Work Text:
Scott really needed to get a Frequent Kidnapping Card.
He squirmed, the familiar rope tied just tight enough to keep him from wiggling free, but loose enough to not hurt him. The bag over his head was knotted around his neck against his Adam’s apple, but not tight enough to choke.
At least GoodTimes had manners.
Scott licked his lips, tasting the overly-sweet chloroform spray tacked onto his skin. He was cold, and damp, but not entirely uncomfortable. He couldn’t really see, but he knew it was dark. The bump-bump of a vehicle hummed in his ear, and he recognized where he was. The trunk? Really? He thought they were past this.
What happened again?
He’d just finished his piece in front of the new museum - it was the tenth-year anniversary of Hero’s Day, and the Hermitopolis citizens were all out in force to celebrate. He’d avoided yet another cringy, pushy request for a date from Hal, his cameraman, and had made a note to file a complaint with HR for the umpteenth.
Then - then it got fuzzy. He sighed, feeling his own hot breath puff back in his face, and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Usually, GoodTimes didn’t leave him alone too long. He liked to hear himself talk too much to do that.
Sure enough, Scott felt the car slow after only a few minutes, then stop completely. The trunk lid popped, and Scott shivered at the rush of cold air.
“‘Ello, Miz Smajor! Hope the trip wasn’t too rough on you!”
Scott rolled his eyes, rolling with GoodTimes as the crook picked him up. The henchman absolutely refused to call Scott “mister,” or even Scott’s own first name, instead referring to the reporter as “Miz.”
He grumbled to himself as GoodTimes flung the reporter over his shoulder, Scott grunting at the muscular shoulder in his stomach. GoodTimes rarely knew his own strength. It was a wonder Scott only left these excursions with bruises.
“You need to put some weight on, Miz Smajor.” GoodTimes started his usual rambles, the air getting chillier and the wind picking up. “You’re much too skinny. Too light. I bet you eat less than a cat. My cat eats a lot, you see. She’s a chunky monkey, but she’s the cutest chunky monkey you ever laid eyes on - ”
Scott rolled his eyes, feeling quite nauseous with the heavy, upwards steps GoodTimes took. The wooden chair was a welcome relief, the world stilling into some semblance of stability.
“ - and you see, Canary can’t wait to see the look on your face - ” GoodTimes kept going, even as he adjusted the rope around Scott’s wrists to fasten him to the chair’s back, and Scott couldn’t help but smile.
Canary was a newer villain, and a bumbling one at that. The man caused chaos wherever he went, usually on a whim he had next to no control over. He followed his impulses like a child follows a stray cat, and often found himself in situations he couldn’t control.
For whatever reason, he had taken the keenest fancy to one reporter Scott Smajor. Every week - without fail, sometimes even twice! - Scott found himself in the “clutches” of Canary and his two henchmen, GoodTimes and ShadowLady.
They never hurt him, or even put him in dangerous situations. They just kinda - held him hostage. They kept him tied up, usually to some dumb chair (Scott was pretty sure he’d been in this exact chair a hundred times already), but treated him nice enough.
Canary would put on a big show of “hurting” him to the cameras or the crowds to get his way, but once the eyes and phones were gone, the spiders would turn into butterflies that tickled and the sharks were always dolphins in disguise. Once, Canary had gassed him, and Scott had real fear for about two seconds before realizing it was laughing gas. It had taken hours to wear off, and Scott had giggled uncontrollably the entire trip back to his apartment.
Because of Canary’s interest in one person, the rest of the other villains started taking turns whisking Scott away out of sheer curiosity. He’d spent a week in the God’s castle, and only a few hours with the Doc, but he was pretty sure he’d been to each major villain’s lair at least once. Even the elusive Blazeborn had taken him for a trip on a megayacht Scott was almost positive the villain had stolen.
Overall, Scott merely used these “adventures” to squeeze extra hazard pay out of his boss.
“There you are, Miz Smajor.” GoodTimes adjusted Scott’s suit lapels, then whooshed the bag off his head. Scott squinted, already for the snarky banter to begin, then blinked in surprise.
They were on a rooftop, somewhere, the city lights blinking happily. He must’ve been out for quite a while for the sun to have fully set.
A table had been laid out, set for two. Candles, roses, proper Italian, the whole shebang.
Scott smelled spicy-warm cologne, then a gloved hand touched his chin from behind, tugging his head to the side. Green eyes met his through a dark mask, and a wide smile broke out over Canary’s face. “Hey, Petal.”
Scott rolled his eyes at the sappy nickname, but felt his lips turn up in a smile anyways. “What are you doing? What is all this?”
“What?” Canary whirled away, wearing his full supervillain garb. He’d had a thing for dressing up as Captain America for a while, then as a fish, of all things, but recently had settled on black and yellow leather. “Can’t a gentleman entertain his favorite reporter?”
Scott huffed. “I had things to do tonight.”
“Yes, like avoiding Hal. The offer still stands, by the way.”
“No!” Scott pouted. “No killing.”
Canary whined, but threw himself in his chair anyway. “If you say so. Are you hungry?”
“I’m actually a bit tied up at the moment,” Scott deadpanned. GoodTimes was anything if not thorough, and there was no give to be had.
“Well I can’t have you running away, now can I?” Canary tipped his wine glass at Scott, some mystery red alcohol swirling with the motion. “Afterall, you’re likely to hurt yourself if you wander far in this part of town.”
“I wouldn’t be in any danger at all if you stopped kidnapping me.”
“But Petal - ” Canary played up the scorned schoolboy act. Scott had a feeling that, behind the mask, the man was probably batting his eyelashes. “It’s my job!”
“To kidnap me?!” Scott laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Who else would tell Hermitopolis how dangerous we are!” Canary declared, swooshing his arms to the side. “You’re an excellent reporter, may I say. That piece on VoidWalker - lovely stuff. Though you didn’t have to call him ‘handsome.’”
Scott raised one eyebrow, wondering how long it would take the Heroes to find him this time. “Jealous?”
Canary leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “Maybe? What would you say if I was?”
“Can’t stand sharing the attention?”
Canary tapped his mask. “Not particularly.” His eyes crinkled, grinning salaciously.
“You put me back where you found me.” Scott twisted his ankles, but found no give there either.
“Can do.” Canary took a sip of his wine, pursing his lips at the glass. “Later.”
Scott huffed. He would not be getting home in time for a shower before bed. “Then why am I here?”
“I told you!” Canary kicked back in his chair, crossing his ankles on the edge of the table and his hands behind his head. “I’m entertaining my favorite reporter!”
Scott sent him a flat look. “Consider me thoroughly entertained. Now can I go home?”
Canary hummed, tilting his head. “No.”
Scott sighed exasperatedly. He really needed to wash his hair tonight! He’d already put it off yesterday and his blue hair did not hold up well against grease.
“Not until you eat.”
Scott froze, frowning. “What?”
Canary tipped forward, resting both elbows on the table. “I know for a fact you haven’t eaten today.”
Scott blinked, realizing that was - true. He’d had a granola bar for breakfast, and managed the banana out of his lunch around noon, but he’d been on his way home for dinner! He had leftovers!
“I have leftovers,” he voiced that last thought out loud, frowning with a pout.
“Takeout from last week does not count.” Canary scooted his chair forward, and Scott.exe stalled because how did Canary know that?
“Are you stalking me?!” Scott exclaimed, watching as Canary picked up what was supposed to be Scott’s fork and twirled up some of the spaghetti.
“Maybe.” Canary grinned, not at all abashed. “I have to make sure you stay out of harm’s way.”
“One could argue that you keep putting me in harm's way,” Scott said dryly, watching the fork suspiciously.
Canary scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I have never once hurt you. Have I?”
Scott frowned, opening his mouth to point out a few instances that’d nearly given him a heart attack, and realized the trap too late. He nearly choked as Canary too-eagerly shoved the full fork in his mouth, but managed to catch his breath long enough to chew and swallow before something went down the wrong pipe.
“That - ” he shot Canary a dirty look as the villain twirled up more pasta. “That was a cheap trick.”
Canary shrugged. “Gotta make ya eat somehow. You seem to have issues doing it on your own.”
Scott wrinkled his nose. That wasn’t fair! He’d just been busy today! “I can eat on my - ” He didn’t duck in enough time, Canary moving a lot quicker than Scott thought he could.
“If you could, we wouldn’t be having this conversation," Canary cooed, smiling in amusement as Scott chewed.
Scott glowered, keeping his lips pressed firmly together after he swallowed. The pasta was good, but cold. Someone used too much salt though, and it was making his stomach upset.
Canary swirled the third forkful in front of Scott’s nose. “C’mon - ”
Scott shook his head sternly. He really needed to be getting home. He had a very important presentation he was giving tomorrow, and he really just wanted to take a bath and be done with today. The museum piece had kept him up the better part of last night, and, combined with Hal’s offer, Scott was utterly drained.
“Hey.” Canary’s fingers caught Scott’s chin and tilted his head so their gaze met. “I don’t want to have to do this again, alright?”
Something uncomfortable swooped in Scott’s gut. Canary’s eyes glimmered behind their almost-opaque lenses in a way Scott had never seen before.
“Make sure you take care of yourself. The citizens of Hermitopolis don’t need to see their favorite reporter withering away to nothing - ” Canary leaned forward, whispering in Scott’s ear, “ - now do they?”
Scott shook his head, still keeping his mouth shut.
Canary’s grin returned full-force and he pecked a quick kiss to Scott’s temple. “Have a lovely night, Petal. GoodTimes! Take our favorite reporter back home, would you?”
GoodTimes appeared in Scott’s vision, smiling as broadly as always. “Did you have a lovely evening, Miz Smajor? What flavor would you like? Well, we’re out of the apple, which is your favorite I know, so you’ll have to go with watermelon - ”
Scott’s eyes watered at the full-face of heavy aerosol chloroform, wondering how in the world Canary had figured out how to flavor chloroform.
His head slumped heavily, and he mentally punched another hole on his frequent kidnapping card.