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In Dr. Flug’s experience, science of any sort was riddled with variables. Yet even with the most complicated algorithms, there were a few basic truths that could be relied on. Barring air resistance, gravitational acceleration was 9.8 per meter squared. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Matter was composed of atoms, with protons, neurons, and electrons. No matter what sort of craziness that ensued inside the mansion, 2 plus 2 was still 4, the sky was still blue, and Black Hat most certainly did not like him.
He had re-evaluated his previous assumption that Black Hat hated him, Demencia, and 5.0.5. The last rude customer to truly piss off their boss had become nothing more than a stain on the carpet in the foyer. Thus, Flug rationalized that if Black Hat actually hated the three of them, they would not still be alive. That was not to say that he actually liked any of them either. At every turn, he was more than vocal about how annoying and useless they were. (Well, Flug could argue that at least he made himself useful in the lab, but it was futile if not deadly to argue with Black Hat.) He could at least assure himself that his life was not permanently in danger- no more than usual when one is commonly dealing with complicated weapons of destruction and villainy.
Life at Black Hat’s mansion was anything but normal, but it seemed even an unknown being of pure evil could fall into some semblance of a routine, one that Dr. Flug did his best to adhere to. Black Hat would yell about finishing the latest project and Flug would present a new invention as quickly as feasibly possible. If it worked as planned (and that was a very large ‘if’), either Demencia or 5.0.5. would interfere and the presentation would become total chaos. Eventually, after some tweaks and precautions, the item would be added to the catalog. Then Flug would begin work on the next device, and the cycle would repeat. Life with an eldritch horror in a suit, a mentally questionable lizard-girl, and an overly sensitive blue care-bear was far from predictable, but it was one that Flug had grown slightly more adjusted to.
Then there was the rare occasion when something would just not add up.
The first… incident (as he labeled it), occurred one night when he fell asleep at his desk. His ongoing affair with sleep deprivation had frequently left him passed out in a swivel chair, usually with pieces of machinery scattered about his sleeping form. Flug intended to wake like this, with an ache in his neck and only marginally less exhaustion. Instead, he opened his eyes to see his all too under-used bed. He still had on the same casual clothes, but his shoes had been set neatly at the foot of his bed and his lab coat had been hung on a rack by the door. His goggles were askew, and the bag crinkled from sleep, but otherwise it appeared they had been left in place.
The rational question of how he moved without his knowledge seemed simple. His room was too orderly for it to be Demencia’s doing. If she ever did something kind for the doctor, she was usually quick to claim it and ask for a favor in return. 5.0.5 wasn’t usually a night owl (in fact Flug was fairly certain he was afraid of the dark), but he did do his best to take care of the mansion and the people in it. When Flug made a point of thanking 5.0.5. the next time he saw him, the blue bear’s response was only confusion. Flug brushed it off as a lapse in memory on his own part; it wouldn’t be the first time he had forgotten something due to sleep deprivation.
(The alternative was highly improbable, albeit not impossible.)
Perhaps Flug would have chalked it up to this and this alone if it only occurred on a singular occasion. It did not. As the doctor began to consider the highly unlikely, he found himself reluctant to test his suspicions. Although he persisted to stay awake longer than what anyone would consider healthy, the few hours in his actual bed did leave him feeling considerably less exhausted the following day. Some logical portion of his mind argued that there was a phrase about looking a gift horse in the mouth (which he never understood, but got the jist of). The scientist in him, however, wanted answers.
(He had the beginnings of a hypothesis, but it was almost too ludicrous to even consider.)
Black Hat was known to drop by the lab when the mood suited him- usually an impatient mood. After several minutes of loudly berating Flug for his lack of progress or some inherent flaw in design, he would leave with a slam of the lab door.
Suddenly, his visits had become… quieter. His criticisms and threats were no less harsh, but his yelling had subsided to a level grumbling. At first Flug was grateful for the change, but ultimately it unnerved him. Was he doing something wrong? Did Black Hat have something worse in store? No, it was too great a risk to question it.
If Flug had considered the noticeable drop in volume unnerving, the following incident was purely maddening.
He was leaning over his desk and sketching the blueprints for the next device (a beam to compel its target to tell the truth) when the lab door opened. Flug didn’t glance up. Black Hat was usually quick to make his presence known, Demencia couldn’t stay silent to save her life, and 5.0.5. might clean and leave without bothering him (unless the vacuum had broken again.) All in all, Flug decided it was best to keep his focus on his plans. He tried (and failed) to not flinch in response to the quiet tapping of fancy shoes on the sterile floor. Normally his boss didn’t hesitate to address him and comment on what he was working on at the moment, but this silence was terrifying. Was Black Hat angrier than ever? Was Flug being rude by ignoring him? Certainly Black Hat noticed the tension in his shoulders or the sudden cold sweat on his neck. So they both knew- yet they were silent. Flug finally caved and spun around- only to be faced by the slamming of the lab door.
He waited for anything to happen. Maybe Black Hat would barge back in and yell at him, or the lab would spontaneously combust.
There was only silence.
Swallowing down the myriad of questions, fears, contradictions storming through his mind, Flug returned to his work. When he saw his boss the next day, Black Hat did not mention the encounter and neither did the doctor.
It did not happen again, but Flug did not forget it. Evidence had begun to pile up within his mind, but it was all too circumstantial. It felt like trying to compose a picture from an incomplete puzzle. As soon as it seemed to align, another piece was thrown into the fray that simply didn’t mix. Each instance was noted, but it had yet to tip the scales against what was already established.
No, that moment- too strong to be dismissed- occurred one cloudy night. He had run out of some supplies: a few screws, a certain gear, and some wires. It was always the minor things that ran out at the most inconvenient of times. Perhaps he should have taken it as a cue to call it a night, but Flug was determined to put the finishing touches on the truth beam prototype before tomorrow (or at least tomorrow morning because, when he had last checked the time, tomorrow had technically begun). Which is how he ended up walking into town in search of the local hardware store at an ungodly hour.
The wind howled with growing persistence, causing the ends of his paper bag to whip at his face. It was hard to hold onto his labcoat as well as the flimsy bag over his head. At least he could still see through his goggles and certainly it couldn’t much farther to the store. Flug rationalized that- if he was quick- he could make it there and back home before the rain hit. (He tried not to think of how the mansion had subconsciously been dubbed his home.)
A distinct tap on his paper bag made his heart plummet in his chest.
With an almost cliche thunderclap, the single droplet morphed into a monsoon. Without a second through, Flug ran. In hindsight, the idea to race down dark streets when he could hardly see through the droplets coating his goggles was probably a poor one. The world was blurred, but he was certain he could manage to find some sort of momentary shelter.
One wrong step into a slick puddle sent him skidding face-first into the concrete pavement. Normally, Flug himself was more resilient in the face of injury (mostly by necessity in his line of work).
Wet paper, however, was not. Gloved hands scrambled to hold together the remains, but to no avail. There was a stinging on his cheeks- but any possible scrapes or cuts were the last thing on his mind. His heart froze in his chest, blood chilled by a steadily rising panic. He was out in the open, anyone could see- oh God. Where were his goggles? Which way was home? Lightning flashed, too bright and too close. He covered his ears at the echoing thunder that shook the earth. The wind howled, the rain beat down, and the world was too much at once.
What felt like an eternity passed when suddenly something dark was draped over his head. The thrum of rain on his shoulders vanished.
“Well?! Are you just going to sit there?”
Flug peered up through the gap in what he now recognized as the front of a coat. Black Hat stood over him, a neat black umbrella in his grasp. His gaze was pointedly averted from the doctor’s face, but his expression was otherwise unreadable.
Flug’s heart still hammered too quick in his chest, but Black Hat’s coat was dark and smelled of ash, ink, and expensive cologne. He waited for his shallow breaths to even out slightly before attempting a response. Tugging the coat over most of his face, he managed an audible “N-no sir.” Although he made an effort to stand, it appeared his shaking legs were refusing to cooperate. Flug braced himself for another impact on the wet pavement, but instead a gloved hand gripped him firmly by his soaked arm.
“Do I have to do everything?” Black Hat growled, but the words lacked any bite. His hand dug into the doctor’s scrawny bicep, the other holding the umbrella aloft, as he all but drug Flug through the drenched streets. His eyes boring intensely into the darkness rather than the person by his side. Even when Flug began to walk unassisted, Black Hat never released him from his grip.
Flug wished he could stay silent, but there was still a wriggling concern in the back of his mind. “S-sir, I, uh, need some supplies f-for the truth ray.”
His uncovered eye narrowed, and pointed teeth shone through as he sneered. “You’ll have them tomorrow.”
“It’s only a few-”
The grip on his arm tightened. “Tomorrow. Is that clear, Dr. Flug?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
They returned to silence for the remainder of the walk.
As soon as they were inside the mansion, Black Hat released the doctor and dropped the dripping umbrella by the door. He quickly stormed off, down some long corridor, without a single look at the man he had led through the streets.
(Were it anyone else, Flug would have described it as running away.)
It was only after several long moments of contemplating this that Flug realized that he still had the other man’s coat draped over his head. He felt tempted to return it, but the thought of walking through the mansion with his face uncovered was enough to send his stomach into knots. With this thought, he kept his head low and hurried to his bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the carpet.
The coat was neatly set aside as he stripped of the sopping wet clothes and discarded them into the bathroom sink. Only when he had a fresh bag over his head and a spare pair of goggles (they had a crack in one lens, but they were otherwise fine) did he breathe of sigh of relief. He was still cold, tired, and confused to some degree, but at least this was back to normal. His curiosity was running a million miles an hour, but every other part of him felt drained- mentally and physically. He tried not to think too much about the black coat on his desk as he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, there was a bag of supplies on his desk that held not only what he needed for the prototype, but also a few things he had simply been running low on. By lunch, he was presenting the prototype to Black Hat, who commented that if Flug was going to choose such horrid attire, the least he could do was make sure it wasn’t broken. That evening, there was a new pair of goggles in his bedroom. Flug told himself that he was not upset that the coat was now gone.
(But he slightly was.)
The day had been uneventful (compared to most days), but the doctor felt oddly drained. Chalking it up to a few late nights catching up to him, Flug readily fell into his bed and hoped a good night’s rest would resolve the weight that had settled over him.
(It did not.)
Flug trudged into the lab, trying to ignore the soreness in the back of his throat. His limbs felt heavy with an underlying ache and a chill in his bones that refused to subside. Despite it, he was determined to finish the truth beam (truth ray? He hadn’t decided which was more accurate). The prototype had proved that it was feasible, but to market it to villains it had to be not only functional but also composed in a fashionable manner. (Anyone in the villainous business could tell you that great villains were 25% practical and 75% theatrics.) He preferred the initial development of the devices, when it felt like solving some grand puzzle, but it was just as pleasant to see a rough prototype become a polished invention. With this in mind, he pushed through the illness and began work on the final form of the truth ray. Shaking hands and the occasional blur in his vision hadn’t stopped him before, and the electronics of this device were considerably less lethal than most.
“Flug! Where is the truth ray?!”
“Sorry, Black Hat, sir,” his strained voice croaked and he turned to face his boss.
Black Hat’s scowl fell away. He seemed to cross the distance in an instant (or perhaps Flug had closed his eyes for a moment, the doctor was not entirely sure). He watched Black Hat remove a glove, and a dark, clawed hand neared his face. The doctor backed away from the touch, but was frozen by Black Hat’s glare.
“Hold still.” A cool dark hand pressed against his exposed neck, and Flug winced beneath his bag at the added chill. “You’re sick,” he stated with a frown. Black Hat suddenly stepped away and folded his arms with an impatient tap of his foot. “What the hell are you doing in the lab?!”
“Finishing the truth ray, Black Hat, si-”
He cut him off with a growl of frustration. “Stop. Talking. Your voice is wretched.” He pointed firmly at the door. “Go to your room. If I catch you back in this lab, you will wish that this illness had killed you.”
Flug opened his mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut. He nodded nervously, but the action only worsened his growing headache. Despite how his limbs felt like lead, he exited the lab as quick as he could manage. He only leaned on the wall for support when he was out of Black Hat’s sight.
When he finally reached his room, Flug buried himself into the blankets on his bed and tried not to think about a cold hand against his neck.
“Oooo, is he dead? He looks dead.”
There was a familiar whine to one side of his bed.
“He is sick! Now, both of you, GET! OUT!”
The door slammed.
Flug groaned in protest. Everything ached, like he had been barreled over by a freight train. (Or in a plane crash, a part of him supplied, but he ignored it.) After several moments of taking in this feeling, he opened his eyes. There were several objects on the table by his bed, most likely 5.0.5.’s doing. There was a glass of water, a few bottles of pills and a wet cloth. It seemed like typical fare for helping someone who was sick.
What was unusual was Black Hat, standing over his bed with that same unknowable expression. He sat on the edge of the bed before handing him the water and a few pills.
“Take this. And get that bag off your head.”
Flug immediately tensed. “S-sir I-” His throat immediately protested by sending him into a coughing fit. Black Hat shoved the glass into his hand, which the doctor was now more willing to accept. Pushing the bag up slightly, he swallowed down the water and the offered pills gratefully. After a moment, in which his boss observed him with great scrutiny, he continued, “Sorry, but I- I would rather not, Black Hat, sir…”
“Why?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Flug felt too exhausted to form a more complicated excuse; best to stick with the truth. “You won’t like what you see.”
“Ha!” he barked harshly. “You really think I care about what you look like?! The problem here is that you are useless in this condition, not what you look like beneath that damn bag of yours.” A gloved hand snatched at the paper bag, but Flug leaned away from his grasp.
“No!”
“Why are you being so difficult?!”
“Why do you even care?!”
“Because I am trying to help you!”
Flug paused at that. (One part of his mind was reeling from the thought that Black Hat would actively help anyone, especially Flug.) With a sigh of resignation, he removed his paper bag and goggles.
He waited for some snide remark about the scars that covered his face, from burns and cuts that had never healed properly. He expected a comment on the unusual color of his eyes (well perhaps silver wasn’t necessarily odd in comparison to Demencia’s eyes). He braced himself for a harsh remark to prove exactly what he knew to be true, that his face was messed up beyond what anyone could find remotely appealing.
None ever came.
Black Hat nudged him lightly to lay back down against the pillows before placing the cool rag over his forehead. “You scratched yourself the other night. Did you even bother to clean it?”
“N-no sir.”
“Tch. Of course you didn’t.” One cool hand rubbed at a scar that had been a cut along his cheek.
If Black Hat noticed the way he leaned into the touch, he made no comment to it. Before the sickness induced courage could leave him, he dared himself ask, “What do you think, sir?”
The demon rolled his eyes, as if the answer was obvious. “You look like Flug.” With that, he stood and made his way to door. “I’ll make sure the others don’t disturb you, so you had better get some rest! My threat about the lab still stands!”
“I understand,” Flug replied. “Black Hat?”
“What?”
A weary smile came across his damaged face. “Thank you.”
Black Hat appeared, for only a moment, to be flustered. His mouth formed the start to a few sentences, but no noise came out. Instead, he scowled stubbornly and stormed out of the room (but took noticeable care to not slam the door).
Flug touched a hand to his cheek, remembering how another hand had been there only a moment ago. A part of his mind whispered that Black Hat was simply looking out for his own interests. The sooner Flug was better, the sooner he could get back to work. Perhaps a few weeks ago, he would have taken his boss’s behavior as simply that. It wasn’t impossible, but to surmise it as simple practicality did not appear as likely as it once was.
Maybe he needed to take a step back and gain perspective.
Setting the cloth aside (it had stopped being cool anyway), he began digging through the desk by his bed until he found a spare notebook and an extra pen. The notebook was worn and missing more than a few pages, but it would do. Putting pen to paper, he wrote out the general topic at the top of the page as “Observations.” After a moment of consideration, he subtitled it “On The Incidents With Black Hat.” Yes, that would do.
From there on, he wrote out every peculiar instant as impartially as he could describe it. He categorized being moved to his bed as one collective incident, as well as the lab being quieter, despite multiple occurrences. The Silent Visit- as he dubbed it- was marked as incident number three. Then there was the storm- which he shuddered to recall, but forged on. He had filled out a few pages and was in the middle of recounting the way Black Hat had responded to seeing his face, when the door to his room opened.
Black Hat strolled in, proudly carrying a tray of chicken noodle soup and another glass of water, until his eye caught sight of the notebook in Flug’s lap. “Doctor,” a menacing voice hissed, “I know you aren’t working, after I expressly told you to rest.”
“I did rest, sir,” Flug said, quickly shoving the book to the side (and as far from Black Hat as he could manage). “I just got bored and thought I could work on… some ideas f-for the next product!”
Black Hat’s eye narrowed, but he didn’t argue. “I brought you something 5.0.5. cooked. You need to eat. You slept through lunch and I am certain you didn’t have any breakfast.” Flug gave a sheepish look at that. Black Hat set the tray in his lap before he pulled up a chair from one corner of the room.
Flug chewed his lip nervously. “You, uh, don’t have to stay, if you’ve got something to do sir.”
Black Hat scoffed at this. “You don’t exactly show the best track record for taking care of yourself, Flug. I will be staying right here to make sure you eat and don’t get distracted by work again.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“If you don’t start eating, I will shove that bowl down your throat myself.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
So Flug swallowed spoonful after spoonful, and Black Hat just… watched. His eye darted around the room on occasion, perhaps taking in details he hadn’t before. For the most part, however, his gaze was settled on Flug and Flug alone. That unknown expression reared its head at moments; Flug was starting to recognize some sort of sadness in that look, but there was more to it that perhaps only Black Hat knew of. The doctor considered that maybe he should say something- and certainly they had things to discuss- but honestly that wasn’t an elephant he felt like addressing yet.
“I’m done,” he finally said.
Black Hat stood for a moment and began to reach for the tray. His gaze settled on the remaining soup and there was a flash of irritation in his eyes. Before Flug could process it, his boss was lifting one more spoonful to his lips.
“Sir, I really-” Flug protested, but Black Hat shot him an icy glare that made the following words die in his chest. Resigning himself to compliance, he let himself be fed the final few spoonfuls. If Black Hat noticed his burning cheeks, Flug decided he would lie and blame the fever. On one hand, he felt mildly mortified to be treated like an uncooperative child, but- at the same time- he could appreciate the (albeit somewhat forceful) care.
When Black Hat appeared satisfied, he picked up the tray and left without a word.
Flug laid against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling. It took him several moments to realize he was smiling. Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of it all. Despite feeling like he had been barreled by a bus (which was marginally better than a train), he felt oddly happy. Before a single detail could stray any further from his thoughts, Flug picked up his notebook and began writing once more. When he felt pleased with his record of the events (sloppy additions and notes in the margins included), he read over his record.
Then he read it again.
And once more.
As the latest memory replayed itself in his mind, a sudden thought struck.
It was an obvious one, but, if Flug had learned anything in his time as a scientist, it was that one could miss the obvious all too easily. Hyperfocus on one specific problem, and you could miss the one looming around the corner. (One might figure out how to defy gravity, but it hardly mattered if it affected the space around it rather than a singular, targeted object.)
In all his notes wondering how Black Hat might feel about him (which were confusing enough), Flug had yet to ask himself in turn how he felt about Black Hat.
He could sleep; in fact, he probably should get some more sleep. But now that this new question was presiding over his mind, he knew sleep would not find him anytime soon.
Flug turned to a clean page in the notebook. On the top line he wrote in small letters a single question. “What Do I Feel Towards Black Hat?” His pen hovered beneath it, awaiting a proper answer. Flug wasn’t sure that there was one, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere by staring at a piece of paper. He took a breath and began write his thought as they came to his mind.
Black Hat was insufferable on some days. He was, well, evil. He would treat the three of them harshly, almost cruelly, and clearly delight in their fear and suffering. And yet, he tolerated the inconveniences they caused him in turn. To Flug, he was terrifying, but remarkable. It was like staring at the world as one fell from some unimaginable height. Death would come soon and yet there was something magnificent about the view. There was a certain awe with which he referred to Black Hat.
That was not to say that the eldritch horror (or demon, or whatever he was really) did not have flaws. He was arrogant, demanding, and painfully oblivious to how any sane person would handle a situation. All in all, he was a villain.
Yet it was clear that underneath it all, he cared about their unusual family. If Flug was honest with himself, he cared about them too. 5.0.5. might break something when cleaning, but he didn’t mind fixing it. Demencia was hyperactive and obsessive, but she would have his back if he needed her. Black Hat would rush him to complete something, but then carry him to his bed when he stayed up to meet some outrageous deadline.
Flug appreciated it all, but there was something different in the way he thought of Black Hat in comparison to Demencia or 5.0.5. He was something too grand to grasp, an enigma too complicated to solve, but God would he love the chance. It was some grand mix of curiosity and adoration, crossed with an understanding that the man could sometimes be just as human as the doctor he berated. Black Hat was maddening, terrifying, and exciting in a way Flug had grown to admire in its own way.
And if he was honest, he wouldn’t change a thing about Black Hat even if he had the chance. It was what made Black Hat himself and to lack any of it would simply not be Black Hat.
“You look like Flug,” one memory whispered, and his pen came to a halt.
Oh.
His heart hammered in his chest. Flug had spent so long hiding his face, certain it was some tragic horror to look at. To consider that Black Hat saw it as plainly as he saw the way Flug dressed or stuttered or stayed up too late was… astounding.
(Perhaps Flug himself could see it that way too, but that was a problem for another time.)
Flug turned the page and wrote his question once more.
This time, he had his answer. Only when he had written his thoughts to the fullest did he lay the notebook aside and let sleep drag him into oblivion.
Flug awoke in a bed that wasn’t his own. The first major indicator was the smooth silk beneath his fingers as opposed to his plain cotton sheets. When he took a breath, the familiar scent of ash, ink, and cologne tugged at his mind. No, this was definitely not his room. The dark wallpaper and the crimson curtains were no different than the rest of the mansion, but every inch appeared to drip luxury. There were grand portraits on the walls, most depicted Black Hat, but others displaying images that Flug wasn’t sure how to decipher. Several pedestals displayed what he could only describe as trophies (which ranged from the skull of a beast Flug couldn’t name to a diamond larger than his hand). The bed was extravagant, with dark wooden posts and a mattress bigger than a small room.
As he examined this, Flug noticed a single post-it note placed on the headboard. In elegant cursive letters, it read:
Dr. Flug,
You smell horrible.
You will find a bath
through the door to your left.
Make use of it.
-Black Hat
Flug wondered if he should feel insulted or grateful. (And a touch confused because certainly the simple shower near his own room would have been fine.) He still hadn’t decided as he entered the bathroom- and quickly noted that such was a word felt too common to describe the room. Like the bedroom, it was overtly lavish and primarily black. The countertop beside the sink was some sort of black marble. There were dark, wooden shelves, filled with various products in expensive looking bottles. Rather than windows, large mirrors covered great expanses of the walls, and gave an almost dizzying effect as one reflection would echo in another. Staring into the eyes of his own reflection, he suddenly missed his paper bag. Turning his gaze away from it, he located the tub-
-and immediately had to laugh.
The tub was shaped like a hat. Now, Black Hat’s affinity towards his signature hat was no secret. It was imprinted on the wallpaper for goodness sake (and that was without mentioning the shape of the entire mansion). All the same, to imagine that such a flare would extend to a bath tub was as hilarious as it was fitting.
After fiddling with the temperature, he waited for the tub to fill, which would take some time as the pool was clearly intended for more than a few people. Flug tried not to dwell on this thought and instead wondered when he had an actual bath. Sure, he had taken showers with general regularity, but those had been serviceable and little more. The last time Flug had bothered with a full bath was a memory so distant and faded that it could have easily been a dream. (A dream in fragments even then- a woman laughing, yellow-white lights, bubbles piled high.) The thought was there and gone as quickly as it had appeared, but it did leave a faint idea in his head.
He knew he shouldn’t. It was childish and pointless, but at the same time…
Flug rooted through the shelves of various soaps, colognes, and more. Most of the labels weren’t even in english! Finally, he settled on the least expensive looking bottle of body wash he could find and proceeded to pour a generous portion into the steady flow of steaming water. Flug didn’t fight the grin that came to his face at the rising bubbles.
Sinking down into the water felt like it added years to his life. The warmth seemed to pull the tension from his shoulders, and the slight tickle of the bubbles brought a pleased smile to his face. It was heaven compared to the time spent slowly recovering in his bed. (And for a moment it was nice to forget about emotions and notebooks and Black Hat.)
Whatever amount of time actually passed, it felt like only a moment before the door was opening. In an instant, Flug was scrambling to sink lower in the water and away from the irritated gaze of Black Hat. Without a word, the demon set his coat and gloves on the polished countertop before nearing the edge of the tub.
“You aren’t going to get clean just by soaking you know,” Black Hat said with mild annoyance.
Flug tried not to let his gaze linger on the way he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He shook his head, mentally pulling himself together. “I-I was just resting-”
“Something you don’t seem to do when I actually tell you to,” his boss retorted with a sneer.
As Black Hat plucked up a sponge and bar of soap, Flug had the sneaking suspicion that this was going to go all too much like the soup last night. When the demon reached for him, Flug moved just out of his reach (and never was he more grateful for the bubbles to give him some semblance of privacy.)
“What I mean to say is- I can bathe myself, sir.”
“You’re not well.”
“I’m f-feeling much better.”
“Flug,” he said warningly, leaning further over the edge of the tub. “You should know by now that it isn’t wise to test my patience.”
Flug opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly Black Hat lunged forward. A clawed hand gripped his shoulder, but the doctor responded by pushing himself closer to the middle of the tub. At the moment his mind registered the splash, Flug realized that today would be the day he died. Black Hat’s legs had managed to stay out of the tub, but his entire upper half had been submerged upside-down in the bubbly water. Yep, today was the day. Life had been nice (sort of).
Then Black Hat lifted his head. His eye flared red as he gave a look that could kill through the glossy white foam that coated his front, his face, and even his hat.
Flug could not stop the laugh that betrayed him. Pulling his legs to his chest, he clamped a hand over his mouth, but it couldn’t stop the absolute giggles that bubbled up. This was even more ridiculous than the hat-shaped tub. A pissed off being of pure evil was coated in bubbles!
He was beyond dead, but at least he would die in a good mood.
When Flug dared to look again, Black Hat was frozen, eye wide and jaw slack, in a stunned silence. It was confusing enough to calm his sudden laughing fit (but he still had to fight the slight smile on his lips). “A-are you.. alright, sir?”
Black Hat opened his mouth to speak, but for a fraction of a second his gaze flickered to Flug’s shoulder. Suddenly, that unknowable look reared its head. When Flug glanced down, there were several red marks where claws had grazed his skin. He looked back at Black Hat, who was already standing and turning away.
“Finish bathing,” he said coldly. “Some clean clothes will be waiting for you when you step out.” With that, he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
Flug sank down into the water that wasn’t as comforting as it had once been. That intangible look was one more variable in his observations that he had yet to pin down. It was guarded and vulnerable, sadness and anger, determination and despair. Whatever thoughts that spurred the cocktail of emotions, it seemed only Black Hat knew. For now, it was a factor that stayed just out of Flug’s reach.
When Flug exited the bathroom, a thick black towel wrapped around his waist, the bedroom was thankfully empty. A clean set of his clothes had been left neatly folded on the bed and even included a fresh paper bag and goggles. His t-shirt, jeans, and labcoat were not what drew his attention.
There was a note, black ink scrawled on a torn piece of notebook paper. Its words were not written in neat, precise cursive, but rather in a bold, sharp manner that almost threatened to tear the weak paper more. It only gave three words:
MY OFFICE
NOW
Several minutes later, Flug stood outside Black Hat’s door. On one hand, he felt better than he had in days. He was rested, clean, and past the majority of his illness. On the other, his heart was hammering almost painfully hard. Black Hat was probably mad. Scratch that, he was most definitely mad.
Flug took a breath. Whatever berating lay in store, he could handle it. He had survived plenty of Black Hat’s rampages before, so he could surely survive one more. He could deal with Black Hat being angry.
And if he wasn’t? If it was some other reason entirely, Flug would just have to deal with it the best he could. A small part of him dared to hope. If it could be the worst case scenario- within reason- then it could just as easily be the best. Maybe Black Hat wanted to discuss these incidents with Flug at last. Although it was incredibly unlikely, the notion managed to make him smile and finally gain the courage to knock on the large black door.
“Come in.”
As he slowly opened the door, the first thing Flug noticed was laughter, dark and cruel. Secondly, he saw Black Hat seated casually at his desk with a wicked grin on his face. Thirdly, he saw a familiar notebook spread out in front of his boss.
Flug’s heart stopped. The door shut behind him with an echoing thud.
“I’m glad you’re here, Flug,” Black Hat said with a too wide grin. “You should hear some of this. Humans do say that laughter is the best medicine, yes?”
Flug wished he could crawl inside his paper bag somehow and never come out.
“This drivel is hilarious. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.” When Flug didn’t answer the taunt, Black Hat continued. “See, this page is the best part.”
He lifted the book high and let his tone drip with mock affection. “I am not so naïve as to call it love. For all that I know about him, there is some inherent distance between us which I have no idea how to cross. There are too many things I do not understand, but I want to more than I can say. If this gap could be bridged, then who is to say what might happen. I am not so naïve as to call it love, but I feel that it could be.”
“Please, sto-”
“Despite it all, I care about him.” Black Hat leveled him with a smile that was anything but kind. Flug felt a burning in his throat that kept him silent. A part of his mind screamed at him to run, but his body felt frozen in place. “Given the chance, I could love Black Hat.” The monster in question snapped the notebook closed. “Now isn’t that hilarious? I bet Demencia would get a kick out of it.”
Flug didn’t, no, couldn’t meet his gaze. Water pooled behind his goggles until his vision was a blur, but even in the blur he could see Black Hat stand and make his way closer to him. The demon gingerly handed the notebook back, and Flug accepted it in shaking hands.
“Allow me to make one thing clear, Dr. Flug,” he hissed. “You do not know me. I do not care about you. I pity you because you are pathetic, and you just so happen to be mildly useful to me. As comedic as this little prose was for me, I strongly recommend you find another topic in the future.” A clawed hand gripped his chin and snatched his head up roughly, until he was forced to meet Black Hat’s piercing eye. “Do you understand?”
Flug swallowed thickly and blinked away the tears in his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he croaked.
“Good.” Black Hat released him with final shove that sent Flug stumbling towards the door. “Now get your hideous face out of my office.”
He hated the sob that betrayed him as he ran out the office door. He hated the way 5.0.5. and Demencia looked at him when he passed, with equal parts confusion and pity. He hated the notebook in his hands and the fact that his clothes smelled like ink, ash, and expensive cologne. He hated his room and its pleasant memories now painted in a bitter light.
Flug burst into the lab and locked the door with trembling fingers. He settled in his swivel chair and looked at the unfinished truth ray on his desk. That one stormy night flashed into his mind. His throat burned with a sob, with a yell, as he tore off the goggles and the bag and threw them carelessly across the room. Something broke, but Flug could not bring himself to care. He shoved the pieces of the truth ray to the side and rested his head in his arms.
Now, he let himself cry until there were wet marks on his sleeves. He wept until his throat felt raw. As soon as he would catch a breath and begin to compose himself, the floodgates would open once more. He hated himself for being so foolish, so weak, so pathetic, so hideous. It burned inside him until he simply had enough. He felt drained, empty, as if everything that once burned had become nothing more than ash and dying embers.
Flug looked down at his lap, where the treacherous notebook rested. A few tear drops had left marks on the worn cover. He tore open the book and began ripping out pages, one by one. They fluttered to the ground, in tattered shreds that scattered across the sterile floor.
On the last written page- the one that Black Hat had taken such care to quote- Flug had to pause. As much as it ached to read over them once more and remember how they had been spat back into his face so carelessly, he could not deny it. The words were still true.
That thought hurt more than anything Black Hat could have said.
There were still so many questions left unanswered.
And that thought was… intriguing. He was a scientist, after all, so why would this experiment go differently than any others? He had noted his observations, established a general hypothesis, but he hadn’t carried it through. No, Flug had yet to test if his theory was true. His emotions had clouded his judgement in this matter, and he had paid the price for it. Even so, this project was not beyond salvaging. There was a definite way to reach a conclusion for this particular experiment, which had so many established unknowns. He simply had to isolate what exactly he was testing for.
Flug picked up the scatted papers on the floor and deposited them in the wastebasket, along with the remainder of the notebook. He found his goggles and bag, looking worse for wear. The bag had some minor tearing on the sides and his goggles had a cracked lens. All the same, Flug could work with this.
He took a deep breath, air scented by familiar brown paper bag, and set to work on the truth ray.
The door to the lab remained locked. Demencia would knock and loudly joke about Flug finally losing it, but he could hear the concern ebbing into her voice. Eventually, she would give up and walk away. 5.0.5. would knock and whimper behind the door, before leaving a tray of food in the hall. It would remain untouched until the bear returned to take it away. Flug, for his part, never left. He had food (albeit comprised of chips and granola bars) and water. He would fall asleep at his desk and wake with pieces and parts scattered about him.
The doctor busied himself with work and waited.
After a few days of self-imposed isolation, there was forceful knock on the lab door, followed by an unmistakable voice. “Flug! Open this door!” The doctor complied without a word, and Black Hat stormed in, like it was just another visit. “Where is the truth ray?!”
“J-just about finished, sir,” Flug answered, putting on his usual nervousness. “You’re w-welcome to take a seat until its done.”
The demon scowled, but pulled up a swivel chair all the same. Only Black Hat could sit in a battered office chair with the confidence of a king on his throne.
Flug fiddled with the device on his desk. He tightened a screw that was already fine and checked the user-friendly timer on the side. Yes, the device was as ready as it had been two days ago. And if this plan of his backfired? Well, Flug figured he didn’t have much to lose.
“It’s done, sir,” the doctor said. Device in hand, he turned to face Black Hat.
Before he could say a word, Flug pulled the trigger.
Black Hat’s appeared shocked, but that emotion that soon morphed into rage. “Flug! What are you doing?!”
“Just some testing, sir,” the doctor answered plainly. “I added a minor paralyzing agent to the truth ray, to ensure the target can’t escape. At this dosage, it will wear off in less than 10 minutes. I had to make sure that this device could work on beings that aren’t human, otherwise it might fail against a superhero.”
If looks could kill, Flug was certain he would not still be standing. “I will-!” Black Hat began, before his jaw snapped shut.
“You can’t make a threat you don’t mean, sir.” Flug glanced at the timer warily before reaching for a clipboard. “Now, let’s begin with a few calibration questions. What’s 2 plus 2?”
“4,” he spat like it was a crime to be said.
“What’s the color of the sky?”
“Blue on a clear day. Sunsets and dawns are orange, yellow, red, and sometimes pink. Some nights are black, others are navy blue.”
Flug nodded, satisfied. “Well, the complete truth feature is working. You can’t lie by omission. Let’s try one more: what is the pull of gravity on an object falling from three meters high?”
“How the hell would I know or even care about something like that?!”
“Hm. As expected, you can’t answer a question that you don’t know the answer to.”
Black Hat growled, “Are you done?”
“With all due respect, sir,” Flug answered calmly, “I’m asking the questions. You know how I feel about you, so let’s make this even.”
“Don’t you dare!” he hissed, but there was a flicker of something like fear in his uncovered eye.
Flug forged on. “Black Hat, tell me honestly… How do you feel about me?”
The question hung in the air, and for a moment Flug feared the device had failed. But no, Black Hat was clearly struggling against the urges of the truth ray. The doctor, with a sudden flare of guilt, almost wanted to call the experiment off. Before he could, Black Hat’s shoulders fell in defeat. That unknowable expression came across his face.
“I hate that I care about you. I hate that you get into my head just by being you. I love the way your mind works, and I have since I met you. I love the way you laugh, even if I’ve only heard it once. I told myself that anything I felt was purely for professional reasons, but I knew it was a lie. I don’t want to care if you’re hurt or sick, but I do.”
Now, he refused to meet Flug’s gaze. Something like ink pooled in the corners of his eyes, but refused to fall. “I hate that, no matter how powerful I am, it won’t last. Humans are too fragile. A bullet to the head, a twist of the neck, a well-aimed blow to head and that would be it. No matter what I do, one day I will wake up in a world that doesn’t have you in it. I dread that day enough as it is and I don’t want you to make it any worse by..” He swallowed thickly. “By loving me.”
Flug didn’t have an answer for that. He set the truth ray aside, timer be damned, and pulled the paper bag and goggles from his head. Black Hat was silent, but his gaze was now trained on the man in front of him.
“You wanted me to hate you after that stunt the other day,” he said. Black Hat nodded in confirmation. “I won’t lie. It hurt, a lot. Enough to make me do all this.” Flug gestured to the discarded truth ray. With a sigh, he turned to Black Hat once more. “But it also failed. I still care about you. I’m sorry for any pain that might cause you in the future, but my feelings won’t change.”
The demon glared, but it lacked any fire. “Is that all?”
Flug took a breath to steady himself. “Yes. Whatever happens next is up to you, Jefecito.”
He wasn’t surprised when Black Hat stood. Even without the clock, Flug knew the truth ray’s effects had ended. He expected Black Hat to take the device and leave, storming away like he had done time and time again. Flug would go back to his work, and they would settle into their routine as if none of this had ever happened.
Admittedly, Black Hat was many things, and predictable was not one of them.
Dark arms wrapped around him as if it was the only thing that would tether him to the earth. Flug understood- not completely, but enough. He smelled ink, ash, and expensive cologne as he returned the embrace. Black Hat himself was cool to the touch, but in a comforting sense, like the other side of a pillow or finding water in a desert. It was unusual, but Flug believed it was a feeling he could grow accustomed to.
“Do you think it will be worth it in the end?” he asked hesitantly.
Black Hat pulled away, just far enough to look into his eyes. One gloved hand reached up to trace at the scars along his face. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But it could be.”
When their lips met, Flug decided he would enjoy figuring it out.