Apollo and Midnighter - Backdated

[om_midnighter]

Right after Thunderdome, Midnighter and Apollo reunite. It isn't what Midnighter had been hoping for, and then it is.


After being discharged from the infirmary, Midnighter had been focused on getting through his debriefing as quickly as fucking possible. However, he had become seriously distracted about midway through, when Apollo had shown up outside the room they were using for it, in the sublevels. Then the whole thing had gone from being tedious to being fucking unbearable, until Xavier had clearly taken pity of him and told him he could go, and they would finish this the next day.

He didn't need to be told twice, and burst out of the room to find himself face to face with Apollo.

And now that he was looking at him, he was rooted to the spot and had no clue what to say.

Paul wasn't feeling much more eloquent. Relieved, sure. Unexpectedly furious, heat of it curling inside his chest at the sight of Midnighter. Midnighter, back, right there, right in front of him, alive and real and... "Where the fuck have you been?"

Apparently there were words, after all.

So they hadn't told him anything. Fucking brilliant. Midnighter scowled, very aware of the people still inside the room he'd just left. "Let's get out of here," he stated, and moved to head down the hall and towards the stairs. Hopefully the gym would be empty; it was closer than their room, and Midnighter had a feeling he would want to punch something before this conversation was over.

"Didn't you just do that?" Paul asked acidly, falling into step anyway. Didn't matter, there wasn't any chance of him letting Midnighter out of his sight any time soon. Wherever Midnighter went, Paul would be. Not following him - just with him. Within sight.

Midnighter was silent until they hit the stairs, and he was sure that no one was within earshot. "I never made it to Denver. Got nabbed in Philly."

Abruptly, Paul shared the urge to hit something. Not Midnighter - yet - but definitely something solid enough to be satisfying. "So what happened in Philly that was strong enough to keep you from heading out?"

"I got tranq'ed," Midnighter glared at Apollo, and definitely stopped at the first floor to head for the gym. He already blamed himself enough for getting nabbed without Apollo fucking adding to it.

"You got tranq'd?" Paul echoed, incredulous. "You? What with, an elephant gun?"

"They were hunting mutants," Midnighter retorted. Was this how Talon had felt, when it had happened to her? Had she known, even without his brain, when the drugs rushed through her system? Fuck, he wished she was still around.

Paul stopped walking, fingers curled to press nails into his palms, shoulders tight. "Hunting you?"

"I don't think so," Midnighter answered with a shake of his head. Frustration pissed him off, and he sounded it. "I don't know."

And that, almost more than anything else, made Paul want to hit something. "Did you at least get to hit them on the way out?"

Now that question - that question made Midnighter want to kiss Apollo with all the fury raging inside him. Or, alternately, to punch something. He didn't answer straight away, pushed open the door to the gym and walked in. He had had every intention of answering as soon as they were inside the empty room, but when he turned back to Apollo, no words came, but instead, an urge he gave in to, stepping into Apollo's personal space and wrapping his arms around him. "Yes." That was the short answer, whispered against his neck. "Not as much as I wanted to." A hint at the longer one.

"So they're still alive." Paul's dry tone was completely at odds with the force of his grip on Midnighter, both arms wrapped tightly around him, half believing that if he didn't hold on firmly enough Midnighter would disappear again, would be gone, wouldn't be solid and heavy and strong against him. Wouldn't be breathing words warm against his skin, wouldn't be touching him, wouldn't be real.

"I had him," he confirmed, rage in his voice, and he had to step away, despite the death grip Apollo had on him. He couldn't take touching him while he talked about Mojo. "Fucking Summers."

"Summers?" Paul echoed, dropping his arms. Wouldn't hold Midnighter if he wanted to move away. At least, not right then. Not when it could trigger all kinds of reactions he didn't know about. That didn't mean that he wasn't folding his own arms as a reminder not to reach out again, hands tucked out of sight, nails pressing into his chest.

"Cyclops," Midnighter specified, in case Apollo's question was about which Summers. It probably wasn't. "Didn't let me end his miserable life." He was thankful for the distance Apollo let him have without question. The punching bags were a way, but he had half a mind to put his fist through the fucking wall right now.

"I guessed." It had seemed the likely choice, though Paul hadn't come up against the guy personally. Not yet, anyway. It sounded like there was the potential for that to change. He leaned back against the wall, watching Midnighter warily. "Why?"

"PR," Midnighter spat out. That was what it boiled down to, in the end. A lot of fucking bullshit.

"The hell?" Paul echoed, incredulous.

"I told you his priorities were fucked," Midnighter replied angrily. The anger wasn't directed at Apollo, but at Summers, and at himself for not having managed to get it done anyway. He should've just killed the asshole straight away, instead of wanting to draw it out. That would teach him.

"PR?" Paul repeated. Arms dropped to his sides, and his hands pressed back against the wall either side of him, pushing against that solidity. "What's that even mean?"

"He didn't want the asshole to be killed by a mutant," Midnighter replied, voice low and dangerous. Fuck, but he wanted to destroy something. "Bad PR." Why he hadn't let Midnighter shoot him was a good fucking question, though; a stray bullet wouldn't have been coming from a mutant, but from his own people. Fucking Cyclops.

"But mutants being kidnapped, that's just fine?" Kidnapped and attacked with tranq guns. Paul's fingers curled, nails pushing against the wall.

"Kidnapped and pitted against each other," Midnighter explained, feeling his rage bubble up again. "We were fucking entertainment."

Nails dug in, splintered, healed. "Entertainment for who?"

"Sadistic rich assholes," Midnighter replied, and forced himself to stop clenching his fists. Unclenching them would take a lot more willpower. "I ever tell you about Mojo?"

Paul closed his eyes for a moment, deep breath as much about focusing as trying to remember. "Some, I think. Weird ringmaster sort of guy?"

"He called it an arena," Midnighter went on, glaring off into space. "Mutants only. Made us fight each other. For sport."

"Like a...." Paul cast into his memory of recent history lessons. "Gladiator sort of thing?" That had been screwed up enough to read about. To think that anyone was trying to recreate that...

"Yeah." The one word felt more difficult to get out than resisting the most forceful scenario. Gladiators were slaves. Gladiators were possessions. He still wasn't looking Apollo in the eye. "There were bets. He made fucking money off of - us."

"Shit." Dropping his head back against the wall, Paul let his eyes close. If Midnighter wasn't going to look at him... no, screw that, probably couldn't. Trauma was bad, he knew that, but knowing what to do to help it was definitely beyond him. "And he's still alive out there?"

"Probably," Midnighter confirmed. Part of him hoped the bastard had died of a fucking heart attack; fuck knew his lifestyle was leading him straight there. Just one well-placed punch - that was all it would've taken. He should've fucking acted, instead of trying to reason with Cyclops. What the fuck.

Still alive, still a threat. Though... "I guess the Professor knows that, yeah?"

"For the fuck lot of good it does anyone," Midnighter retorted, temper flaring as he glared at Apollo. He looked away almost immediately, and he wanted to kill something. "Yeah," he really answered after a moment. "He knows."

Didn't sound positive. Didn't sound promising but fuck, Midnighter was away from Mojo, and Paul wasn't keen on the idea of him going back anywhere near close. "So is he gonna do anything?"

"The fucker got away," Midnighter replied, still sounding particularly angry, even for him. "Nothing he can do now." Not that Midnighter would have trusted Xavier to do what needed to be done, but at least the asshole could have ended up in jail.

"Nothing?" Paul echoed, his own temper not exactly even. More or less controlled, sure, but nowhere near calm, heat and fear and resentment roiling fury. "He kidnapped you and fuck knows how many others, and he's not gonna do anything about it?"

"Neither am I," Midnighter snapped. If they couldn't do shit, it didn't mean they didn't want to. He had no idea what Xavier might want, but it looked to him as if Lehnsher, at least, had it in for Mojo as bad as Midnighter did.

That sounded even less reasonable. Paul set his jaw and took a deep, unneeded breath. Habits died hard, however unfortunate that phrasing was. "So, what, you're gonna just stay here and never leave the grounds and not go off looking again?"

"I'm sure as fuck not going to roam the world hoping I'm going to fucking magically run into him!" Midnighter yelled, fists clenched at his side.

"Which him?" Paul challenged. Didn't know any more, couldn't read it, didn't care if he got punched. Maybe wanted to. Wanted something he could understand.

"Who the fuck do you think!" came the shouted answer, and it was all Midnighter could do to stay in place, every muscle taut.

"If I knew, would I ask?" Might be the twisted fucker who'd decided experimenting on a kid was a good idea, might be Mojo. Hell, could be another him that Paul couldn't remember.

"I've got a place to start for one of them, don't I," Midnighter replied, trying to focus, to see past the rage. Eventually, though, he just stalked away, right to the bricks' punching bag, and did not stop hitting it until it lay on the floor, broken and useless.

He didn't feel much better for it.

"Yeah, and it's not here." Paul gritted his teeth and wished, not for the first time, that he was still subject to gravity. Some feeling of weight would have been helpful. Just something to make him feel connected to something, since he evidently wasn't connected to Midnighter.

"And maybe you could let me catch my fucking breath before you get on my ass to go out there again," Midnighter retorted, turning back to Apollo, at the end of his rope. Something dark and ugly was clawing at his insides, but he resisted it. This wasn't the Arena. It also wasn't the welcome he'd been dying for. "Unless you're just that fucking eager for me to be gone again."

"Maybe I'm just fucking scared that next time you won't come back." Maybe he didn't know how to say any of it. Maybe he didn't know how to reach out to touch Midnighter without triggering something that would hurt both of them, and probably more people as well. "Maybe I don't know if you're gonna go away again. Maybe I don't know how long you're gonna be here or where you're gonna go next or ..." Shit, he wasn't going to tear up. He wasn't. And he wasn't going to hit something out of sheer frustration. "Or anything, right now."

"That makes both of us," Midnighter damn near growled out, his glare not softening.

Probably made both of them and several of the staff and whoever knew how many of the other students as well. "Fine," Paul gritted. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to go back in time and cave that fucker's head in before Cyclops can stop me," Midnighter replied shortly. But it wasn't fucking happening, was it, and he couldn't so much as project himself an hour into the future right now.

Paul hesitated. "Do we have anyone who can do that?"

"No," Midnighter spat out.

"Didn't know." Paul slid down the wall to sit, knees bent, elbows resting on top of them. "D'you want me to go?"

"I don't know what the fuck I want," Midnighter replied after a beat, his tone slightly less aggressive. After a few more seconds, he strode back to Apollo and crouched in front of him, still glaring, but less so. He curled the fingers of one hand around Apollo's ankle, then looked into his eyes.

"And I'm not gonna guess." It wasn't belligerent - wasn't meant to be, anyway. Paul was fairly sure Midnighter had had enough of people trying to guess or at least enforce what he was going to do, and Paul wasn't going to add to that. Touching, though. Touching was good, and if Midnighter was initiating it, he probably wasn't interpreting that as a threat.

Letting out a breath, Paul let his shoulders drop, eyes steady as he watched Midnighter, not moving, hands still hanging free in front of him.

This mattered more than any word they could ever say. Midnighter shifted forward so he was kneeling between Apollo's legs, meaning that he had no choice but to get his hands out of the way. His one hand was still curled around Apollo's ankle, and he put his other one on the side of his neck before he kissed him. Hard, but not hungry. The kiss wasn't about something more; it was something onto itself, something Midnighter needed like he needed oxygen, after long enough.

Relief as much as pleasure, more than, rushing through him with the heat of Midnighter's kiss, with the feel of Midnighter's hands on him, firm and solid around his ankle, lighter but no less real against his neck. Real, finally actually real, Midnighter truly back and really there. Apollo - it was easier to be Apollo with Midnighter, easier than uncertain directionless Paul - shifted his knees apart to make room, arms sliding around Midnighter, loose touch, still touch, bright and necessary as sunlight.

Midnighter kissed him for a few more seconds, then tore his mouth off of Apollo's, the look in his eyes asking him to give him a second. Or ten. The embrace, loose though it was, was something to get used to again, after spending a couple of weeks giving in to the scenarios in his mind.

Paul let him go, leaning back against the wall to watch Midnighter, much easier after that kiss. "Do you want to go outside?"

Less enclosed. And there were trees to punch.

"Yeah," Midnighter breathed out before he was even done thinking it over. The answer was obvious, and he should've thought of it himself. "Fuck yeah."

He forced himself to pull his hands back, carefully, then stood up and stepped back.

Out, then. Paul rose, drifting up enough to get his feet on the floor, then nodded towards the door. "What's easiest, if you go first or if I do?"

"You," Midnighter replied, waiting until Paul went ahead to follow.