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Caustic hated sponsor meetings. He had no interest in who his sponsors were as long as they continued to fund his participation in the games, hence funding his experiments. He didn't understand why the meetings always ran for as long as they did. Why does it always have to take a few hours to reach an agreement that, at its bare bones was, "keep excelling at killing people and mention us in your post game interviews, and we'll continue to pay you for it". It was now entering the early hours of the morning, as he was finally on his way back home. His new sponsors had compelled him into having a drink with them, a request the scientist begrudgingly accepted. Now, he had the pleasure of walking back through the city as the night life began to wind down, and various inebriated patrons littered the streets, engaging in senseless displays, street brawls or in some cases, more...intimate activities.
The trapper pulled the collar of his top coat up to brush against his cheeks, the cold night air biting at his skin, giving his features a pink tint. He had no reason to be afraid as he walked the streets alone but had no desire to find himself in the midst of any of these activities either. That was, until he reached a more familiar part of town and was met by another fight taking place in the middle of the sidewalk. However, this time one party seemed to be at a disadvantage as three men ganged up on just one. As he got closer, he realised he recognised one of the men, and it just had to be the one fighting solo. And of course, it had to be Mirage.
Caustic’s earlier concerns about getting involved in situations that did not concern him were suddenly cast aside, his feet carrying him into the thick of the fighting before he could even think about stopping himself.
“Hey!”, he called out, roughly grabbing one of the men by the hood of his jacket, yanking him out of the fray, which quickly grabbed the attention of his two comrades. The other men turned to face their new opponent, letting their grip on Mirage’s collar go slack, causing him to collapse in a heap on the ground. Caustic couldn’t help but smirk as the two men appeared to square up to him, his grip still firm on the back of their companion’s neck.
“What’d’ya want, old man? You escape from the retirement home or somethin’?”, the tallest of the men, chortled turning to his buddy who, like a trained dog, jumped to attention.
“Yeah, gramps. Can’t you see we’re busy here? Get out of here ‘fore we bust you too”.
“Ah yes. Despite the fact it has taken three of you to overcome a defenseless man, I am utterly terrified”, Caustic replied, his smirk growing. “I would implore you to return to whatever hovel you crawled out of, before I’m forced to deal with you myself”.
He tightened his grip on the man’s neck.
“It only takes mere seconds to paralyse a man. Astonishingly, the human vertebrae are quite...fragile, if one knows what they’re doing and fortunately for me, I do. I would strongly advise you to give up this farce. I am not a man known for his generosity".
He let the man in his grip go, with a light shove, cocking an eyebrow as he stumbled back against his comrades.
“Fuck this, I’m out of here”, the man said, storming away from the scene, quickly being followed by the others. The tallest of the men, turned to face Mirage on the way, aggressively spitting on the ground as he did so.
“You won’t be so lucky next time, Witt. We’ll see how tough you are when Daddy’s not around to save your pathetic arse”.
Caustic noted the confused look on the other legend’s face as he approached him and offered him a hand up. It wasn’t until Mirage was getting to his feet and stumbling into his arms, did the trapper realise he too, was heavily intoxicated and could barely stand up straight, without his support. Their journey was bathed in silence, as Caustic half carried, half dragged the trickster back to the Apex building, save for Mirage stopping at one point to empty his guts into a nearby trash can. If Caustic was honest, he wouldn’t have expected conversation even if Mirage was sober. They’d had limited interactions since the day he had healed him in the ring. Mirage had made a request to swap squads after that, with no explanation and they hadn’t spoken since. Caustic still had his scarf.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Caustic was at a loss of what to do when they reached their destination. By this point, Mirage was nothing more than weight in his arms, oblivious to the world, as the effects of a lack of sleep, alcohol and a possible head injury began to take its toll on him. The appropriate thing to do would have been to simply deliver Mirage back to his own apartment and get on with his evening. However, something inside the trapper wouldn’t let him and he could not in good faith, leave the younger legend alone to possibly cause himself more harm or choke on his own vomit in his sleep. He decided the best course of action was to take Mirage back to his place and deal with the inevitably awkward consequences in the morning.
Caustic considered his options as he laid the incapaciated man on the couch in his living room. As much as he wanted to ensure the other’s comfort and safety, he felt perhaps offering Mirage the use of his bed for the night may be crossing a boundary of some sort. The trapper ran a hand through his greasy hair and took a moment to remove and hang up his coat, before making the trip to his bedroom, in the hopes he had some spare blankets lying around. He couldn’t help but wonder what the trickster would make of all this in the morning, and caught himself hoping this occurrence would not make their current situation any worse. Caustic wouldn’t admit it but he had been...noticing Mirage’s absence on his squad during the games. It was an absence he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet.
As he returned to the living room, with a blanket and some pillows in hand, he realised he wasn’t too sure how to approach this. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever had to care for someone like this. He recalled back to his days in university, and decided to attempt to roll the younger man onto his side, without causing too much disturbance. He arranged the couch cushions behind the trickster’s back, in the hopes it would keep him on his side during the night, to keep his airways clear. Caustic covered him with the blanket before moving to slip a pillow under his head. Much to his relief, Mirage let out a quiet whine as his head was adjusted, signifying that he was at least, still alive. The scientist took a step back, to admire his handiwork, chuckling quietly to himself as Mirage began to snore softly, utterly dead to the world. Something about this situation made Caustic feel somewhat uneasy. He’d never seen someone appear so...troubled as they slept, noticing the tight knit in the other’s eyebrows and the way his arms wrapped protectively around himself. He would admit, Mirage looked a tad worse for wear. He was dressed in, what Caustic assumed was, his work attire, a black waist coat and white dress shirt, which was now stained with droplets of blood, very possibly his own. The area around his right cheekbone and eye, appeared slightly swollen and red and he seemed to have a split lip, which had since dried over. He stood there, simply staring at Mirage for a lot longer than he’d care to admit, eventually managing to tear himself away, to get some sleep of his own.
Mirage awoke the next morning, feeling like his head was going to explode, his arm immediately flying to shield his eyes from the harsh light of the day. It took him a moment to get his bearings and feel brave enough to slowly expose himself to the brightness. He jumped to sit up on the couch, realising he wasn’t at home and not recognising his surroundings. His brown eyes darted around the room in a panic, before falling on the glass of water and pills on the coffee table across from him. Was that, Tylenol? It wasn’t until the smell of something cooking, filled his senses and his stomach began to rumble, was his attention drawn to the kitchen, where a lone figure was stood with his back to him, busying themselves at the stove.
“H-hello?”, he called out, his voice was croaky and sounded more timid than he intended.
The figure turned around and greeted him with a curt nod.
“Hello”.
Caustic.
“Is...is that for me?”.
Caustic turned his attention away from the stove, to look at the other man, as he swung his legs around to face the water and pills.
“Yes”.
Mirage eagerly took the pills and gulped down the water, the cool liquid helping to soothe the dry, scratching feeling in his throat. Caustic watched him intently, as he tugged at his shirt and swept a hand through his hair, in an attempt to make himself somewhat presentable, before standing up and wandering over the kitchen. The trapper busied himself dishing out the food, trying his best to ignore the feeling of Mirage’s gaze that lingered on his back, as he stood awkwardly at the breakfast bar. Caustic cleared his throat to speak.
“I don’t know if you are in the condition to want to eat but I was cooking anyway”.
Mirage wordlessly slid onto one of the stools, as a generous helping of bacon and eggs were placed in front of him.
They ate in silence for what felt like an eternity, but much to Mirage’s surprise it was Caustic who attempted to have a conversation.
“Do you remember why you’re here?”.
A blush washed over Mirage’s face at the question, and he looked down shyly at his breakfast, which immediately gave Caustic his answer, but he still waited patiently for the trickster to respond.
“I uh...it’s k-kinda spotty but...I remember having a coup-couple of drinks with some regulars near the end of my shift and then...this group of guys started shoving me around. I don’t r-really r-remember why”.
Caustic nodded slowly in response, raking his fork through his food. He was hoping Mirage would have remembered him coming to his aid last night so he wouldn’t have to explain the situation now. He placed his fork down on the counter, suddenly not hungry anymore.
“Who were those men?”.
Mirage was silent for a few moments, searching the chemist’s face for something. There was a mild twitch in his eye that would have gone unnoticed by anyone other than Caustic, as a look of realisation washed over his features, and the events of the previous evening came flooding back to him. The parts he was conscious for, anyway.
“They’re...just some guys who come around the bar sometimes”.
“Do you always get into brawls in the street with your clientele? Is this some new...fad?”.
Mirage’s arms hugged around his abdomen, as Caustic asked the question, mimicking his sleeping behaviour, from the night before.
“It’s n-not always l-like that, alright? Last night was just...rough. I’d...just r-rather not talk about it”.
“Well, let’s hope they have the capacity to know better than to bother you again”.
Mirage nodded solemnly at the trapper’s words, propping his elbow on the counter so he could rest his banging head against it as he continued to eat, only to wince as soon as his hand made contact with his cheek.
Caustic almost felt sorry for him, as the trickster experimentally touched the sore spot with the tips of his fingers, meeting the older man’s eyes when he noticed his gaze.
“How...how bad is it? Do you have a mirror?”.
“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t look, just yet. Finish your breakfast”.
The trickster’s brown eyes flared with alarm, as he began searching through his pockets and pulled out his phone. His face dropped as he inspected himself in the reflection of the screen, noticing the black eye he was sporting for the first time.
“Oh, God”, he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “H-how am I m-meant to go outside?! I have work tonight!”
There was something endearing about the way Mirage was whining like a child, who was just told they couldn’t have ice cream. He was always so concerned about his appearance, a notion Caustic found utterly preposterous. Despite what he thought, he found himself rummaging through his freezer, pulling out a pack a frozen peas and wrapping them in a towel, before passing the bundle to the trickster.
“It won’t do much for the discolouration but it may help the swelling”.
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, at the pathetic attempt Mirage was making at applying the cold compress, gently touching it to his bruise before winching and pulling it away. Caustic watched him repeat this a few times before he just couldn’t bear to watch anymore.
“Give me that”, he practically growled the request, snatching the compress from the trickster’s hands before moving to stand in front of him. Mirage felt his face heat up, as his chin was titled up and he was forced to look into the other’s icy eyes.
“Ow, that hurts”, he complained, as the cold material was placed against his face again.
“If you don’t do it right, there’s no point in doing it at all”, Caustic responded, but adjusted what he was doing to be more gentle.
Mirage clasped his shaking hands in his lap, anxiety swelling in his stomach, as there was nothing he could do to stop the heat flooding to his face. He wondered if Caustic could hear hammering of his heart in his chest. He wasn’t afraid of Caustic, he knew that much, but for a reason he hadn’t quite realised yet, he was terrified of seeming stupid in front of him. And Mirage felt incredibly stupid right now.
Mirage felt a strange sense of loss when Caustic pulled away from him, the only reminder of his touch being the coolness on his skin. The trapper lingered in his space a moment longer, his eyes seeming uncertain, before abruptly moving away, busying himself with tidying up the dishes from their forgotten breakfasts. Mirage was beginning to feel like he was overstaying his welcome, as a dense tension hung in the air. He didn’t like the uncertainty of the situation, like there was something important going unsaid.
“I should...p-probably get going. Thanks for...y’know, everything”.
He stood, waiting for a response, as Caustic worked away at the sink, before realising he wasn’t going to get one. He decided to show himself out, suddenly feeling incredibly heavy on his feet, until a voice called after him, just as he was about to walk out the door.
“Wait, just a moment”.
Mirage turned to see the trapper quickly walking towards him, with something in his hand. Caustic’s fingers brushed against his own as he was given his scarf back, their eyes meeting and exchanging a look that meant something but he wasn’t sure exactly what. He clenched the fabric tightly in his hands as he made his way back to his own apartment, part of him wishing that Caustic hadn’t have given it back.