. He huffs a breath of air, humourless. ]
Pretends he doesn't get the multiverse, then reels off three theoretical case studies.
[ He reaches out to grasp Cain's shoulder, a light shake. Fitz attempts to catch his eye this time. ]
I appreciate that, more than I — I can say.
[ Never quite has the words for such things, even though he thinks of Cain following him on a ruined planet or protecting him on Mars, too. ]
But it matters 'cause it wasn't some other Fitz. [ pressing a hand to his chest, curling into his dirtied shirt. ] It was me. [ A quick nod, more to himself. He lived that timeline, his every deed propelling it onward and bringing it crashing into the world he calls home. ] It still is me, and if I don't own that, if I don't do better — then I'm not doing myself or anyone hurt by me, then and now, justice. [ firmer. ] And I'm certainly not the man my partner deserves.
[ More than anything, he has to be able to look her in the eye, when they meet again. ]
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Okay. Then do better here.
[He already knows that, Cain reasons, but that doesn't stop him from saying it.]
Jemma, she's your partner, right? You'll get to see her again. And then you'll get to tell her about all the cool shit you did here to help people. [His attention's superficially back on the bike, so he can reel off these sentimental things while pretending like it's no big deal.] With Morningstar, with Peggy, and everyone else. Me. I'm reading fuckin' textbooks because of you, asshole.
[Let him live this humiliation down.]
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Cain manages to push that from his mind for a few moments more with his disarming sincerity. A tightness in his chest, first, at the reassurance he'll see Jemma again. Sometimes, he thinks that has to be true — that he has time, even though it aches to be apart. (And some nights, he thinks they've been separated intentionally by curse or by fate, protecting her from what he might be). What Cain offers him is something he desperately wants to be true, despite how he won't allow himself to believe it just yet.
Any reply is caught in his throat, gaze fixed on Cain, even as he looks away. 'Cause he never sees himself the way others do, but if he looks at them long enough he might catch a glimpse, yeah? It's only when Cain gets to the bit about himself that Fitz's mouth curves, helpless to do anything but brighten. ]
Shut up. [ he slings an arm around Cain's shoulders, but it's more of jostle than a proper hug, just begging to be amicably shoved aside, though he'd gladly settle into the proximity. His gesture bleeds warmth and appreciation through the bond, the feeling of being knocked off-kilter and moved by another, impossibly fond. More than he can say, indeed. ]
Which ones? Are they any good? [ quickly, deferring his thank you for a spot of levity. ] Been after some light reading after slogging my way through a load of tosh on dream theory.
[ this is not 100% a joke... he really does wanna know what Cain's reading... ]
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Of course, he does inevitably elbow Fitz off with amiable annoyance, sharp side smile belying the playful shove back. That's just how he is.]
You think textbooks are light reading? Wow. As if you couldn't scream "huge nerd" any more than you already do.
[Brushing off his hands, Cain rises to his feet. There's some reluctance to share if only because all the titles will reveal the level of his knowledge, i.e. extremely beginner. Most follow remedial math class outlines.]
By the way, wanna ask you about something. Not about textbooks, though. Before you get your hopes up.
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Up on his feet, then, attention on the bike for final checks. ]
Oh, they’re already dashed. [ tossed over his shoulder without a hint of dourness. ] Go on then.
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So, something weird happened... after we got back from New Tokyo.
[The placement of we in this sentence stands in for him and Abel, although he won't say straight out. Fitz can likely connect from context clues.]
Finally got rid of Hideki, went back to my place, dropped off our shit, and uh. I think Giovanni's gone, didn't see him the whole time we were there, and his room was dark. [Cain's mouth presses in a line.] Can't remember, did you know him? Kind of a psycho.
[But not bad, and he knew how to handle a person like that most of the time. Giovanni did well with a firm hand. He feels guilty for being grateful Abel won't have to tangle too much with him, concern bred mostly from his own intense desire to protect Abel from people who are far rougher around the edges than Cain himself.]
Anyway, most of his plants were dead... he had a bunch of 'em on shelves and a couple tables. Went over to look, and it was like I could feel them. All I did was touch, but— [He glances furtively toward Fitz, then away.] They grew back? Totally alive again. Not withered, or dry, or whatever. I have no idea what the fuck I did. Still haven't tried again, freaked me out. [Sharing now is a testament of his trust in Fitz.]
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Odd duck. [ Giovanni, that is. Unfortunate to lose anyone, of course, when they've no idea where the Displaced go (if they go anywhere at all). Though Fitz can't imagine him doing well with a kindhearted lad like Abel, so perhaps it's for the best. He sets about tidying up his tools, then, with a hum of acknowledgement and another look, when he starts talking about feeling the plants.
With a hand towel over his shoulder and wee box of materials, he walks nearer to Cain, setting the contents down on a nearby worktable and smoothing his hands over the surface. A neural command ups the volume on the radio (better to be safe, in matters involving Cain). ]
It's certainly unusual [ unprecedented, too, but he deigns to keep that thought to himself. Even as he speaks, he's running through his mental list of every ability among the Displaced, of the Inhumans in his main reality and every superhuman who signed the Sokovia Accords, too. Multiple abilities tend to be complementary, as in the case of Spider-Man or even Captain America. They don't have any powers as unrelated as spatial displacement and... plant growth on record. And any evolution in their abilities has been linear, as with Markus' shields or his own portals changing in size. ] But so are all our abilities.
[ He'll never forget Daisy's first day after activating her powers, hands and earth both shaking. The move is to reassure Cain, first, despite his own uncertainty. ]
And this has never happened before? [ measured, with a rap of his knuckles on the metal surface. After New Tokyo places a change in Cain alongside the shifts in the wider ecosystem of this world. He looks back to Cain, concern flickering in his eyes and the crease of his brow. ] Was there any knockback on you? [ He's intimately familiar with an ability that needed to take life to give it, and most things have a cost. ] Tiredness, weakness, et cetera? What about the glow?
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As the weeks pass, he's accustomed. He's gotten stronger, too. Perhaps that's inevitable. This place wanted them to be able to do what they now can do for a reason. Or is it random, and this appearance of a second ability just a fluke?
Cain forces his attention to the narrow point of those questions. Trusts Fitz, more than anyone, to help him puzzle this out.]
No, never. Not till now. No kickback far as I know, uh... I was pretty tired already when it happened. Maybe there was something small and I just didn't notice. [It will require attempting again, he knows, but he's hesitant. Without guidance, without reassurance — it'll be the disorienting frustration of his first ability all over again. He wonders when it's supposed to get easier.]
Glow was there, [a sharp nod.] Felt almost exactly like my usual power. But still weird and different, I mean. Obviously. The spatial thing? Makes sense for me. But plants? No clue, nothing grows on Mars.
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FIN.