Chapter Text
The first time Apollo could remember being aware of a leather hand holding his own had been...
Well, that hadn't been too much fun. It had involved being knocked out of a rooftop (damn too much fighting in night alleyways and not daring to spend time in the sun too openly, since if he could see the sun, he could be seen from orbit, and he really didn't care for that), and it was accompanied by a quiet stream of swearing and threats and promises to make him regret his thoughtlessness. As soon as Apollo's fingers had tightened around the thicker glove, before he opened his eyes, it had withdrawn, and he'd looked up into a brown-eyed glare.
"Don't. Do that, you dumbass."
Apollo tried to smile, a little. "If we go to our current crash place with you supporting me as though I'm drunk, that'd help our cover. We're good."
"You think our cover is what I'm fucking freaking out ab--" Midnighter caught his quietly growled words and pressed his lips together, but his eyes were still intense enough for warmth to ease its way in Apollo's chest. It felt nothing like getting charged up by sunlight, which would have been useful, right now, but he couldn't bring himself to care. This was better.
"I'm not going anywhere, Midnighter."
"Could've fooled me."
"Oh yeah? I can surprise the all-foreseeing Mi--"
"Shut up. And get up."
"Mm-hmm. Those enthusiasts present any trouble for you?"
"No. Not even if I was--"
"Distracted."
Midnighter glared at him sideways, but didn't retract his supporting arm. Apollo leaned against his shoulder as much as he needed to. He knew that he wasn't as heavy as his body's shape suggested, but he wasn't light, either, and he'd need the help until sunrise, when he'd be out of the dingy apartment and taking a walk, then a run, before most people were out to head to work. No flight, much as he'd like to. Maybe, one day.
"We'll have to talk about that, one day, you know."
"You're delusional."
"Optimistic."
"Big dumb..."
"Yeah, well. You're stuck with me."
They were near their building when Apollo's sharp hearing let him catch the muttered, muted, "fine by me" that answered him.
***
It wasn't that Jenny got sick, or anything like that, because she didn't. But there were still difficult times, times when all they could do was wait something out, and wait for her clear brown eyes to open up again and fix on them. With a little luck, to light up with recognition and joy. Sometimes... just to open up and acknowledge they were there.
She was Jenny Quantum. She had unimaginable power, really, and was far from shy in using it, when she needed to. But it came with strings attached, and there was absolutely nothing there to prepare them for what did happen, the twists and turns of infancy and toddling and early childhood.
Today, Apollo was kneeling in front of the couch - the couch that Jenny was hovering a few inches above, eyes half-open but definitely unseeing. She'd let him touch her, but hadn't responded to it, and trying to draw her in his lap for more comfort hadn't worked out. So he waited it out, ready to protect her and ready to help out if anything changed, and ready to call for help, Angie on Jeroen or somebody. Depending on what might happen.
His eyes went down to his hands, resting on his jeans, and one hand curled up, helplessly.
He was waiting Jenny out alone, today. It was the third time, he knew, over the last months. Things happened. She'd turned six a few weeks ago. And, when he was helpless, nobody was there, just as helpless, to squeeze his hand, now.
***
It was easy. Midnighter walked in - well, dropped in - from a door, peered in on him. Made a comment on his current hobby, though half the time it was mostly an obvious question. Teased, and Apollo teased back, and he knew from the way the brown eyes were visible through the eye-slits of the mask and the tilt of his mouth where this was going to go.
One of the black-gloved hands was going to reach up and gather up his silver-blond hair at the nape of the neck, the leather touch sending a shiver down Apollo's spine as he leaned down to meet his husband's lips. The other gloved hand would find his, and their fingers would twine together, black and white, inseparable.
(There had been that one time when somebody had tried to rush them in the middle of a kiss. They hadn't even broken it to punch the idiot, together. Most people had better sense, though.)
"Ready for that shower?"
"Gonna join me?"
"I've got laundry to do. For both of us, now that you spread," he squinted down at himself, "rusty purple goop over my white uniform."
"Oops." There was not an ounce of contrition in that smirk. Apollo wasn't looking for any, either.
"Worth it."
And the look in Midnighter's eyes was, too, as he walked off.
Some days, life was really great.