Chapter Text
Sue had planned to take Johnny on this trip. Then Johnny got the flu, and somehow, Reed ended up with the reservation instead.
Victor had been skeptical at first.
“This is stupid,” the rejection had been immediate. “A vacation is beneath me.”
Besides, a halt in his current research on quantum entanglement—one that Richards had already come up with a more integrated theory—was unacceptable.
“Well, I’m going anyway,” Reed, expecting the reaction, had simply stated.
“You,” Victor had scoffed, “are voluntarily engaging in an outdoor recreational activity?”
Reed, adjusting his gloves, had merely shrugged. “We’re not going home for break, and as much as I’d love to spend the rest of the time proving you wrong, I figured a change of pace wouldn’t hurt.”
Victor had narrowed his eyes. “A change of pace,” he repeated, voice heavy with suspicion.
To think twice, if he were to stay on campus, alone, well… the boredom was also unacceptable.
He hadn’t said yes.
But two days later, he was already stuck with Richards in this less-than-ideal situation.
“You do know how to ski, don’t you?”
Victor scoffed. “Don’t insult me, Richards.”
“Good,” Reed said, adjusting his scarf. “Then you can teach me.”
Victor blinked.
Paused.
Then let out a slow, exasperated breath. “I'm going to end you.”
Victor, as it turned out, was extremely competent on skis. He was, after all, Latverian.
Reed, as it turned out, was not.
“You are overthinking it,” Victor said, adjusting the bindings on Reed’s boots. “Stop analyzing. Your body understands balance. Trust it.”
Reed, shifting his weight experimentally, had come to the conclusion that his body was not trustworthy. “I don’t trust anything without testing its reliability first.”
And he knew the test was doomed to fail.
Victor gave him a long, unimpressed look. Then, without warning, he pushed him.
Reed yelped as he slid down the beginner’s slope, arms flailing, before coming to a graceless stop.
Victor, skiing up beside him with infuriating ease, smirked. “There,” he sounded far too pleased with Reed’s predicament. “I was expecting something monumentally miserable, but that’ll do. Now stop thinking and try again.”
It was, objectively, good advice.
It was also infuriating.
But Reed wasn’t opposed to taking advice when it was sound.
Sharp criticisms and unnecessary arrogance were expected. The complete lack of sympathy when Reed faceplanted into the snow was also expected. But despite everything, Victor was patient. Others might argue, but Reed knew Victor better than them.
Something had rendered his usual sharpness softer. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew he was better than Reed at this.
“You’re a disaster,” Victor sighed, grabbing his wrist and hauling him upright, sounding more resigned than exasperated.
It was a rare thing to see Victor von Doom as a teacher. Rarer still to see him... gentle.
Not that Reed was about to say that aloud. He wasn’t stupid.
But, of course, the moment anything academic was brought up, it became a disaster.
“You’re still incorrect about the stability theorem,” Victor had muttered at one point as they rode the ski lift.
Reed raised an eyebrow. “My calculations are sound.”
Victor scoffed. “They’re insufficient.”
“You’ve yet to prove that.”
Victor turned to look at him, his expression taking on that edge—something between delighted and challenged. “Perhaps I will.”
“Good.”
And they were back in it until Reed completely forgot to get off the ski lift at the right time and Victor had to drag him off before they both ended up circling back around.
Victor muttered as they stumbled onto the snow. “I’m going to kill you before this trip is over.”
That night, they sat outside, watching the stars.
It was quiet—just the crackling of the fire pit, the sound of the wind, and the cold air biting at their skin.
Reed glanced at Victor, who was staring at the sky with a distant, unreadable expression.
Snow was something Victor was used to. He had grown up with it, walked through it, survived in it.
There were things he wished to keep buried beneath the thick layers of white.
The memories. The cold. The endless, bitter cold, along with the loss. Nothing remained the same after all that had happened. Yet, it was the freezing cold that seemed to freeze every bitter taste of the past in his mind, never offering the relief that had eluded him.
There was no escape.
Except….
He finally looked away from the sky.
“...You are a terrible student,” he muttered.
“And you’re my teacher.”
Victor rolled his eyes. But he didn’t look away.
The stars burned bright overhead. The fire crackled softly.
It was just the two of them.
And that was enough to chase the shadows away.
For now.