Work Text:
“Do we absolutely have to do this?” Overkill grumbled as they ascended the wooden steps of her mother’s house.
Dot looked over her shoulder at him, grinning at the image before her. The first bright spot in days. Overkill, dressed in as close to civilian clothes as he ever got, complete with his usual sunglasses, gloves, and scowl, carrying a pastel pink cake box. Only he would be grumpy while carrying cake.
“Yes, we do.” She replied as she opened up the front door and held it, letting him brush past her, “It’s Steve’s first party. He’d be so disappointed if you didn’t come.”
Overkill growled under his breath.
“Dot, is that you?” Her mother’s voice called from the kitchen.
Dot rolled her eyes, annoyance flashing through her. “Yeah, it’s me! Who else would just walk in here?” She toed off her slip-on shoes and took the box from Overkill, sending him off to the living room with a heavy shove to his reluctant form, where Tick, Walter, Steve, and Rathbone sat talking. Her brother was curiously absent.
Inside the kitchen, her mother was standing over the stove, stirring a large stock pot with what smelled like pasta sauce. The richness of tomatoes and garlic hit her nose with a generous helping of basil, oregano, onion, and an undercurrent of sherry wine. Dot’s stomach growled in appreciation. After popping the cake in the fridge, she pulled out two beers, and leaned against closed door.
“Where’s Arthur?” She asked, watching her mom put the lid over the sauce and lower the level of the flame with a twist of the dial.
A low thump reached her ears, coming from the direction of the ceiling.
“What’s he doing up there?” She popped the lid off her beer and took a long drink.
“Oh, he’s been up there since he came in.” Joan’s eyes drifted towards the ceiling, a frown on her lips, “He seems to be…moodier than he’s been.”
“Of course he is. The Terror is getting unfrozen tomorrow for the trial and we all know it’s going to be a shit show.” Dot grumbled, taking another long drink.
Her body had been tight with tension since Rathbone broke the news to them. She wanted to snap at everyone, everything. Overkill had taken the brunt of her sour mood with easy understanding which was pissing her off even more. He didn’t seem to care; his hopes were too high to dash. It was an odd role reversal; one she didn’t like.
Leaving the kitchen, she paused briefly to give Overkill the beer she had grabbed before she made her way up to her brother’s old bedroom. Their mother kept his unused room neat and tidy but it now looked like a bomb went off. Piles of things were everywhere and more were being added from the open closet door as Arthur tossed something with an uncaring dismissal. She heard his voice, low and incessant as he worked, mumbling under his breath.
Her stomach tightened, memories of his bad days hitting her. Crazy. He’d been diagnosed as psychotic. His PTSD making him spiral since the day The Terror killed their father in front of him. She’d done everything she could to help him, the urge to take care of him led to her calling as a paramedic, her once hope of being a doctor. He was her little brother, he was hurting, and she couldn’t save him from the demons that haunted him. But she could be there for him. She accepted that long ago.
Then the truth came out; The Terror was alive. Her brother had been right all along. While he did struggle with PTSD, depression, and anxiety, he had never been crazy. She swallowed hard as she peered inside the small walk in closet, finding Arthur sitting on his butt, looking through a bin. Judging by the contents, it was from their pre-Terror life. He looked disheveled, like he hadn’t slept in days. His curls wild around his head. She lowered herself to the floor and made herself as comfortable as she could in the small piece of uncluttered carpet.
“Whatcha doing?” She asked, keeping her tone light.
Arthur looked up at her and blinked. There were dark bags under his eyes, standing out starkly against his pale skin. “I’m looking for something.” He replied.
Exhaling softly, she decided to say what had gone through her mind, hoping she could reach him. “You sound like you used to, back during the bad days.”
He flinched, his right eye twitching a bit under his large framed glasses. Arthur blew out a breath and offered her a small, joyless smile. “He’s going to be free tomorrow.”
“I know.” It took work to keep her throat from tightening.
A look crossed his face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I finally feel like my life was on track. No medication, depression and anxiety manageable, no PTSD attacks. Just…superheroing with Tick…” He swallowed, “I felt good, Dot. For the first time in my life I was no longer a burden.”
“You were nevera burden.” She cut him off quickly; even on the worst days, she never felt that way.
“Yes, Dot, I was.” Arthur said softly, pushing his glasses up his forehead and wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, “The Terror is going to do something the minute he’s unfrozen. I can just feelit. He’s going to kill again and ruin somebody else’s life. And what if we can’t stop him?”
“We’re going to stop him, chum.” The Tick voice filled the room.
Dot looked over her shoulder and found him at the door with Overkill.
“It’s what we do.” He continued.
“No matter what, he’s going to end up dead.” Overkill’s voice was low, a deadly promise.
“No. Killing.” Tick reprimanded.
“Bite. Me.” Overkill snapped.
Dot turned her attention back towards her brother. “Do you need any help?”
He slowly shook his head. “No.” He offered a weak, watery-eyed smile, “I’ll be fine. I’ll be down in a minute.”
She nodded and gave his shoulder a squeeze before she climbed up to her feet. Tick hovered just inside the door, his antenna dropping low, worry in his eyes as he looked at Arthur. She gave his chest a light pat and slipped around him, pulling Overkill with her, leaving the Tick to watch over Arthur. If there was one thing in her life that filled her with absolute certainty, it was that Tick would do anything for Arthur and take care of him as well as he could. She wasn’t his only pillar anymore.
She strode down the hall and out onto the second-floor deck. The afternoon air was cool and she gulped in a few breaths. Overkill silently watched over her.
“What do you need?” He asked quietly.
“I need for this to be over!” She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached, “I need my brother to not take the blame of the world onto his shoulders.” She leaned against the banister, gripping the wood until she felt it start to give under her fingers with a low groan. “I needthe Terror dead.”
She felt his body against her back before he spoke, a solid, warm, wall of strong muscle and cybernetic tech.
“No matter what happens at the trial, no judgment will he face but my blades in his throat, in his heart.” Overkill’s voice was almost hypnotic, “He’s going to pay for each life he stole from us. For your father, for the Flag Five, for you, for Arthur. For me. I’m going to cut his head off and give it to you on a platter.”
She turned to face him, finding him startling close—closer than she expected. Her body brushed against him in turn and she didn’t know how to burn the energy that warmed her veins—fighting or fucking; she wanted to do both with him. If there was anything facing down the final moments until the trial, she was certain that she didn’t want to toe a line between friends and something else for much longer. She wanted to burn the line and feel what it would be like to let herself go, to let herself love him, to feel him inside of her. To be his partner in all aspects.
Dot looked up into his face, wondering if he felt the same. She knew him well, well enough to feel confident in their work, in their friendship. But he still had his heart in a vault. One she had no access to. He stared back, blinking thoughtfully.
“Dinner is still going to be a half hour. That’s why we went to find you. Want to spar?”
“Oh, hell yes.” She grabbed his arm, spun him, and shoved him off the balcony.
“Dot!” Her mother sounded almost scandalized from behind her.
“What? We’re just sparring.” She said innocently and hopped up onto the rail, balanced for a moment, then leapt, landing on the ground in a crouch.
He shed his leather coat, tossing it onto the deck where it landed with a heavy clatter due to the amount of weapons and ammo hidden in the inside pockets, and beckoned her forward with a come hither gesture.
It hit her in the moment her body propelled forward that she’d never been more grateful for this man, who, by all definitions, should be avoided. But was the one person who just...understood her. Saw what she needed and gave it to her.
And she loved him.
Then their bodies collided, his hands on her, rough but not careless and joy, blissful relief flooded her.
Oh shit, she loved him.
After dinner was eaten and dessert was served, Rathbone bowed out; he was polite, friendly even but Dot couldn’t bring herself to trust him. There was something about him that made her want to throw a punch right in his square jaw.
Her mother and Walter joined them for a post-food movie before retiring to bed, leaving her, Overkill, Steve, Arthur, and Tick to their own devices. Which, Steve had apparently planned for. He pulled out a Bluetooth speaker and set it up out on the deck.
The setting sun painted the sky beautiful shades of orange and pink with twists of purple. It gave them all a warm glow. It was almost magical, in a way.
“Tomorrow is the biggest mission yet. Not just defining but metamorphic.” Steve said, looking between them all, a slight smile on a lips, “We’ve all thinking the worst but I want to focus on us, right now and how far we’ve come. How we found each other. How we came to become a family.”
Tears burned in her eyes and she reached out, taking his hand. On his other side, Tick did too. Arthur slid his hand into Tick’s other hand and looked expectantly at Overkill, who glowered at him. Dot extended her free hand, wiggling her fingers at him.
“No.” He said simply.
“Please?”
He sighed and took reluctant steps in, joining the circle, taking her and Arthur’s hands.
“I love you all.” Steve said, his expression soft with affection before he grinned widely and brandished a small remote, “Now let’s dance our asses off.”
He clicked a button and music flooded the backyard. The song happened to be one of her favorites and Dot threw her hands up into the air with a whoop.
They danced until the moon was high in the sky and the stars burned brightly. There was almost a desperation in the air as the time passed, like they were trying to stave off the inevitable.
Eventually, Arthur went to bed and Tick followed like a giant blue shadow. Steve pressed the remote into Dot’s hand and went to power down or recharge or whatever it was androids did—she still wasn’t exactly sure.
Dot flipped through the playlist, trying to find a good song. One caught her ear and she paused momentarily as she tried to place it. It was a slower song, out of place with the pace the rest of the playlist had set. She rocked slowly back and forth, noticing Overkill was watching her.
“Sorry, I’ll change it.” She said, thumb just about to press the forward arrow on the remote.
“No, you don’t have to, it’s fine.”
His answer made made her body still. “Dance with me?” She asked, a wistful kind of hopefulness stirring.
In two strides of his long legs, he had closed the space between them. “How do I do this?” He asked quietly.
“Depends on how you want to hold me.” She lifted her shoulder in a little shrug.
Overkill took the initiative and placed both hands on her hips, letting them slide along her back while urging her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest.
As they began to remove, just a slow, easy rock, she felt his chin come to rest on the top of her head. A smile curled her lips and she let her eyes drift shut.
Her thoughts turned to tomorrow and while she wanted to believe they were panicking for nothing and justice would prevail, she knew The Terror was a monster who couldn’t be stopped.
And if tomorrow brought the worst, she didn’t want any regrets. She steeled herself, readying herself for Overkill to say no to her question.
“Overkill?” She murmured, lifting her head.
“Hmm?”
“Can I kiss you?”
He stopped moving and stared down at her. “Dot...”
“I don’t want any regrets if anything bad were to happen tomorrow.” She swallowed hard, “And I want you to know how I feel. It’s okay if you don’t feel it back and it’s okay if you don’t want to kiss me. I just wanted to—“
In a quick movement, he brought his lips down to hers in a clumsy, hesitant kiss. She immediately returned the kiss, guiding him into something a little more relaxed. He caught on easily and god, she could do this forever.
But she needed air and reluctantly broke what was the best kiss she’d ever had.
“We probably shouldn’t have done that.” He sighed.
Instantly, Dot’s mood deflated, cooling the fires that were burning within her. It must have shown on her face because he cupped her cheek and surprised her by smiling.
“I want more. But we need to talk about what that means. That’s not a conversation for tonight.”
“No, it’s not.” She agreed, her spirits rising, “Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night.” He said solemnly and it sounded like a vow.