Work Text:
It all started when she coloured in his ashtray.
Silco had slunk away to his office, pleased to get away from the unabating complaints and incessant demands of his followers. None of them exactly relished having to hold their meetings in that dank, stuffy bar Vander had so reverently called his, and as such artificial heat had pasted their skin and marred everyone’s temper. If Silco were a more distempered and less disciplined human being, he would’ve have had Sevika wring their throats on the spot… but he didn’t. No, that wouldn’t have done any good, but slinking away for a quiet smoke to dampen his increasing irritation would, for him at least, offer some relief.
But when he reached his ashtray, something was different. Usually, the thing was grey and plain, a simplistic design that demonstrated a designer incapable of contemplating beyond function. Now it had fashion, albeit not the typical, classy kind he favoured, but rather an innocently chaotic, childish approach; the entire surface was plastered with pleasantly explosive and delightfully erratic scribbles, cluttered doodles splashed on in a range of pink and blue hues. Turning it over in his hand, he examined it and couldn’t suppress a smile, prevented from evolving into a grin by the dangling cigar between his lips. Keeping one hand still holding the redesign, he lit the cigar, inhaled, and removed it from his mouth, blowing out a satisfied draft of smoke before squinting, as something caught the attention of his better eye.
He had to pull it up to face to see, but he when he did he couldn’t help breathing a touched sigh: in little lettering, scribbled untidily across a corner, one could just about make out the word ‘dad’ written in hot pink ink.
Jinx wasn’t in the room at the time - away in her makeshift room she had discovered on a particularly adventurous day - but he got to profusely thank the ten-year-old later. To his surprise and mild concern, she seemed a tad relieved.
”I thought you might get mad,” she clarified. “It is yours, and I only did it ‘cause I was bored.”
”I think it’s lovely. What made you think I’d be angry?”
”Cause all your creepy friends can see it.”
“Oh, Jinx,” he scoffed. “You’d be surprised how very little I care about what they think of me. If anything, the reputation that proceeds me has proven highly useful.”
”I care what they think of me, though,” she half-mumbled, eyes downcast.
”You shouldn’t,” he snapped sternly, adopting that tone that indicated there was a lesson to be learned here. “What they say about you, it’s all lies, mere displacements of the insecure truths they believe about themselves. Don’t take it to heart. They don’t even know you.”
”They do, though!”
”A little, perhaps, but not really. If they did, they’d realise they’re spitting nonsense. You can only properly insult someone if you know them, because at least than you can be certain what you say is the truth, and the truth is meant to hurt anyhow.” He drew her close to him, staring with his eyes glazed over into the abyss below her lair. “No, don’t you pay them any mind. They don’t know what they’re talking about. They are just afraid because they don’t understand you.” His next words came out with velvety adoration and burning protectiveness: “Not like I do.”
This seemed to sate her insecurities, for she reclined into his shoulder and her rigid muscles slackened against his chest. Tilting her face upward, he asked her what had made her so bored in the first place.
“There’s no more room up top,” she sighed dourly. “I’ll have to find someplace else to draw.”
”Maybe you could draw in here?” he offered. “It proves a good spot for your gadgetry.”
”Yeah, but that’s only cause bombs aren’t safe for the office, and I don’t want to be alone all day with…” she shuddered and gestured in the direction of two dummies, “…them.”
”I see,” he sympathised, internally reprimanding himself for forgetting her hallucinations. In all fairness to him, she had been coping relatively well this last month.
”Besides,” she continued, looking up at him adoringly, “I wanna be there when you get back. I miss you, you know.”
The sentiment made him smile again, and he pecked her forehead. “Alright,” he acquiesced. “You may draw in the office.”
”Oh, are you sure? I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
”You? An inconvenience to me?” he faux-gasped. “Never!” He pulled her up to his face with his arms, nuzzling his nose against hers and profusely repeating, “Never ever, ever, ever,” as though it was utterly deplorable to him that she believe anything else.
So the arrangement was made. But there was one issue: he didn’t specify detail. It was true that Jinx drew on paper in the office, but she had given up on that recently, fatigued and discommoded by the monotonous routine of waiting weeks on end for a fresh paper supply that she used up within days. By contrast, drawing on the ceiling had proven far more facilitating, due to its spaciousness and the permanency of the picture themselves. It gave her the gratifying impression that she had left her mark somewhere, which assuaged her emotions of uselessness and self-hatred: she could leave behind something that was just hers, untainted by anything (or anyone) else.
That being said, in not specifying where exactly she could paint the office, Jinx took his permission to include everything within the office, and since the ashtray had been received exceptionally well, it made logistical sense to her that the same principle could be applied to Silco’s one-of-a-kind, totally-unique-and-definitely-at-least-mildly-expensive business coat.
So it came to pass that, on a lonesome evening where, by some unfortunate importuning circumstances, both Silco and Sevika were absent until late in the night, she took to and completely embraced the project of adorning the entirety of Silco’s coat with her fine art.
The catch here came not when he returned, but in fact the next day, since upon arriving back the man was so deeply encumbered by fatigue, that he simply flopped onto the couch and, almost instantaneously, passed out asleep. Jinx, who had once again retreated to the rafters out of sheer boredom, tiptoed over cautiously to the lifeless form, pocked him dully on the cheek and - realising she would not get the opportunity to reveal her work this evening - onerously and ineptly pushed him on his ide to make room for herself in his arms, tugging them so that they engulfed in a metaphorical safety net.
Unbeknownst to her, Silco had an insultingly early meeting the next morning, so when he awoke in a haze and pushed himself costively to his feet (causing her to teeter precariously on the edge for a few seconds before he registered her), and habitually flung on his coat in preparation for the formalities... needless to say she did not get a chance to warn him.
Over the last year, Sevika had learned to expect just about anything from this job, be it attempted assassinations or playing Aunt to your boss' adopted daughter. The latter person was as spontaneous as anyone she had ever met, and it was from her that Sevika expected and received the most absurd situations, often with Silco wrapped up tangibly in the solution. She had learned to be aware of everything, constantly anticipate anything, and yet never assume in the worst to keep herself sane.
Yet somehow she never predicted this.
"What are you smirking at?" Silco demanded, watching her face convulse in a struggle to conceal oncoming laughter.
"Nothing, sir!" The words came out shaky and wobbling from the effort of repressed chuckles. "Did-" she wheezed, "Did you check what you were wearing before you left?"
"What do you mean? I'm wearing the same thing as yesterday, in case you forget what a disaster that was."
"Do-" Another wheeze. "Do you wanna go back and change?"
"I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed incredulously, immensely disappointed and frustrated by his henchman's audacity. "I will do no such thing, and if I were you, I'd be more mindful at the implications of your words in future!"
"Your funeral," she mocked, opening the door for him and melodramatically gesturing him into the room. Of course, as his right-hand she probably should've said something, but as someone just trying to get through the day after a dreadful night before, it would be criminal not to take advantage of this.
Unsurprisingly, the meeting was in shambles the moment he stepped in the door. His initial appearance was met with a symphony of laughter that echoed around the room, followed by a deafening silence as he severely reprimanded their disrespect. It was one of those moments where one had to clasp their hands over their mouth just to conceal the smile that threatened to creep onto their lips; everyone was in the exact same position, and for no more nor less than two fragile minutes everything went smoothly.
Alas, for young, dotish Fynn the irresistible urge to mock and taunt and jeer was too much, and his composure collapsed, his head sinking dejectedly into his arms as he succumbed to hapless laughter. Across the table, poker faces wavered and faltered, never quite collapsing as Silco looked around helplessly at all of them, arms raised at his side and with an incredulous expression that demanded an explanation for the boy’s arrogance.
Only Sevika seemed to be able to keep her composure intact, staring over their heads as usual with a vacant expression, as though nothing particularly entertaining was happening at all, and why no, this was definitely not making her day.
“What is the matter with all of you?” he interrogated, and Sevika’s lips twitched at the evidential note of impatience in his tone. To say it was fun watching a mentally exhausted man, who was renowned for having cold and calculating anger as opposed to fiery rage, retain his dignity and temper was a physical spectacle: his body even quivered a little, as though it were finely tuned to the last article of pleasantry.
”Nothin’ boss!” Fynn gasped, finding a break in the hysterics. “Just that… Nuts really… really must have had some opinions about that outfit, huh?”
Around the table, a few stray smiles and chuckles escaped.
”Don’t call her that,” was the response, in a voice that would normally command instant obedience, and intimidate the hardest of souls. “Her name is Jinx, and she’s not ‘nuts’, she’s unwell.”
Despite the apparent fact that Silco was now on his last nerve, no one could take him seriously, and as such Fynn continued to tease:
”Well then, I pity you! The way you look right now,” he shook his head in fake melancholy, “You must have your fucking hands full.”
Everyone broke down into laughter.
Everyone but Sevika.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his eye twitch sporadically, and that was enough indication to know she had to get him out of there or all hell would break loose, and God knew she didn’t need another disaster on her hands - though admittedly this was more akin to a disasterpiece, if anything.
”Sir.” She only tapped him lightly on the shoulder, but he whirled around like a bulldog and for a split second a smile slipped across her face as the contrast of serious and silly met her eyes. “Time to go.”
”But-“
”Sir,” she repeated, more firmly now. “I mean it. Look at them.” She tilted her head in the direction of the vacuous laughter. “They’ll be useless for anything today, so long as you look like that, and so long as they remember you looked like that.”
”Like what?!” His patience disintegrated.
”Stop acting like a man-child, and you’ll find out,” she said, her own tone bordering the edge of condescending. Before he could even consider scolding her in a despairing ploy to reinstate power, she grabbed him on the arm and yanked him gratingly from the room.
When she finally got him far enough away, the man was so overcome by irritation he stumbled unsteadily when she let go, and turned on her, panting and with a few wild tresses rebelling against the rest of his smoothed back hair. His lips rose in a snarl and he opened his mouth to reproach her.
”Before you say anything,” she interjected, raising a hand as if that would halt his lecture, “Please, just take off your goddamn coat.”
Begrudgingly, he peeled the thing off himself, grumbling stormily to himself and tugging erratically at the sle-
The sleeves. Suddenly, he froze, eyes seeing for the first time the blue beginnings of a sketch on his elbow. He removed the coat cautiously then, eyes fixated on the floor with how stunned he was. Ever so gradually, he brought it round in front of him, lifted it in its full length up to his eye level, and looked up.
”Oh. Good. Lord.”
Silco’s mouth dropped, his eyes running over the entirety of his finest jacket. The thing was plastered head to toe in every possible facet of his child’s raw, unbridled, detonating imagination. A series of feelings leaked into his chest: that of strange sorrow at her good intention, that of pure, unconditional love, that of mild embarrassment, and so much more, all conflicting and combatting each other in a deciding round of his temper and love.
“I’ll have to get this washed.”
”No shit, sir.”
That was it. Sevika couldn’t hold it anymore. Any sign of restraint melted away and transformed her into a wheezing mess, tears of laughter streaming down her face as her smile stretched to near absurdity. Her laughs rocked her large frame so vigorously that she buckled over and gripped her knees for support.
While at first Silco tried to remain outwardly unamused, eventually he shook his head in defeat, smiling and permitting his pent up chuckles to escape his lips as love triumphed over anger.
”Jinx!” he called out later, coat dragging behind him in the palm of his hand. “Jinx! Come here!”
Down she came, swinging deftly from plank to plank like a nimble orangutan. “Dad, you’re back!” She engulfed him warmly in a hug. “You’re back, you’re back, you’re back!”
”I am,” he appended calmly, kneeling so he could embrace her better. “I need to talk to you. See this?” He lifted the coat for her to see.
”Oh, do you like it?” she asked hopefully, and Silco had to take a breath to compose himself and not fall prey to those blue, round eyes.
”I…do,” he began tentatively. “I appreciate the thought behind it, anyhow.”
Jinx registered the shift in tone. “The thought?”
”I love what you were trying to do,” he persisted, knowing full well he had to be incredibly judicious with his next words and how he said them. “But I need this for work, and while I don’t care one bit about what they think of me, I do need them to pay attention. Do you understand?” His voice wobbled a little as he looked into her increasingly despondent face.
”You don’t like it,” she whimpered, lower lip quivering.
”I do,” he assured her vehemently, rubbing his hands up and down her arms in an effort to sooth any oncoming meltdown.
”I messed it up.”
”Jinx.” He gripped her face in his hands and coaxed her chin up. “Look at me. I loved it. I would have kept it on all day, and I would keep it on every day if I could. But there are important things I need to do, and this coat, well… it’s one of a kind. I need to keep it clean for work.” For a moment, he sensed he was losing her and snapped his fingers to regain her attention. “Now, you know I love your art work on things, and I promise you can colour anywhere else you’d like to, but you know what else I’d love?”
”What?” she sniffled.
”I would love if you kept it clean for me. It’s very hard to look after, and I can’t wash it all the time, but I trust you’d take such wonderful care of it when I’m not able to.”
”…you think so?”
He brushed some stray tears from her face. “I know so,” he corroborated, and then added: “You’re the only one I would ever trust with this, Jinx, and I’m sure I will entrust you with many other things in future.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before pulling back and gazing deeply into her pooling eyes. “I trust you.” They touched foreheads. “Remember that.”