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It’d been too close.
It always was, he knew. It always had been, ever since he got dragged into all of this, ever since Warlock crashed in through their roof and ever since he had crashed in through… the door. He could handle it; it’d been hard at first, hard on all of them, and he could still remember—still feel—the sting of when he thought ‘Berto had died, when he thought any of them were going to die. Warlock had made it abundantly clear in his own way that, once the meaning of it had sunk in, Doug’s own death had been unacceptable.
But everything felt infinitely more too close than it had ever since he’d come back now that he had something to lose. He’d always had something to lose, he knew, but had never actually parted with it before. With him, before. It hadn’t seemed real. Now he knew what it was like to be nothing, and then to be so cold and alone that being nothing again seemed better. To then be reminded of warmth so vivid and strong that he couldn’t ever allow himself to lose it again, by himself or anyone else.
He glanced up from the scorched ground, looking for everyone else but mostly for Warlock, scoping and counting heads but looking for Warlock and why weren’t they merged? Why wasn’t Warlock around him, armor? That’s where he always was, together. Doug felt like he couldn’t even remember the last hour.
He saw Amara and Dani, helping each other up across the way. Roberto swore from a pile a rubble.
His chest hurt. His mouth felt dry. He couldn’t see anything, and his hands balled into fists. He couldn’t see anything and he needed to.
Dani saw the look on his face before anyone else.
“Cypher!” she called, around Amara.
He jerked his head towards her voice.
“Your left!” she said.
He looked—Warlock was there, now, sitting up and pulling himself together, grabbing plants and wood from the ground along the way. He must have been tired. Doug stumbled to his feet and started walking, then jogging, then running over to him. He didn’t quite know what was coming over him. He felt like crying.
Warlock looked up at the sound of his approaching feet and smiled, widely, despite his obvious need for energy.
“Selfriendearestdoug! Oh,” he said, noticing the tears. “Confirmation: otherteammates are safe. Villains are defeated. Necessity for concern is negligible.”
He laughed, beside himself, and dropped to his knees in front of Warlock, now all put together and looking more like his usual self.
“I’m worried about you, Lock!” he said.
Warlock chirped, dropped the not-yet infected plant matter, and unfurled two arms to pull Doug into a tight hug. Doug wrapped his own arms around Warlock’s shoulders, burying his face deeply in the space between his arm and Warlock’s neck.
At that, Warlock adjusted his arms and hummed into Doug’s hair, gold rising to the surface of his skin, and so Doug knew he understood the situation better, now. Warlock didn’t need a mutation to be able to read Doug’s body language. Never really had, come to think of it.
“Lock,” he said. “You know I love you, right?”
“Oh, Self has felt it,” he said.
“That’s good,” Doug said. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, clearing his throat into Warlock’s shoulder, but he didn’t mind. “That’s really good. I’m glad. I need you to know.”
“Self knows,” he reassured. The pitch of his voice was changed, manually, into one Doug recognized from late nights when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t keep the night terrors away. It reminded him of a blanket, comforting; always drifted him right off into his waiting arms. Now, it felt like it was the closest Warlock could get to wiping away his tears without outright doing so.
“You scared me,” he said. He sniffled.
“Self is sosorry,” he said, painfully sincere. His hands grew warmer where they laid on Doug’s back, soothing.
“It’s okay,” he said, “it’s not your fault.”
Doug heard someone scold—probably Dani—and then someone yelp—probably Roberto, because of the former. He knew they had to get going soon, and he had to save the rest of their little spectacle for back home, but right then he couldn’t have cared less.
“I promise you don’t have to carry me back to the jet,” he said, smiling into Warlock’s shoulder. “Not like last time.”
He heard a small sound of protest, but it was cut off when he turned and pressed a kiss to Warlock’s chin, not visible to the rest of their teammates who were either obscured from view or very plainly ignoring them.
“Let’s go home, okay?” Doug said, pulling back, wiping his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “With haste.”