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To put it simply, it has been a shit day.
It turned to shit the moment Cecil decided to test their team synergy on Christmas fucking Eve. It became shittier when Cecil noticed Rex wasn’t syncing up. It became hell when he got a concussion and stitches and a possible skull fracture. The doctor said he’s lucky it wasn’t worse than that, but Rex isn’t so sure.
It was a simple mutant-freak-holding-a-hostage situation. Normally, it would have been an easy dub for Rex. It wouldn’t even be worth thinking about. Surprise the fucker, keep them fighting until they make a mistake (because, really, all it takes is one), and wait until they make another to take the advantage.
It’s a waiting game, so normally it pays to be patient. Patience normally is more successful than coordinating with the team—requires more effort, sure, but for more reward. Taking down a bad guy solo normally assuages his ego; makes him forget for a few hours what a piece of shit he is. Thus far in his life, waiting out the enemy has been foolproof.
Until today… of course.
The Teen Team arrived at the scene to much more than a crazy guy with a homemade laser gun. This guy was as big as the Maulers, possibly larger, and seemed intent on not giving up. He was an ugly fucker, skin covered in rashes, muscles bulging unnaturally and unevenly, thick pulsating veins cording across his body like ropes. But, Rex had seen it all before at this point.
Some kind of freak accident no doubt drove the guy insane and then one thing led to another—and then he probably figured why not take a coworker hostage and actively try to blow up a five-story building? What’s the worst that could happen? It’s a normal Tuesday type of villain origin story. Nothing extraordinary and they all go down the same… usually.
But, Rex quickly found out (the hard way) that this science experiment gone wrong was unwarrantedly well-coordinated for a fucking scientist. He landed a punch straight to Rex’s face, breaking his nose in several places and knocking him out of the fight early. His ears rang like hell and, every time he tried to get up on his feet, he fell back down. Eve had to get him out of there—and bless her, really. She was kinder to him than he deserved… and he was dead weight to the rest of the team, anyway. Luckily, Santa Claus in-a-cape arrived shortly after, ending the fight within seconds and saving the hostage in one fell swoop, so at least it’s not like he put anyone but himself in danger.
None of this meant good things once the dizziness wore off and the painkillers kicked in. After all, Cecil was still Cecil. He’s always listening, so he heard Rex’s form of a one-liner before he ate shit. Turns out, the guy with a stick in his ass doesn’t find it very funny that he said it’s Rexing time! before getting his shit rocked.
Half an hour of chewing out later, he left Rex alone in a privateer room to stew, tucked away in the GDA headquarters. Cecil is a smart guy, so this result is not something he didn’t expect. It was calculated. He wanted Rex to fail, be humiliated, and be reminded they’re all held to a higher standard than Rex is displaying (or even capable of displaying, knowing Cecil).
It’s a wonder he even got on the team in the first place.
Thank God for Eve. Then, he thinks of Kate, and the thought sours instantly. He grimaces. Well… oh… yeah. Fuck.
But, there’s no time to ponder what a fuck-up he is. After all, there is a greater implication to Cecil’s berating. The way he looked at Rex, the brand of frustrated disdain, is familiar; Cecil believes he is not capable of being greater, being amongst his teammates—let alone being a hero at all. Not that all his years of experience on the team matters, not that his initiation trials matters—no, none of that trumps this singular fuck-up. Not like it could happen to anyone or anything. Not like this is a personal vendetta or anything. Not like it makes his day better to yell at Rex.
Fuck this fucking asshole, Rex thinks. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing it for years—haven’t died yet! He’s just trying to get in my head. Wants to fuck with me. Rex drags his tongue against the sharp of his teeth, huffing and staring at the white paneled ceiling. Ha! Good luck with that, you ugly bastard. The fucker actually pretends he’s immune to this shit, like his face doesn’t look like a fucking prosthetic. Piece of shit, asshole, fucking dick, fucking—
Rex gets up slowly from his bed, lifting the covers, and shifting his legs languidly off the edge. He’s good enough to stand, good enough to walk around—that’s what the doctor said, at least. Nothing too serious, nothing he can’t survive. Eve took it more seriously than he did, tears and panic in her eyes when she carried him here, and Kate kept a straight face, but… she was worried, too. If he sits too long with that, he won’t like where his train of thought leads him. But, he can’t really leave, either. Keeping him here is cruel, yes, but it’s also on Cecil’s direct orders.
“Take this as a sign, kid. Come back to me when you can leave your ego out the door.”
Rex narrows his eyes. Sudden, inexplicable rage consumes him. Screw you.
The room is absent of any doctors or nurses, absent of any Christmas decor, and there is no chatter in the hallways outside it. Rex’s feet touch the chilly tile. He searches all around for cameras and finds nothing. It’s oddly careless for Cecil, who usually micromanages everything like he’s God (or Satan—Satan definitely seems more appropriate). The room is barren of anything but the most basic medical supplies. Even so, he’s not wholly convinced his mediocre detective skills have proven Cecil’s incompetence outright. All he knows for certain is nothing here is holding him down or confining him to this room.
Screw it.
Rex slips through the door, head heavy but tolerable. He tiptoes through the hallways. Neither seems to matter because, at a certain point, a man must admit he’s lost. The hallways are identical, there are no signs, and no people nor intercoms he can call out to; the whole GDA is built like a goddamn labyrinth—like a hedge maze fucked by Silicon Valley. It’s eerie, utterly seclusive, and hard on the eyes. All the white only aggravates the dull pulsing in his head. He curses under his breath; he forgot to take the pills they gave him before he left. Fuck me. When’s it my turn to catch a fucking break?
He leans against a wall, pausing to gather his surroundings. There’s nothing that looks different (as opposed to the fifteen other hallways), but he might as well try again. The alternative is being lost in this fucking hallway until someone comes and gets him. The embarrassment of that compounds the obvious fact he still is oblivious to; these hallways have to have cameras. Cecil will know, if he doesn’t already. This is all pointless… but he’s already here. Too late not to try more.
It’s then he hears it. At first, he can't quite make it out. It’s almost like shuffling or thumping. But, it’s so distant that as he follows the noise, it changes. Rex turns the corner ahead and walks toward it. Yet, the closer he gets, the more it sounds like… no fucking way. He turns around another identical corner and sees a door. It’s closed, but the door handle shakes… to a certain rhythm. Rex is all too familiar with that particular rhythm. Woah, woah… who is fucking in the closet?
Rex’s curiosity gets the better of him. He approaches slowly, methodically, lingering on the far side of a wall just out of sight of the door (you know, in case they decide to finish). In its safety, he listens closer. He can hear the rustling, slapping of skin, and lots of groaning. But, he can’t quite hear anything that sounds like… a woman.
Gay sex… in a closet. Huh. That’s weirdly poetic.
He thinks to step forward, to knock on the door and interrupt them. After all, he is lost and this may be the last hope he has before Cecil comes to collect his soul.
But then, he listens a little too long. The voices become… familiar. Initially, Rex thinks it’s the concussion fucking with him—putting utterly unhinged ideas in his head. No, no way. That’s not possible. No. Just no. But, as he continues to stand and gawk in silence, the men behind the door begin to speak. At first, it’s just one-word statements. The occasional fuck or yes, but it quickly evolves from that into something coherent.
“Don’t—don’t do that,” the first says, a shudder and gravel to his voice.
There’s a delay, for reasons Rex would rather not acknowledge, before the other man answers. “Mhm? Do what?”
His heart leaps into his throat. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh God. There’s no fucking way.
“You’re covering my mouth.”
That sounds just like—no, no, no. This is not happening to me right now.
“I was trying something different.”
“You’re lying. You like to hear me, Nolan.”
Wait… who is he with? Who is Nolan?
“You’re right. We have a listener, Cecil.”
Rex’s blood runs cold. Oh.
“You don’t care about that,” Cecil sneers.
“You know me so well.”
Oh, hell no. Fuck no. He starts to panic, albeit not unjustifiably, because what the fuck? Jesus or God or someone, if you can hear me, tell me this is just a fucked up drug-induce dream or something.
The other man shudders as he clearly seems to… finish.
Rex nearly gags at the image alone. Kill me now. End it. End this torment.
Cecil follows fast after, he assumes, although much quieter. What keeps him standing there, Rex isn’t sure. It could be spite—because whoever is choosing to fuck Cecil Stedman should be ashamed. Or, it could just be shock, which is definitely true too, but he deduces it’s more likely that his morbid curiosity is just more morbid than he previously realized. And, you know, he’s still fucking lost. He hides and peeks around the corner, eyeing the door as the handle begins to turn.
Rex watches the door as it opens—as the Omni-Man steps out and pulls on his gloves.
“Tomorrow?” he asks, head inclined behind him.
Cecil emerges, fingers fiddling with his tie. “You’re getting reckless.”
“Tomorrow.”
Cecil grunts noncommittally. His eyes scan the area with indiscriminate scrutiny. But, Omni-Man doesn’t leave as Rex would expect him to—although, it’s obvious now that he doesn’t know shit about the guy. That much is more than clear. He lingers, eyes never drifting from Cecil’s neck.
When Cecil inevitably notices, he sighs and turns to Omni-Man. “What?”
“Your tie.” His hands are deliberate and slow as he adjusts Cecil’s tie. Cecil visibly straightens, a deep concern apparent that Rex does not think he has ever seen him display.
And, that’s my cue to go, holy fuck. Rex begins to run like he never has before—not even when running from hordes of aliens hellbent on killing and maiming him. He picks up speed, retracing his steps the best he can, losing himself further in the maze of hallways, finding his panic more intense than when he’d been lost before. He’s panting when a nurse finds him three turns away from his room.
She is surprised and concerned when she sees him but friendly. Normally, he might try to flirt with her—not exactly one of his better qualities, he’ll admit—but Rex is simply too stunned to mutter much else to her after asking her to lead him back to his room. It’s not until they arrive and he’s confronted by Cecil’s face that he’s shaken violently from his thoughts.
“Rex,” he says curtly. His cheek twitches before he sucks it in and bites down, and it reminds Rex of a vulture; readying to pick away at the body soon to be a corpse. “I’d lay down if I were you.”
“I’m good, actually.” Cecil narrows his eyes. Silently, he says all he has to: that wasn’t a request. He holds it long enough that eventually Rex relents. “Yeah, alright. I’ll just—”
Cecil turns to the nurse as Rex sits on the edge of the bed, eyes staring holes through the tiled floor. “Leave us.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
Rex smiles sheepishly, waving his hand like the conversation they’re about to have is one he’ll get out of alive. “Superhero business, lady. Sorry.”
She grimaces and rolls her eyes before leaving the room. As the door shuts behind her, Cecil’s gaze holds on it. He lets the awkward silence linger like a lead weight.
Holy fucking shit, this is torture. He’s a psycho. Only when the nurse’s footsteps subside completely, Cecil finally breaks the silence.
“Listen… I don’t want to beat around the bush with this,” he says, looking at his shoes. “I know it was you, kid.”
Rex chuckles nervously, wishing he was anywhere else. Hell is looking really great right now.
“Oh, Cecil, I am a-okay with beating around it! I am spraying the bush with fucking pesticide. I want absolutely nothing to do with you or—or who you—oh fuck.”
Cecil’s expression is stone, not even perplexed or annoyed—just the same old I don’t care, kid written across his jagged, scarred skin. “You done yet?”
“Just kill me, Cecil. This is too painful. This is—” Rex throws up his hands in exasperation, the memory fresh in his ears causing him to wince. “Nope. No. I’m not doing this. I didn’t hear anything. Consider my mind wiped. I didn’t hear shit, didn’t see shit. I haven’t moved from my bed, actually. I did not get lost in the hallway, nope. I always know where I am at all times. That’s my secret power—”
Almost instantly, Cecil’s face hardens. He looks ready to kill someone, and it might as well be Rex, and Rex sort-of hopes it is him. “What did you see?”
“I, uh—not… a lot. Heard it, mostly. You know, I guess there is a bright side to every—”
“You run your mouth about this again, and you won’t just have problems from me,” Cecil says.
There’s an odd tone to his voice when he says it, as though he is uncomfortable with admitting it. But, there’s something else, too. Some kind of… concern—which is genuinely more upsetting than any of the shit he said earlier. Suddenly, Rex feels… ill.
“I… gathered that,” Rex says, eyes wide like he witnessed a grizzly crime. He feels twitchy. “Doesn’t he have, I don’t know, a wife? He’s always talking about her. It’s the only fucking thing I know about him.”
“That’s none of your business, kid.”
“Sure thing.” Rex takes a moment of silence, deep in thought. Then, the intrusive thoughts win over. “But, how the fuck did you trick him? Like, how did you convince Omni-Man to fuck you, a geriatric control freak? I think you owe me an explanation, at least. Like, what’s the appeal?”
Cecil smirks. That can’t be— “How’d you convince Kate?”
His jaw drops, his stomach seizes, and rage boils over. “How the fuck do you—”
“You haven’t exactly been discreet,” Cecil remarks. “Eve’s a smart girl. I’m surprised she hasn’t caught on yet.”
Well, that’s… a solid threat. Rex scoffs, crossing his arms and puffing his chest. I’m so fucked.
“Yeah, I hear you. I’ll keep your fucking secret. Who’d believe me, anyway? It’s nuts. Just know this” — he points at Cecil — “Cheater to cheater, you’re no better than me, so maybe take it easy on me next time, old man.”
Something stirs in Cecil. His jaw screws tighter. Rex smirks. Heh. Looks like I struck a nerve.
“I don’t stop to run my mouth when there’s a eight-foot, three-hundred pound maniac in front of me about to kill an innocent woman.”
“We all make mistakes… you know, speaking of,” Rex says snidely. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me how you got that nasty scar of yours.”
“Good one, kid. Now that you mention it, I’ve been thinking. How does kicking you off the team sound?”
Rex’s face drops. He puts up his hands as if to figuratively wave a white flag and chuckles nervously. “No, no, no—come on, Cecil!” His laugh peters out as he wheezes. Despite the clinical chill of this stupid ass labyrinth, Rex is sweating bullets. Intrusively, Rex pictures flatlining on his hospital bed; which is then accompanied by the desire to be shot rather than finish this conversation. “It doesn’t need to come to that.”
“Give me one good reason why it shouldn’t.”
Shit, I don’t know— “The… spirit of Christmas?”
Cecil stares at him as though he were an ant, incredulous but equally unimpressed.
Rex clears his throat. “I dunno—blackmail?” he suggests, shrugging.
Cecil scoffs. “You’re willing to lose Eve for a pissing contest?”
“I’m losing her either way in this scenario. It really just depends on you, dipshit. The real question here is what are you willing to lose, Cecil?”
Rex expects that to have some kind of impact on the man, but it fails… as most of Rex’s tactics do on Cecil. Just another to add to the list of disappointments he’s caused him.
Cecil sighs, hands in his pant pockets. “Kid, I hate to tell you this, but”— he meets Rex’s eyes, cruelty warping his jagged features into someone far more brutal, like that of some ancient warlord— “I don’t lose.”
Something sour twists in Rex’s stomach. He isn’t bluffing. Suddenly, he finds his mouth dry. Shit, shit, shit—I fucked it. How can I salvage this?
Rex curls his shoulders inward and presses his palms together, smiling as if someone told him he shit his pants—and, well, maybe I have shit my pants… metaphorically or whatever-the-fuck. “How about this? I won’t say anything if you don’t,” he offers.
“That’s more like it.” Cecil firmly claps him on the shoulder as he turns to leave. “I suggest taking it easy. Might be able to—”
The intrusive thought that has held Rex in a chokehold rolls off his tongue. “Santa Claus came early, eh?”
And the crowd goes… ancient.
Cecil pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if he too received a concussion from an unlikely source. “It’s a good thing I don’t kill people anymore.”
Rex smiles wildly. Then, his brain catches up to him. Wait— “What do you mean any—”
Cecil leaves without another word.
Fuck me.
The Christmas party was abundant with the usual festivities, as required by Eve. The rest of the team didn’t put as much effort into it as she did, even if they appreciated it secretly. Rex helped out here and there, funding some of the snowglobes (he’s a secret enthusiast but she doesn’t need to know that) and hanging a few of his own bulbs collected from his days inside the hellscape of a home provided by the government… but it’s not as much as he probably should’ve. Then, again, that’s the least problematic thing he’s done to their relationship in the past twenty-four hours.
Their section of the GDA, dedicated in quadrants to smaller (less significant) teams, is strung with red and green lights, blinking soft and languidly. On every surface, Eve has placed knickknacks and the like: nutcrackers, wreaths, little miniatures of Santa and his elves, and candy canes. In the center of the rotunda, Eve has set up a tree, strung it with more lights than Rex has ever seen, and layered it with multi-colored bulbs and silver tinsel. Bits of the tinsel have fallen on the skirt below, but nobody’s perfect. Rex’s smile flickers.
That’s what an asshole would think, isn’t it? He takes a look in Eve’s direction, who sits across the bonfire pit she snuck inside with his help (exploding the smoke detectors with a few well-placed thumb tacks), and she meets his eyes. She’s beautiful, radiant even in her corny Mrs. Claus costume, and she looks at Rex with a gentle fondness he can’t help but requite; as evil as it makes him feel. He feels a second pair of eyes on the back of neck and he turns to find it’s Kate… which is awkward, certainly, but not enough to sway him from embracing the jolly all around him.
So, while his conscience is still guilty and Kate keeps shooting these where-do-we-stand? looks, Rex is relatively at ease. He never had Christmases like this, stuck within a cell and only let out for needles and nuclear testing fields. Maybe that’s why Eve puts so much into it, knowing his history—let’s not linger on that, though. The sour cream cookies sit heavy in his stomach, the icing just a touch too sweet, but that’s how he likes them. The cocoa is still hot enough to singe his tongue, the smell wafting in from his mug like a pungent candle set aside. It mixes with the fragrant pine needles and makes the fake snow at his feet almost seem real.
But, there’s just one… you know, massive problem.
Rex would be enjoying this—not completely, for obvious reasons, but he wouldn’t be swallowing down existential dread—if not for the fact that Omni-Man has decided to show up to it with his son. In fact, being in such close proximity to him may prove to be Rex’s undoing considering the amount of bullets he’s sweating. Across the bonfire, Eve is asking him silently are you okay? But, really, what’s he supposed to say to that? Yeah, babe. Just witnessed the worst person I know cheating with the most powerful being on Earth. I’m really feeling the holiday spirit!
Omni-Man is standing near the Christmas tree, observing Rex from time-to-time; not unlike some of the scientists who poked and prodded him in his childhood. It sends ten consecutive shivers down his spine, and Eve seems to be concerned as she approaches him without her glass of spiked eggnog (which she would never leave behind otherwise).
“Hey,” she says. A thick strand of hair falls in front of her eyes as she kicks his foot. “How’re you doing?”
Rex grins, all teeth, even as he pictures charging the atoms in his stomach to explode. “Feeling jolly. How ‘bout you, babe?”
She smiles back at him and leans down to kiss him on the cheek. The Christmas music playing swells over the speakers of the holoprojector, peaking as Omni-Man’s gaze lingers on him.
“Okay… you tell me if it’s too much, though.”
“Yeah,” he says, biting back any of the self-hatred or fright that might slip through. “I will.”
Beside Omni-Man is his son, presumably. He’s around the same age as himself, although much more awkward and handsome. His name is Mark, Rex has gathered, but he doesn’t know much outside of that. Does the kid even have powers? he wonders. Will that even matter? Cecil will probably just—oh Jesus fucking Christ. Standing about three feet apart, talking to a slouching Donald, Cecil stands and sips on a cup of coffee. He’s visibly disgruntled, which is normal for him, but doesn’t fail to send an additional shiver down his spine.
Does this crypt-creeper fuck even celebrate Christmas? Do they… do it separately? What the fuck do they even do? Besides, you know… fuck—never mind.
Rex’s gaze catches Cecil’s and he immediately returns to staring at Eve, who has drifted from her spot across the bonfire and toward Mark who seems to be all ears for whatever she’s saying. There’s a moment where he might feel something like jealousy, but it’s quickly put out by seeing Kate struggle to cut a piece of ham off with a plastic knife and a plastic fork. Rex finds looking at anyone equally unpleasant now, given everything, so he stares down at his shoes (a stupid pair of black rain boots with a gold emblem stuck onto them). I am such a fucking asshole.
Turns out, the Santa costume makes him sweat more. Rex loosens the elastic band of the fake beard, frowning. As he does, a visitor appears in his peripheral vision. His shadow is bigger than Rex’s entire body, he thinks, and that’s somehow not as terrifying as the thought that he might die in a fake beard and a Santa hat. Omni-Man extends his hand out, and for a moment, Rex thinks he might be hallucinating. Then, his son joins him at his side and holds up a brief hand as if to say hey…
Rex’s spine straightens, rigid as a metal pole. Hey, sure, hey is fine. This is fine.
“This is Rex Splode,” Omni-Man says, as if that name has never been uttered on his tongue before—which, honestly, suits him just fine. His ego is not as large as his desire to escape whatever consequences lie ahead.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—
“Ah, yes, hello… Omni-Man, uh, sir.”
Wow. Real smooth there, Rex. Just dripping charisma.
Mark seems befuddled and amused while Omni-Man just stares and smiles broadly, expression vacant of the reality of what he must think of Rex. In its place is a veneer that Rex is all too familiar with; one gets well acquainted with it when in the presence of unethical, high-ranking generals. For a long, awkward moment, Rex doesn’t say anything and they don’t say anything either. It allows Rex the very necessary time to devise his next move—what was his name, again? Noel? Nolan?
Mark is the first to speak up, clearing his throat before pointing at Rex’s belt. “So… you can make anything explosive, right?”
“Yeah, uh,” Rex says, stumbling over his words. “That’s… what I do.”
Rex looks over Mark now that the guy’s closer. His face is cut in the same sharp corners as his father, but retains a shyness in his smile that does not come from the superbeing beside him. In short, he’s very handsome—the kind that makes a man want to ask their girlfriend what their five-minute, nothing-burger conversation was about. Rex takes a peek at Eve over Mark’s shoulder, watching her take a bite out of a pine tree shaped, chocolate-covered marshmallow, and nearly curses under his breath. I am a fucking idiot. Stupid, stupid, idiot, asshole—
“That’s cool,” Mark says because of course he’d fucking say that. That’s what everybody says about his power. But, right now, Rex bites his tongue and smiles at Mark because Mark’s dad is standing right beside him and Mark’s dad is big and scary and Rex knows something about him he shouldn’t—that he’d really rather not know at all. Also, maybe somewhere deep down, he feels bad for Mark. Although they just met, what Rex knows would probably, more or less, ruin Mark’s life. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve made explode?” he asks.
Poor, oblivious Mark. Rex feels ill with it, so he decides to answer genuinely for maybe… the first time in a while.
“Probably a condom,” he says with a laugh… then, you know, reality catches up with him and stares at him head-on. Well, it figures I’d go out with a bang. But, before the silence alone can snuff him out for good, something unexpected greets Rex’s ears. Omni-Man laughing is a sound he didn’t expect to hear today. Good. That’s good, Rex. Maybe he won’t kill you and your deadbeat parents—and, God forbid, Eve—if you keep being funny. “Yeah, you know, the nerves and all. It was a pretty memorable night for the lucky lady, though.”
Baffled, Mark laughs too, and—Jesus Christ, is that a sparkle in his smile? Rex rolls his tongue along his teeth before he smiles back.
“I’m Mark,” he says, reaching out a hand. Rex meets it and shakes firmly. “I’m sure you know my dad.”
“No, never seen him before.”
In gloves, Rex can’t touch his skin, but—wait. What? He lingers, forcing himself to make an effort to pull away when he realizes he’s entranced by Mark and his perfect face; it’d be a little annoying if he wasn’t, frankly, about to die by his dad. The sexuality crisis is a problem for another day. If he can make it to tomorrow, maybe he’ll have time to examine why he wanted to keep holding hands with a stranger who wasn’t a woman he’d probably fuck over.
“Seems like you two get along well,” Omni-Man remarks.
Mark goes a little red in the face. “ Dad, come on.”
“What?”
“You know what? It’s fine. I’m going to talk to Dupli-Kate now… without you.”
“Alright, Sure thing, kiddo.”
Oh God. Oh God no. He’s left me with him. Oh fuck.
“Rex,” he greets. He isn’t as stern or serious as Rex imagined he’d be, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing. Just means he can get away with murder easier. “I suppose Atom Eve put you in this get-up?”
What? Oh… “Yeah, she’s, uh, really into all this.”
“Are you?”
Rex swallows but the effort is harder than it’s worth; his mouth is somewhere between hell and the Mojave Desert. “Yeah, love it. Great holiday. Great time.”
“You seem nervous.”
He’s fucking with me. I am so screwed. “Uh, yeah. Puts me… in a weird mood. I, um, didn’t get to celebrate it when I was a kid. Government didn’t fund the Christmas sector.”
Omni-Man laughs, the sound heavy and boisterous. The sound attracts… attention. Eve looks over at Rex, her concern returning. Jesus, I gotta look like I’m not about to shit myself. Her gaze flicks between him and Omni-Man.
“How many Christmases do you think she has left in her, Rex?” he asks. His heart halts in his chest. If he looked scared before, Rex is certain he looks petrified now. “It’s a pretty easy answer, I think. The more you talk, the less you get to stop and experience and appreciate this planet—its people. That’s what I’ve learned.”
“Uh huh…”
“What do you think?” He tilts his head and his brows knit together in a faux confusion. “Is something wrong? You look like you’re going to faint, kid.”
A sudden shadow climbs over Rex from behind and it’s enough to make him yelp like a little girl, but he keeps quiet, only jolting slightly. “ Omni-Man.”
Rex turns to see Cecil, scar and all, standing directly behind his chair. He almost laughs because there’s just no way Cecil Stedman is coming to save his ass right now. No, nope, I am already dead. This is just purgatory. But, he steps around Rex and he’s very much real when he glares into Nolan.
“We have to talk,” he says, and Omni-Man seems amused at first, scoffing. Then, he sighs—like a kid caught stealing in a candy store, like a dad disappointed, like he wasn’t just threatening to kill a teenager. He’s an actual snake. Holy fuck.
“Now? Can’t it wait?” he asks Cecil, but Cecil answers only with silence. Nolan nods, winding his jaw. “Well, then. Guess we’ll chat some other time, kid.”
“Guess so.”
Cecil turns and leaves, Nolan following, but not before pausing and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I was sorry to hear about your concussion. You do such good work on the team. It’d be a real loss to lose you.”
Then, he’s gone.
What the fuck? What in the actual fuck just happened?
“Santa!” Eve calls, gesturing from afar. “Get over here.”
“S-Sure thing,” he calls back, staring into nothing. For a few moments, he can’t center any of his thoughts. Then, the baffling question emerges.
Why would Cecil give enough of a shit to save me?
January almost makes him forget the whole thing—almost.
The universe, of course, is never that kind to Rex. It’s at some point during a collaboration between the Guardians and Teen Team, to clear up the rubble left behind from the aftermath of a battle in San Francisco, that Cecil approaches him. Scares the shit out of him would be more accurate, because his first instinct was to assume it was Omni-Man, but Rex’s ego is a little too bruised at the moment to give Cecil that honor. He’s been paranoid all-day, looking over his shoulder like he’s in witness protection. Cecil clears his throat behind him as Rex shovels a chunk of asphalt into a growing pile. He jumps a little, still shaken up from the Christmas party and—well, the blackmail doesn’t seem nearly as bad now that he thinks about it. Small victories?
“Fuck!”
“Thought we could have a little chat,” Cecil says. He smirks, as if Rex doesn’t live in fear of his wrath everyday—or maybe that’s exactly why he’s so fucking chipper. Fuck my life.
“You know you could just kill me, right? Like I’m giving you the option. Self-assisted suicide might be the best alter—”
“You haven’t talked,” he says, more to himself than to Rex which is frankly a relief. He didn’t want to have to prove that, because how the hell could he? There’s no rumor mill about it, sure, but Cecil is the kind of guy who’d have him burn his diary in front of him if he even alluded to it on paper. He’s the kind of guy who would absolutely slow torture someone—possibly already has, possibly more than once. But, it begs the incessant question.
Why did he save me?
“I don’t think anyone should have to bear that kind information, Cecil,” says Rex. “It’s not exactly something I wanted to know in the first place.”
Cecil winds his jaw, the scar stretching oddly against his cheek. “There is something else you should know, kid.”
He almost seems… nervous—which isn’t panic-inducing. What in the hell does that mean? No, not at all. What does that mean? It doesn’t make him want to bury himself alive. Oh God, what the fuck does he mean? This is a very normal conversation with two very normal people who are discussing something very boring. That’s what’s happening right now. Holy fuck, he’s come to tell me I’m going to die. I’m dead. This is it. This is my final moment alive. Fuck, fuck, fuck—
Cecil’s lips flatten into a harsh line. “Don’t find yourself alone with him.”
Rex looks at the rubble at his feet and wonders when he tries to speak if he swallowed some of it. “Wasn’t… planning on it.”
“He won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Rex’s eye begins to twitch. “Well, ain’t that just great? Saves me a lot of trouble. Coulda used that though. Seems like it would’ve benefited me, I don’t know, at the Christmas party.”
“Wouldn’t have prevented him from threatening you,” Cecil says glumly. “And, he’ll keep at it if you’re not careful. Trust me, kid. You’re better off listening to what I tell you.”
Rex forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he shovels another pile of chunked concrete. “Sure thing, Cecil.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t find yourself in the same situation. Omni-Man will, too.”
“What? Is he your dog or something?”
“He’ll listen to me.”
“Just a question,” Rex says, a devious delirium taking over. “Is that, like, why you like him? Is it some kind of turn on for you? Or are you just—”
Cecil turns his back to him. “Goodbye, kid.”
And, with that, Cecil dissipates into particles and is gone. Rex would almost be disappointed if he actually wanted the answer to that question. He looks up at the sky, overcast and gray, but lacking snow of any kind. He’s certain there’ll be little snow this year in Chicago either. No snow, no gifts that can offset the guilt of him being a piece of shit, and a possible sexuality crisis incoming. In short, this whole year has been a fucking disaster and most of it has been of his own doing. Of course, the universe would top it off with revealing Cecil and Omni-Man’s relationship. Just great. Fucking terrific year.
Rex stops shoveling and sits down on a slab of asphalt large enough to crush him, crossing his arms and frowning to no one in particular.
“I fucking hate Christmas.”