promuseboxing | CALL ME OUT

[ Coming back from the dead was never an easy thing to do no matter what the circumstances involved were. To say that Harry was a mess after the church would be an understatement. It had taken months to recover properly, to get back into a state where he felt he was fit enough to return. The world fell apart in his absence, just barely held together as people came together in the aftermath of V-Day.

He's still unsure of his reception even after quietly returning to London. His house is occupied and after everything that happened, Harry isn't ready to face Eggsy just yet. So he makes other plans, taps sources he knows won't mention that he's back before he wants them to. It's tempting to just walk into Kingsman and ask for a fitting just to see jaws drop.

No, that wouldn't be right either.

In the end, Harry does what he knew he'd always do. He goes to Merlin. He lets himself into (read: breaks in very carefully) his old friend's house, waiting in the kitchen for him to return from work. The only forewarning he'll get is a text from an untraceable number. ]

You're running late.

[ Breaking into Merlin's home is a feat in itself, but not one that goes unnoticed. Perhaps it would have been different, receiving the text message from an untraceable number while in a meeting with their new Arthur, formerly Gawain. As it was, he was just sitting down to said meeting when his glasses alerted him to someone entering his house. He took a moment to assess the situation, pull up his security footage, and freeze.

It had to be a trick. Harry Hart had died months ago, and Merlin had dragged himself through that particular hell to the other end out of sheer professional willpower. He rewound the video, assessed it, checked for glitches to see if it was merely old footage looped, a trap designed to send him running home in the middle of the day.

By all appearances the video checked out. There was Harry Hart, alive, sitting in his kitchen.

Then, the text message arrived.

What is it, Merlin?

Apparently, Harry Hart just broke into my house.

What?

(Needless to say, the meeting was postponed.)

It's not thirty minutes later that Merlin is at his front door, unlocking three locks and pinning in his security code and not bothering for a second to take his shoes off once inside. His heart has been burning in his stomach the entire time back, the text left unanswered, and with his coat and oxfords still in place he makes a bee-line for the kitchen.

He stands in the doorway, unblinking, as if willing Harry to truly be a ghost or some figment of his imagination. He could curse, and maybe he will in a bit, but the first words out of his mouth go without much more hesitation, as they had swirled through his mind endlessly the whole trip over. ]

And what time do you call this?

[ There were a thousand, perhaps a million, things he could say in this moment. He didn't think through the decision to reveal himself this way too closely. It had been months since he'd seen a face that was familiar to him, since he'd felt safe enough to relax for longer than an hour at a time. For the first time in months, sitting at the impeccably kept table of Merlin's kitchen, his shoulders unknot and he can feel something loosen in his chest. For the first time he realizes that he can breath easily.

Seeing Merlin in the doorway just cements a thought that has been lurking at the back of his mind since he saw his house occupied.

In the absence of a place, home becomes a person.

Looking at Merlin is the first time he's felt like he's home since he woke up in the hospital. ]

What do I call this?

[ He smiles, feeling like an asshole but also painfully pleased to be somewhere familiar again. Hopefully this wouldn't end with Merlin punching him in the face. ]

I just sent it because I knew it'd piss you off.

[ Who was he kidding? It was bound to happen. He can at least earn it. ]

[ Punching Harry in the fact, in all actuality, seems like a bloody great idea. There are far too many emotions going at once and his jaw tightens as he stands unmoving in the doorway. Anger, frustration, deep gut-wrenching sadness combined with unparalleled relief. It feels like ages standing there, assessing, clenching his left fist because the right would do more damage than good if he decided he would in fact punch his formerly dead best friend. Finally, his feet find the will the move. ]

You goddamn son of a bitch.

[ In an instant he's with Harry, grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him up. All sharp lines and a hard stare, he could kiss him or punch him right then. Instead, he pulls Harry into the tightest hug he's ever given. ]

There's always something happening on the ship, so many people with the last few influxes that there's almost nowhere quiet any more. And Loki, for all he'd usually prefer it that way... well, he'd gotten very used to being alone, over his lifetimes. It's strange to him now, so many people willing to tolerate his company despite knowing his name, when at home they'd most likely be busy despising him.

Sometimes he needs a few moments alone to let that sink in. His ego is, of course, a little hurt not to be recognised, but it's minor in comparison to the relief of so few people expecting him to do or be anything at all. It's just confusing, as well, and sometimes he needs those few moments alone to work out who he does want to be. Somewhere, preferably, quiet.

He wouldn't usually try the garden for that, but it's late enough most crew should be elsewhere (like bed), and close enough to risk the trying. Sure enough, he almost thinks he's gotten away with it... at least for a few seconds before he spots the giant wolf.

"Ah, and I suppose your owner is here, too, somewhere."

He doesn't understand wolves, but it's nice to talk to someone who doesn't talk back sometimes, even if he's wary of getting too close.

"Are you actually here, Master Kent, and should I leave your wolf to roam or are you trying to find him?"

The gardens weren't really his place like they were Clark's, but they were the closest he could get to taking Wolf outside for a walk when the ship was in its travel phase. Being stuck inside metal walls day in and day out was enough to make him understand Wally's tendency to get stir crazy. And Wolf is still a wild animal at heart so Conner knows it's probably worse for him the longer they're stuck on board with no real outlet.

It's become a nightly ritual for him. He gets a book from the library and sits while Wolf gets some exercise and works out some of the energy he builds up over the day. And the chance to read on his own is nice. One of the things he never expected to miss as much as he does is college. He was learning things that Cadmus hadn't bothered to deem necessary, and at least if he keeps studying on his own he can keep up that little bit of defiance.

Except tonight is a little different, the sound of Loki's voice from the other side of the tree drawing him out of his book.

"Yeah, I'm here." He gets up and goes around so he's actually in view. "He can roam all he wants, he knows not to cause trouble."

Unlike some people. Gods. Whatever.

He accepts the implied commentary on his ability to cause trouble with a shrug, not at all denying it. He's Loki, as much role as name, and trouble is what Loki does.

"A very smart wolf, then, aren't you?" He drifts a little closer, eyeing Conner with curiosity. He does enjoy a bit of a challenge, and in this case, Conner represents something of a mystery. A slightly grouchy mystery, true, but Loki's met worse. Much, much worse.

At least Conner doesn't have terribly much unpleasant history with him... yet.

No time like the present to correct that, yes? Or perhaps prevent it. It's always hard to tell which it's going to be. Sometimes people don't like him, sometimes they do.

"Aren't you bored, out here so late and alone? Or are you one of life's silent, solitary types?"

"I keep myself occupied since Wolf needs the exercise." Hence the books. That and the long off hope that he might eventually get back home and continue his college classes. Learning the old fashioned way felt more like an accomplishment than having all the information downloaded into his brain.

Which wasn't the answer to Loki's question, not really. It's hard to figure where he stands with him. Conner's not fond of liars in general but there's something interesting about him that keeps him from telling him to buzz off.

Not that it'd work for long.

"I'm not alone right now," He says. "Since you're here."

Working late at the Planet is practically a given on any day of the week, but especially so when Superman puts in an appearance. Clark had spent the evening pulling survivors out of a fire on 4th, only to be dragged back to the office by Perry so the Planet could get a story out in the online edition. Normally, Lois scooped the Superman stories, but it was just dumb luck that Jimmy had caught sight of him before he disappeared to change into the red cape. A first-hand account takes precedence over seniority.

It isn't that it's a bad story - Clark doesn't share his co-workers' aversion to this particular kind of "puff piece" - but he hates writing about himself. Even if his article has more to do with the survivors and firefighters than Superman, he inevitably has to throw in a few lines about his own heroics. Every single one of them sounds awful, at least to him.

Inevitably, his attention wanders. Lois has stayed late too, chasing leads on another story she's been going after for a while. He's never met anyone as determined and fearless in search of the truth. He'd have a much easier time writing an article about the times Lois Lane had saved innocent lives, or exposed corruption and injustice. But then, he'd probably have to fight the Pulitzer committee for the chance to write it. (He could take them, he's pretty sure.)

It's been months and he still has a hard time believing that they'll just - head home together after this, to the apartment that they share. Lois will watch trashy TV to unwind and Clark will make a late dinner, and they'll argue about something inconsequential, and he'll kiss her good night. And good morning. Generally, kissing Lois Lane is an activity that he approves of highly. He doesn't actually realize he's staring until she catches his eye. He doesn't look away. He just gives her a small, slightly apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he says. "Just thinking. How's work coming?"

Lois Lane has been described as having a Thing about words by the people around her. She doesn't have superpowers like Clark but she knows she can cause waves with a carefully phrased article that will ripple out. Late shifts at the Planet are her norm and this night is no different as she writes out emails to city officials to get documentation for a story that's closer to home than her pieces about war overseas and human rights. This time her target is a slum lord who has been jacking up rent prices for low income families when her eyes can't take the glare on the screen anymore. She's leaning back in her chair as she checks a few social media sites.

(@lois2theletter: just found out some rookie scooped the superman article while i was doing real work #imnotevenmad)

She notices Clark staring just after posting the tweet and waits patiently for him to come back to Earth with a playful smile. It's hard to believe sometimes that he's the same person that puts on a costume and saves people from burning buildings and earthquakes, especially when he smiles like that. Waking up next to him is a marvel unto itself. He's larger than life and all the more real because of it.

"The usual, harrassing people with very big salaries questions they'd rather not answer," She says, getting up and walking over to him. She's probably not going to get much more done tonight. Which means time to harrass someone much more fun than city officials. Lois rests her chin on his shoulder, taking a moment to scan over the article that would normally be hers.

"Not too bad," She traces her fingers along his arm, her tone teasing. "But you missed your chance to get a quote from him, rookie. It would have made the article."

Edited 2016-03-26 06:39 (UTC)

Beside him on the desk, Clark's phone vibrates, alerting him of a new tweet from Lois' account. He glances down long enough to read it, and smiles before he can help himself.

"I can see that," he says, teasing. It seems like they're both settled against a block at the moment. Lois has already pushed herself to her feet. He watches her close the space between them; sometimes he thinks he couldn't take his eyes off her if he wanted to. It's a sweetly subtle kind of tension, like a charge in the air before a lightening strike.

He exhales slowly as her chin comes to rest on his shoulder, and her fingers trace his arm, light and teasing. Sometimes every one of those enhanced senses seem to zero in on her, like the whole world has narrowed down to a single heartbeat. His eyes fall half-shut, unfocused on the screen, but he's still very much aware of what she's doing.

"Guess I got too excited about scooping Lois Lane," he says.

"So if I ask nicely..." He turns a little, enough to try to steal a playful kiss. "Think she'll still go out to dinner with me on Friday night?"

She can't help smiling into the kiss, leaning into it more than is entirely professional for the middle of their office. Perry is probably in his office putting the last editorial touches before the paper went to the presses, and she knows he won't bother them when he heads home. Other than that, almost everyone else is sane enough that they went home hours ago. And really, when she's caught up in Clark like this she can't bring herself care about it too much.

"Mm... I think she can be convinced," she says. "If you play your cards right,"

Still tracing a meandering path with her fingers, Lois kisses a path down to his neck. Even though she knows he's careful about keeping his time as Superman separate from his civilian life she can smell just a hint of smoke on him from the fire. Another kiss to his neck comes along with a smile at him.

"You know, the sooner you finish writing up your fluff piece the sooner we can go home."

Not that she's going to make it easy for him. There's no fun in that.

[It's been a while since he's set foot in Australia. It's just as vast and strange as the first time he was here, and probably still as dangerous. Though he shouldn't worry about Laurence, not with his heavyweight dragon guarding him like a mother hen, but that doesn't stop the slithering creep of anxiety. They had parted on such awkward terms, yet that ache in his chest reminded him of a connection long neglected.]

[What if they couldn't find them in the interior? What if they didn't want to be found? It's a silly, childish worry that he might find himself regected, glow denied and damned. Laurence had a habit of sliding back into bad habits when left to his own devices. What if, what if, what if.]

[If Granby keeps fretting he's going to drop dead of a heart attack before they even find him.]

[Of course, having a brightly colored fire-breather helps in flagging Temeraire down, who happily leads them to a half constructed pavilion, rambling all the while about all their plans. He only half listens, and all but throws himself from Iskierka's back once they land. Where the hell is he?]

Laurence! [Stop hiding, damn you.]

[ Hammond had done his job well enough, laying out the situation and tempting him with the promise of a restored rank and a chance to regain the honor he'd lost in exile. But the ache in his chest, the empty hollow feeling that's something like hunger but also rather more like longing has him conflicted. Those few stolen moments with Granby before his soulmate was sent once more unto the breach were life-changing. Desperate kisses amidst the scent of leather and harness oil that lingered long after the man was gone. He still dreams of him at times, though the taste has faded as all things held in memory are wont to do.

The gold captain's bars sit in his hut still while Laurence himself goes off into the scrub to make sure the bunyips aren't encroaching on their territory in retaliation for Temeraire's previous scolding. Even before he spots the familiar serpentine shape of Iskierka flying overhead he feels the glow in his chest flare. ]

...John.

[ There is no thought in his mind as he tears through the brush back toward camp. It is irrational, the desperation pounding in his chest as he makes his way. It spurs him to provide a final burst of speed as he hears John calling his name. The ache in his chest became more like hunger than longing as he bursts out into the open, chest heaving from the effort expended. In this moment he can't find the words he needs. All he can do is stare and struggle to find his voice. ]

John... [ In the end words are thrown aside in favor of bridging that distance between them to draw Granby into a tight embrace as the light in his chest pulses with the rightness of being so close. ]

CALL ME OUT

harry hart.

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lois lane.

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william "HONOORRR" laurence

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