Paul and Midnighter - Backdated
Apr. 6th, 2014 02:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
om_midnighter posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
om_mainThey finally meet, in the deserted gym at night. It's a little rocky, then it's a lot rocky, but then they agree on a plan. Spoiler alert: Midnighter thinks that Shinobi was right an alarming number of times. (Two.)
Just because Midnighter now had reasonable control over his reactions did not mean that he felt any more restful during the long hours of the night when he mostly didn't need to sleep. On the contrary. Keeping such a tight leash on himself kept him on edge, and laying into something without restraint was something that he felt helped him feel a little more at ease with himself.
So he still regularly found himself in the gym at night, when it was, most of the time, otherwise deserted, punching away into the bag intended for bricks. If it held out for Braddock and Lil, it would hold out for him, at least for now. He was dressed in a grey tank top, black fatigues and combat boots, without an abandoned hoodie or sweater in sight despite the persistent chill in the air. The punching bag was taking his assault with minimal protest for now, and he stopped holding back at all, going at it quickly and strongly enough that he even began to break into a sweat, for a change.
Paul had discovered that he could sleep, but he didn't need to. Nights found him restless more often than not, and he tried to keep clear of his room so that Cal could still sleep and not be in danger of accidentally picking up on Paul's powers while he was unconscious. There weren't too many places to go at night, and he tried to stay inside the school buildings instead of going out into the grounds, not sure about overnight security patrols.
The library couldn't hold his attention for long. He tugged sweats from his bag, tucking his books back in, and kicked the bag absently under a bench in the changing rooms, heading through to the gym in hope of finding some release in working out. It wasn't empty, though. Not this time. Someone else was already in there, going at the punching bag like they had a personal grudge against it.
Midnighter was aware that somebody was coming long before they even hit the changing room. When they did, he became aware of exactly who it was. He forced himself not to think back to his conversation with Shaw and was only partly successful, a fact that lent a new, frustrated energy to his punches.
He caught the punching bag, which had begun to sway dangerously, with one hand when the other kid walked into the gym, and just looked over his shoulder to say, evenly, "Hey."
The other boy didn't have to know that he never really said hi to anyone.
"Hey," Paul returned, cautious, and nodded towards the punching bag the boy was holding.
The boy who was apparently one hell of a lot stronger than Paul had expected from his build, even taking into account the amount of lean muscle he was carrying and it was probably not a great idea to linger on thoughts of those muscles. "Don't let me interrupt. Looked like you were winning."
"Really not," Midnighter muttered under his breath. After a beat, he forced himself to look the fuck away and turn back to the punching bag. Occasionally catching himself staring at the guy when he wasn't looking was one thing, but consciously staring at him while he was? Fuck no, Midnighter refused to be that far gone.
He shoved the thoughts out of his mind, raised his fists, and started laying into the bag again.
The punching bag definitely wasn't winning, so if the boy wasn't, Paul had no idea who was. He moved warily past the mats, over to the resistance machines, piling up the weight until he could feel it, and started on a series of pull-downs, focusing on keeping the movement even and his breath steady.
And his back to the punching, although the fact that the walls were mirrored wasn't helping with not watching it happening.
Once in a while, Midnighter caught himself fucking idiotically wishing that his mutation were different in some small ways. That he could enjoy food, or music, or warmth. The desire went as suddenly as it came. It was wishful thinking, and he was the way he was for a reason. He was supposed to be a weapon, and little else.
But right then, he found himself wishing for something even more stupid. He found himself wishing that his senses were less enhanced. That he wasn't aware of Bolton working out a few feet away, as aware of him as if he were watching him. He knew exactly how much he was pulling down - and that he could've gone even further. Further still, actually, if he just soaked in more sun.
He resisted the urge for as long as he could, but Shaw was fucking right, and it annoyed him to have to admit it, even to himself. Talking to him might be a good option.
"Why do you do that?" he asked, after stopping the bag from swinging and turning back around to face the boy on the machine. "Work out. More exposure to the sun would increase your strength more efficiently."
Just because he'd decided to talk to him didn't mean he was going to talk about the stupid stuff most kids talked about. He wouldn't even know where to start. But he could talk about what his senses could make of Bolton's mutation, based on what he had picked up from Cherub and Lucy in the Sky before now.
"Because I don't do it to increase my strength." Startled into honesty, Paul let the weights drop back to meet with a soft chink of metal on metal, and turned to find the boy watching him. Which, okay, slightly creepy, definitely unsettling, especially as he'd been doing his best not to watch in the mirror. Sure, he'd been aware of the steady rhythm of fists hitting the bag, and maybe, just maybe, he'd been using it to pace the pattern of his pull-downs, but he'd been trying hard not to watch, keeping his focus on his own posture and making sure every movement was even. "Wait, how do you know about the sun?"
"Enhanced senses," Midnighter replied without missing a beat. This was an easy conversation to have, compared with whatever bullshit Shaw would have recommended they talked about. "Why do you do it, then?"
He wondered if it was like him, with the katas. Nothing that would help him improve his fighting, and no longer something he needed to do to get a good enough handle on his body and what it could do. Now he went through them like other people did yoga. They settled him down, gave his mind something to focus on that wasn't how to respond to his environment.
"Why does it matter?" Paul rolled his shoulders back, linked his hands behind him, and stretched, pulling back to open up his chest. "I do it."
And why it mattered to some stranger, he had no idea.
"Curious," Midnighter answered, but he got the message to mind his own business loud and clear. His lips thinned into an unhappy line for a second, and he turned back to his punching bag. That would teach him to try and get to know someone, like he was just one of the kids. It pained him to admit, but Shaw was right; he had no fucking idea how to do this. And it was probably better that way.
Paul released the stretch, and linked his hands in front of him, stretching his shoulders instead. Probably didn't need to stretch, but it was as much habit as the rest. "It's familiar," he said eventually, once he'd counted to twenty in his head and relaxed again. "Used to do it a lot at my last school, and now I just... I don't sleep any more. Still need to work off some of the energy."
Midnighter caught the bag with an open hand the second the other kid spoke up. There really was no point kidding himself about how much he wanted to talk to him. Wanted to know more about him. He'd turned to face him again by the time he was done explaining, and he nodded in understanding, or something close enough to it. Not quite what katas were to him, then. More like what this was to him, without being quite as efficient in terms of muscle mass. "I get that." A small tilt of his head indicated the bag behind him, and his tone was as wry as could be. "Obviously."
"You don't sleep?" Logically, Paul supposed, there had to be others, but he'd never considered it. It was rare he came across anyone else after lights-out, but maybe they were just better at keeping in their rooms, or working on homework. Or possibly even invisible. He was beginning to learn not to rule any of the possibilities out. "But your roommate does?"
"Stark tends to sleep in his lab," Midnighter answered with a half shrug. "I don't need much." A few hours every few weeks, but he saw no reason to go into specifics. "But staying cooped up in the room doesn't sound very appealing." Whether Stark was around or not.
"Gets old fast," Paul agreed easily, standing up from the bench and resetting the weights back to something a standard human could use. Everyone would have their own settings, but leaving it as high as he needed was a dick move, just meant it took longer for whoever was next to set it up. "I'm Paul."
A talk that went on that long and involved talk of old schools seemed like it needed names.
"Midnighter," he replied, making no move to offer a hand. For once, he wanted to, but he curbed the urge, and waited to see what Paul would make of the lack of a regular name. To him, it was a reminder that they were different, Paul a real person, Midnighter little more than a weapon.
Paul nodded. Odd name, definitely, unusual name, but it wasn't the first time he'd met someone who went by a different name than the one they'd been given at birth. At least, he was assuming that the guy's birth certificate didn't say Midnighter. "Guess we're in your time now, then."
"Something like it," Midnighter agreed, and appreciated the lack of questions. He would've answered them, and probably with less reluctance than he usually did, but it was still fucking nice, for a change. But he was crap at making conversation, and Paul's easy acceptance of his name didn't mean that he was going to forget what it underlined. "Don't let me keep you," he added, nodding at the machines. He assumed that Paul had come here for more than a couple minutes' worth of pull-downs, after all. At least his muscles didn't risk cooling down, that much was fucking obvious.
Didn't cool down, didn't get sore. Didn't even get tired, until he was close to the end of his strength, and a few hours after sunset wasn't enough for that. Paul moved across to the chest press, loading the weights and bending to adjust the height of the seat. "Or you. Looked like you had a few things to work through with that bag."
Midnighter had kept himself, manner of speaking. He glanced at the bag, pursed his lips in a thin line, then answered, "Not really." It was more of a constant state of being than a few things he needed to work out, after all. "I'm always like that." Might as well get that out of the way.
"Always?" Paul's eyebrows raised as he settled on the seat, reaching back to bring the pads forwards. "Then why bother taking it out on the bag?"
"You don't wanna see me when I don't take it out on something," Midnighter replied evenly, turning back toward the bag. Better something than someone, too, or at least anyone around school. There were plenty of assholes out there he was certain deserved it more than the fucking bag.
"Don't know that until I have," he pointed out mildly, and adjusted his posture, steady and solid, starting to work the pads, keeping his elbows level.
Midnighter wasn't sure what he could reply to that, other than saying nobody in their right mind would, but as Paul started working out again, he figured not saying anything was the right course of action. He went back to what he did best: violence, the sound of flesh hitting leather drowning out the noises of the machine Paul was working on as he laid into the bag once again.
Three sets later, Paul let the pads fall back and the weights meet again, leaning forwards to pull his shoulders in against the low buzz in his muscles. Didn't need to keep watching Midnighter, really. It wasn't even direct line of sight. There was no reason for his eyes to keep going back to the way Midnighter kept pounding on that bag, or the way it made his muscles work under that shirt and wow, there was a thought he hadn't expected to have. "You ever try that against a person?"
Again, Midnighter caught the bag, steadying it as he stopped punching it. Tried what, exactly? Fighting, yes. Pounding into them like this? Fuck no. Either it would've killed them - most people - or it would've been useless - Braddock and Crawley. And his brain didn't like to present him with useless scenarios, as it turned out. "Not like this, no." He turned sideways, so that he could look at Bolton - Paul - by turning his head. Couldn't help it, really. "I can restrain myself. Wanna go?" The offer was out before he could help it, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He didn't even fucking know if the guy could fight, except for the way he moved. Almost military, sometimes, not unlike Midnighter himself.
"Why would you restrain yourself?" He leaned further, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm stronger than human, and anything else I can heal." Faster, once the sun came up. Didn't know how much power Midnighter could send his way, but one thing about not being tied to gravity was that he tended to fly instead of falling. It lessened the weight of most things that hit him.
"We'll see," Midnighter replied non-committally. He knew some of the guy's weaknesses, but he had no precise stats on him - yet. Maybe Paul was right, and there was nothing Midnighter could do that he couldn't heal (not that it meant that he wanted to hurt him that much, necessarily), but maybe he wasn't, and Midnighter wouldn't take that chance. He would know, first. "That a yes?"
"It's a let's try." Probably a stupid idea, since he'd seen how hard Midnighter was going at that bag, but the idea of sparring against someone instead of working through resistance on impersonal machines was definitely appealing, spark of adrenaline already pulsing through him. "Unless you're really scared of hurting me."
"Wouldn't offer if I was," Midnighter simply answered, headed over to the mats. Most people, he would've offered they warm up first; not exactly an issue for Paul. And no, Midnighter wasn't scared of hurting him; he'd been sparring with people he could hurt a lot more easily than Paul, and they were fine. He could restrain himself by now.
Paul stretched up for a moment, easing his shoulders back to loose, and followed across to the mats, toeing his sneakers off and bending to pull off his socks. Easier to keep his balance barefoot, and it wasn't like his feet were going to get cold. "Limits?"
"Nope," Midnighter answered. If the guy could pull one over him, he wanted him to, whatever the 'one' in question might be. "You?" He was still wearing his boots, and would take them off if Paul wanted, but he wasn't even sure that he could kick him hard enough to break anything - apart from his eardrums, maybe - and he had no intention of trying to find out.
"Stay away from my eyes," Paul said, after a moment's consideration. Usually he'd specify his face, but he was pretty confident that could heal, too. Plus it was stronger than he was used to. "Please."
"Sure," Midnighter agreed with a simple nod. Not a target area he would've gone for, anyway, not in a spar. And he realized, after a couple seconds, that of course he had been staring at Paul's eyes, the gold specks in the blue. He blinked, and wondered whether his brain would let him get distracted during a spar. "Anything else?"
Paul hesitated a moment longer, bending low to free his hips. "How much do you know about what I am? What I can do?"
"Solar energy absorption and conversion," Midnighter answered, listing the facts he had gathered on the guy. Most of it he had recognized immediately, from having seen it in Cherub and Lucy. But there were differences. "It's your only source of energy." No need for food or water, not even any need for oxygen, if his readings were right. "Enough of it means superhuman strength, endurance, healing. And you walk a lot more than you have to." At all.
He nodded slowly, not quite sure where Midnighter was getting that much information from. "Sometimes I run."
"Sometimes you run," Midnighter echoed, and agreed, and appreciated the line. It wasn't often he liked people's humor. Or even understood it. Time for the usual disclaimer, though. "My brain's constantly listing fighting scenarios. Ways to take people out. And I have the physical enhancements to follow them through. I don't lose control anymore, but if I do, get the fuck away as fast as you can." He didn't want Paul to have to heal damage Midnighter had done. "Still wanna?" Wouldn't be surprised if Paul changed his mind. It was the point of the disclaimer, after all.
"Yes," he said, without hesitation, and with a slow, slightly feral grin. Physical enhancements sounded like he wasn't going to have to hold back either, though that didn't mean he wouldn't be cautious until he'd found some of those limits. "Pretty sure you can't stop me getting away if I need to. How's your healing? Another of those enhancements?"
"Yeah," Midnighter confirmed with a nod, and really liked that grin. Wanted to see more of it. Fuck, but that kid was beautiful. "Don't hold back." Fucking please don't hold back; he could use a challenging spar, and he hadn't had a really satisfying one since Shatterstar.
"So if I drop you..." Physically drop. From a height. Not just down to the mat, though he wasn't ruling that out as any kind of possibility. Enhanced strength meant Midnighter could probably avoid broken bones, but it still wouldn't be without risk. At least, he was guessing it wouldn't be.
"Reinforced skeleton, enhanced strength," Midnighter replied, even as his brain gave him the stats on how high he would have to be dropped from to risk injury. "Ceiling isn't high enough that you could harm me."
Distance, though. Distance for a few seconds and if he needed it to get away, he'd be able to use it. As long as Midnighter wasn't clinging onto him for... not something he wanted to think about, crap, those were thoughts that he wasn't expecting and didn't want to deal with, pushed ruthlessly away and suppressed. "Then why are we still wasting time talking?"
"We're not," Midnighter replied, and moved in for a first attack, using more of his speed than he would've with most people. Didn't want Paul to have the time to fly out of reach; being able to fly above your opponent was a hell of a tactical advantage, and the less Midnighter let him have it, the happier his brain would be.
Didn't have time to fly, but that still wasn't Paul's first instinct. His first instinct was the one he'd trained in for years, moving to block and glorying in not needing to slow the movement down, pushing in to press his bodyweight in against Midnighter in at attempt to push him back.
Scenarios filing through his mind and Midnighter chose one of the easiest, encouraging Paul's momentum and sidestepping with his actual speed to get to his unprotected back, strike there. There was already a small grim-looking smile on his lips, for how satisfying it felt to only restrain himself in terms of what scenario to pick, and not of his enhancements.
Harder and heavier than any blow that Paul had felt for several months, enough to push his breath out in a sharp, soft sound, but he didn't need breath, and he didn't need balance. The impetus of the strike lifted him from the mats and all he needed to do was tuck his knees up to keep his feet from catching on the ground, jacknifing his legs straight to push up higher.
Midnighter's fingers wrapped around Paul's ankle while he was still within reach, and he pulled down, hard, very aware of the thousands of different scenarios that could result from his action, depending how the guy reacted.
Gravity didn't have the pull on Paul that it had on most people - most objects, as well - but the pull was still hard enough to drop him to the mat, breathless with giddy laughter, instinct bringing his free leg back to kick out at Midnighter's shoulder, trying to free himself from that hold. Couldn't go anywhere or move far as long as Midnighter had his ankle trapped, wasn't close enough in to wrestle, so his first priority was getting loose.
Instead of trying to evade or block the kick, Midnighter took it, moving his shoulder slightly as it connected to lessen the impact. He knew the damage it had just done, minimal, but enough that if he could feel pain, he would have. He let go of Paul's ankle because he liked those scenarios better, for a spar.
Midnighter letting go meant that Paul's kick out pushed Paul back, letting the impetus twist him up, back to his feet, both of them planted firmly on the mat again, half a heartbeat to balance again, defence up automatically. "Still scared of breaking me?"
"Still think I couldn't stop you getting away?" Midnighter shot back, darkly, and was moving again, because fighting on was the best answer to both those questions, the way he saw it. Besides, if he stopped then he might let himself get distracted by the guy again. At least in the middle of fighting, he was too focused on scenarios for his brain to wander in that direction.
The punch he aimed at Paul was easy to block, and he fully expected him to. But he didn't count on it, either. The beautiful thing with his brain was that he didn't have to count on anything. He was ready for all the possibilities.
"Still think you can't stop me getting away and do serious damage at the same time." Which was what mattered, if safety was going to be an actual concern. That, and a hold on his ankle didn't actually stop him heading into the air, if he had time to remember that was a thing he could do.
What he could do was block that punch, aiming one of his own towards Midnighter's ribs. Midnighter might be enhanced, but he hadn't mentioned not needing to breathe.
Midnighter hadn't mentioned most of his enhancements, but he did in fact need to breathe. Just not as often as most people. He blocked his breath and let the punch connect, making the most of the overture it gave him, at close quarters now, to aim a solid punch at Paul's jaw before he had time to pull back, or follow up.
Before he had time to block, either, the force of the punch rocking Paul back and off his feet again, just a few inches above the ground, body beginning to learn that it was easier to lift his feet and let the air take him instead of resisting the force of it. New tactic, then, since he was well clear of the mats, and that was to go up, halfway to the ceiling, hopefully out of reach as he rubbed at his jaw. "Nice right cross."
Midnighter smiled at up Paul up there by the ceiling. It wasn't a very nice smile at all, just a thin curl of his lips, but it was there. Paul was learning. "You got a codename?" he asked, looking up at him, ready for whichever his next move might be.
Didn't need to be a nice smile, it was startling enough to see any kind of smile and learning was the point of sparring. Better with someone who could match his speed and didn't try to hold back, too.
"Didn't ask you for any other name," he pointed out, and flipped, reversed, gaining speed as he headed back down, feet aimed at Midnighter's back.
"Couldn't give you one if you did," was an answer in itself, the smile making another brief appearance before he picked which scenario to go with, turning around at the last second to sidestep and put all of his strength into the punch aimed at Paul's midsection.
"Neither could I," Paul countered, breathless because he might not need to breathe but speech still needed air and his reaction had been fast enough to avoid most of the force of that punch but not all of it, twisting to aim under Midnighter's arm to drive a fist towards his side.
Midnighter's arm came down, making sure that the blow glanced off of his ribs with less force than intended - because he wanted the air to speak, too. "Stuck for inspiration?" he asked, immediately following it up with another punch, knee coming up to catch Paul's side before it even connected.
Which meant Paul was caught between the fist and the knee, breathless and sore and warm with something close to admiration as he pulled away, easier to regain his balance in the air. "Some guy called me a plant?" he offered.
"Way better than a plant," Midnighter remarked gruffly, shifting his weight back, ready for the next attack. Way better on every level, photosynthesis or not. Fuck whoever that guy was, not knowing any better than that.
If that hadn't been an attack, it was definitely as startling as one. Paul dropped to the ground, knees bent, feet wide to brace, and tried hard not to stare at the compliment. "Better?"
"Never met a plant that gave me a good workout," Midnighter pointed out, because fuck if he was going to say something as cheesy as 'you're way closer to a god than a plant', even if it was what went through his mind. Instead, he made the most of Paul's currently floor-grounded status and moved in for another attack.
Habit was the sole reason that Paul moved back across the mat instead of leaving the ground again, shifting his weight to block that attack, balance pressing forward. "Careful, that sounded like a compliment."
"You could just fucking take it," Midnighter pointed out, relishing once again the way that he couldn't use Paul's weight against him the way he would with people who had a more normal relationship with gravity. Instead, he kept striking out, forcing him to stay on the defensive as much as possible, unable to take off without at least a couple of Midnighter's strikes connecting.
"The compliment or the beating?" Paul managed a breathless grin, and yeah, Midnighter was getting the better of him, but not by much. Enough that more of Midnighter's punches were landing than his, but he was still managing a few solid kicks and learning how to use flight as an advantage.
"You figure it out," Midnighter replied, deciding to (ignore how fucking bright that smile looked) step it up a notch. He faked a punch and grabbed a hold of Paul's arm when he moved to block it, holding on tight and keeping Paul in place as he aimed a punch at his jaw with his other hand. He was ready to segue into the next move if Paul managed to block that - and looking forward to finding out whether he would.
Couldn't block it, could ride it, flipping up from the floor to twist his arm, not pulling out of Midnighter's grip but using it as a pivot point, bringing both feet up to drive towards Midnighter's chest. "Never was good at taking a beating."
This was fucking amazing. Midnighter's brain was pushing forward specific scenarios as soon as Paul began to rotate, and he had moved out of the way before he was in a position to kick at him, pulling hard on their linked arms to jar him out of his planned alignment - and land another solid punch in his side, while he was at it. "Wouldn't be complimenting you if you were."
Paul went with the pull and stopped trying to pull away, moving in instead and wrapping his legs tight around Midnighter's waist. "Should I be flattered?"
For a split second, Midnighter couldn't even pay attention to his brain anymore. Something odd, unexpected burst in his lungs - nothing physical, or he could have identified it - and traveled down his spine. But then he was back to himself, or worse than; his brain hated the physical proximity, the ongoing contact, the fucking vulnerability. The only way out was to make the most of it, and he twisted and dropped, trapping Paul between his body and the floor, and suddenly breathing hard - not because of physical exertion, but because of how hard he had to work not to let go, not to follow the most damaging scenarios his brain could come up with, his entire body tense.
He wasn't trying hard to get away, but there was no way to miss how tense Midnighter had gone. Paul dropped back, stayed still, and watched carefully, free arm stretched out, palm up. "Tell me."
Midnighter didn't say anything for a few long seconds, just focusing on keeping himself under control. Then he moved, quickly, letting go of Paul and off of him, onto his feet. Even in his haste, his movements seemed controlled, efficient, but he knew better. He was standing a few feet (3'11) from the other kid, and he almost spoke up, but then thought better of it, and took another step back before he did, glaring at the floor instead of looking at Paul, his words clipped, his voice almost a growl. "Too much of a threat. I couldn't see the easier scenarios anymore." He was so fucking angry. At himself.
Nodding slowly, Paul pushed up to his elbows, careful not to look like a threat. "You know, I think that's another compliment."
Midnighter's jaw clenched. He headed off, towards the punching bag, and punched it with enough force that it landed a few feet away, crumpling sadly on the floor. Midnighter felt marginally better - safe enough to turn back around and look at Paul, anyway, when he was all the way over there. "You're getting better at it." Taking fucking compliments, even when they were unintended. That didn't make them any less real.
"I'm not the only one." He sat up, knees drawing up, folding his arms over his knees, watching Midnighter. The flying punchbag didn't even make him flinch, didn't look to see where it landed, confident that it wasn't going to be on him. "Haven't had a workout like that since all this started."
Midnighter eased down into a crouch, so he was at eye level with Paul, but he could still move quickly and efficiently in case of a sudden threat. "It's what I do." It was what he was; this certainly had served to remind him. "I should've known. That something like that would set me off." It made perfect sense.
"Good or bad?" Not moving off his ass. It gave him a disadvantage, meant he'd be slower to move if he needed to, but he was hoping that looking unthreatening would mean that he didn't need to.
"I managed not to go there," Midnighter replied evenly, after a few seconds' silence. "Could've been worse." It would give him something new to work on. He wasn't sure how, but he needed to get this under control, as he had the rest.
Paul nodded, not moving any other way. "Something you need to avoid, or something you need to keep doing?"
"I can't get it under control if I avoid it," Midnighter replied, forcing himself not to look away, for once. He couldn't ask for something like that. He barely knew him, and it was fucking dangerous, in a much more certain way than simply sparring with him.
"Want to do this again, then?" It was a slightly tentative offer, mostly because he didn't know how it would be taken, but he'd been telling the truth. No one had made him work so hard at sparring since he'd started flying.
"I wanna," Midnighter confirmed, surprised by the tug of something in his stomach, how much he wanted to. But he knew better. "But I need to work on that response, first." He couldn't spar with Paul the way he wanted to with that fucking sword of Damocles dangling so precariously over his head - their heads.
Paul nodded again, more slowly. "Do you know what triggered it?" Because if Midnighter knew, he could avoid whatever it was, until Midnighter was ready to confront it. Not just because he wasn't sure why he didn't want to wait an uncertain amount of time before trying this again.
"Proximity," Midnighter replied, without a shadow of a doubt. He had been running scenarios ever since, and he knew just what had triggered that response from him. "Combined with how dangerous you are." Could be. Whatever.
"I can't be less dangerous," Paul said simply, though it wasn't a great feeling to be that much of a threat to anyone. Anything. "I can stay further away, if that would help. The full body contact did it, right?"
"Yeah," Midnighter confirmed, through clenched teeth. "But avoiding it won't help me control it." Fuck. He was going to ask after all, wasn't he. "I need to learn to work through it. In controlled circumstances, at first."
"Avoiding it won't," Paul agreed steadily. "But we can work out if it's specific to me and how dangerous you think I am, or if it's specific to the proximity, and maybe you don't have to try to work through both things at the same time."
"How dangerous I know you are," Midnighter replied, and pushed to his feet, slowly, before taking a few steps away. A lot of his senses trained on Paul, even if he wasn't looking at him anymore; it wasn't as if he could help it, even if he had wanted to. "The scenarios wouldn't have escalated if you didn't present such a threat. I could work through the proximity with a baseline human." It wouldn't be easy, but he could. He had run the scenarios on that already. "And with a lot of mutants." Not all of them, though, clearly. Shatterstar would also have been an issue, if it had come up during their spar.
"So you don't have to do both at once." Paul rolled his weight to one hip, tucking his legs to the side, one hand pressed to the mat beside him. "And we can try out something where I keep further away from you. See if that triggers your thing again. Not just us, I mean, there's gotta be someone who's dealt with stuff like this who can help out, right?"
Midnighter wasn't sure that there was. Talon and Shatterstar were his best bets, although with either of them, he wasn't sure the cause would be their mutation. Just... life. "I'm the only one with a brain like this."
"Then are there people that your brain would be okay with helping me get away if you got triggered?" he asked, following the logic. Not to take Midnighter down, not to control him, just to get him away to a safe distance where he wasn't a threat.
"No," Midnighter replied, without the shadow of a doubt. Until the threat was no longer so high-level, his brain would not be okay with anyone coming close. "Anyone coming close would just add to the threat. The scenarios would get worse. I have to learn to function past them." As he had from the start. He thought he had gotten it under control, but it turned out he just hadn't been in a threatening enough situation.
"Right." Paul nodded, considering. "So what do I need to do to not be a threat, if that happens?"
"Get the fuck away if you have an immediate way out," Midnighter replied, but that was an unlikely option. There were scenarios, but not many, compared to the rest of them. "Otherwise, stay still." Like he had. Good response, and thank fuck. This could've gotten ugly.
Which was why he was going to ask, because Paul apparently wanted to continue sparring, and that meant that Midnighter had to make it as safe as possible. "We could train me, before we spar. With you in my space, outside of a fight. Try and get me used to it." He wasn't sure he would ever be used to having someone in his space, but he could get used to the force of the responses his brain demanded he had, at least. Make them easier to ignore, when he wanted.
If there was a way out, he'd take it, because there was no chance that Paul would miss that much of a change in Midnighter's attitude. He was more focused on what he'd need to do if he couldn't get out and get away, but if having more people around would make it worse, he wasn't going to suggest it again. "When you're expecting it, you mean? Or just... randomly? Like in the corridors."
"Not in the corridors," Midnighter replied immediately. "You're difficult to hurt. Not everybody is." Braddock had been reaching out to him in the corridors, but Braddock didn't fight like Paul did. Braddock didn't trigger those kinds of scenarios, perhaps also because Midnighter couldn't get through his shield. Those kinds of scenarios would have been pointless.
Besides, if he was honest with himself (and he tended to be), Midnighter didn't want to be letting Paul into his space in front of people. He barely wanted to do it in private, just because he never wanted to let anybody into his space, but out there, in front of people? No fucking way. Shaw would never leave him alone, for one thing.
"Makes sense." And was something that Paul hadn't thought of. Still learning, and he'd not forget again. He didn't mind putting himself at risk, especially when it was a reduced risk compared to a year ago, but he wouldn't put anyone else at risk without a damn good reason. Since it was avoidable here, he'd take one of the alternatives. "Where's gonna work, then?"
"Here's good enough for me," Midnighter replied, because the location mattered less than the circumstances. Since Paul didn't need to sleep, the right circumstances were easy enough to find.
The gym. It worked. Plenty of mats around, if they needed them, and not many other people, at least at night. Paul looked at Midnighter for a moment, long moment, trying to think it through, then gave up and simply nodded. "All right. But no more tonight."
Midnighter simply nodded; it was a hell of a favor Paul was agreeing to do for him. Whatever worked for him, really. It was a hell of a favor, so it warranted a, "Thanks."
"Any time." It wasn't - exactly - a pleasure, and it definitely wasn't no problem, but it was something he was easily willing to do. Not a hardship, to be sure. "Just don't want to push it when you're already on edge."
"Probably a smart move," Midnighter agreed. He would never have paused to consider his emotional state, but now that Paul had, he had to admit that it made sense.
Emotional or not, Midnighter's reactions had already been triggered once, and it had to be easier to trigger again that soon after. "Tomorrow, then. Unless you've got plans."
"Tomorrow," Midnighter confirmed. He rarely had plans at night, even now that he was sparring with Shatterstar. But he had to admit - at least to himself - that he liked the thought of seeing Paul again the next night.
He was a fucking idiot.
"Tomorrow," Paul repeated, grinned, and held his hand out, palm up, unmistakably an offer and not a threat. "For tonight, want me to get out of your hair so you can work it off?"
For him, the gym wasn't going to be enough any more. Not that time.
It was just a hand, but right then, it mattered a lot to Midnighter, in part because of that fucking beautiful smile. How could he smile about something so grim as what he had agreed to? But that hand... It was a challenge Midnighter set himself, and he ignored Paul's words for now. He just focused, and moved. Stepped closer, looked up from Paul's hand to his eyes, and put his in it for a steady shake. "I'll go for a run," he answered his words at last, "leave you to it."
It made more sense, or so it seemed to him. He'd steer clear of Laura's area of the grounds, in case she was outside, and try and burn it all off with some steady, intense effort.
Paul curled his fingers around Midnighter's hand, staying light, warmth of the contact spreading in a low, pleased buzz, but never a tight grip. Never anything that might suggest challenge or threat or trap. "I'm probably heading out," he admitted, not letting go of the hand. "Need to fly and let some of this go before I head back and disturb Cal."
And Cal would definitely be disturbed if Paul went back as restless as he'd headed out. Maybe more so.
Cal - one of the new kids, mimic. Midnighter had been steering clear of him. He didn't want another one of him out there. Probably Paul's roommate. Benefit of having Stark as a roommate (beside the state of the art laptop he'd put together for Midnighter for no fucking reason he could figure out), he rarely was in their room at all.
But it was difficult to focus on any of that when Paul was holding his hand. It had gone from a challenge Midnighter had met to something else, for all that his mind was still listing scenarios. The prolonged touch seemed to spread diffuse warmth through his lungs in a way he was unaccustomed to. At least, he assumed that it was warmth. He pulled his hand back, resisted the unnecessary urge to clear his throat. "Alright," he simply stated, and forced himself to step back.
"Alright," Paul repeated. Shouldn't have felt like that much for Midnighter to let go of his hand, but it had, and fuck, that was weird. Unexpected. Different. He curled his fingers, not a fist, but not as open, and let his arm drop back to his side. "I'll keep clear if I see you running."
Just for... privacy. Really. And safety stuff. Not being a threat.
"You don't have to," Midnighter assured him. Because he didn't, because it would be better training for Midnighter if he didn't. Because Midnighter didn't exactly want him to keep clear.
"I'm not gonna divebomb you," he said wryly. "Not tonight, anyway." Not when Midnighter had to be on edge already. Not when that could definitely be interpreted as a threat.
"Pretty sure there's a middle ground there somewhere," Midnighter pointed out, sounding wry and being amused. The corner of his lips might even have raised into a hint of something.
Hint of something kind of nice. "Well, I'm not gonna come down and land by you." Or anything like that, really. Not that night. Just needed to get out and feel the space and wow, that was a new feeling.
"I'll see you tomorrow, anyway," Midnighter replied, then realized how it might have sounded, and decided not to care. Yeah, he was looking forward to it, despite what it would entail. So what if Paul figured that out.
"Tomorrow," Paul confirmed, with a slow, warm smile, and managed to stay on the ground - more or less - until he found the nearest way out and launched himself up into the night sky, resisting the urge to yell out inexplicable exhilaration.
Just because Midnighter now had reasonable control over his reactions did not mean that he felt any more restful during the long hours of the night when he mostly didn't need to sleep. On the contrary. Keeping such a tight leash on himself kept him on edge, and laying into something without restraint was something that he felt helped him feel a little more at ease with himself.
So he still regularly found himself in the gym at night, when it was, most of the time, otherwise deserted, punching away into the bag intended for bricks. If it held out for Braddock and Lil, it would hold out for him, at least for now. He was dressed in a grey tank top, black fatigues and combat boots, without an abandoned hoodie or sweater in sight despite the persistent chill in the air. The punching bag was taking his assault with minimal protest for now, and he stopped holding back at all, going at it quickly and strongly enough that he even began to break into a sweat, for a change.
Paul had discovered that he could sleep, but he didn't need to. Nights found him restless more often than not, and he tried to keep clear of his room so that Cal could still sleep and not be in danger of accidentally picking up on Paul's powers while he was unconscious. There weren't too many places to go at night, and he tried to stay inside the school buildings instead of going out into the grounds, not sure about overnight security patrols.
The library couldn't hold his attention for long. He tugged sweats from his bag, tucking his books back in, and kicked the bag absently under a bench in the changing rooms, heading through to the gym in hope of finding some release in working out. It wasn't empty, though. Not this time. Someone else was already in there, going at the punching bag like they had a personal grudge against it.
Midnighter was aware that somebody was coming long before they even hit the changing room. When they did, he became aware of exactly who it was. He forced himself not to think back to his conversation with Shaw and was only partly successful, a fact that lent a new, frustrated energy to his punches.
He caught the punching bag, which had begun to sway dangerously, with one hand when the other kid walked into the gym, and just looked over his shoulder to say, evenly, "Hey."
The other boy didn't have to know that he never really said hi to anyone.
"Hey," Paul returned, cautious, and nodded towards the punching bag the boy was holding.
The boy who was apparently one hell of a lot stronger than Paul had expected from his build, even taking into account the amount of lean muscle he was carrying and it was probably not a great idea to linger on thoughts of those muscles. "Don't let me interrupt. Looked like you were winning."
"Really not," Midnighter muttered under his breath. After a beat, he forced himself to look the fuck away and turn back to the punching bag. Occasionally catching himself staring at the guy when he wasn't looking was one thing, but consciously staring at him while he was? Fuck no, Midnighter refused to be that far gone.
He shoved the thoughts out of his mind, raised his fists, and started laying into the bag again.
The punching bag definitely wasn't winning, so if the boy wasn't, Paul had no idea who was. He moved warily past the mats, over to the resistance machines, piling up the weight until he could feel it, and started on a series of pull-downs, focusing on keeping the movement even and his breath steady.
And his back to the punching, although the fact that the walls were mirrored wasn't helping with not watching it happening.
Once in a while, Midnighter caught himself fucking idiotically wishing that his mutation were different in some small ways. That he could enjoy food, or music, or warmth. The desire went as suddenly as it came. It was wishful thinking, and he was the way he was for a reason. He was supposed to be a weapon, and little else.
But right then, he found himself wishing for something even more stupid. He found himself wishing that his senses were less enhanced. That he wasn't aware of Bolton working out a few feet away, as aware of him as if he were watching him. He knew exactly how much he was pulling down - and that he could've gone even further. Further still, actually, if he just soaked in more sun.
He resisted the urge for as long as he could, but Shaw was fucking right, and it annoyed him to have to admit it, even to himself. Talking to him might be a good option.
"Why do you do that?" he asked, after stopping the bag from swinging and turning back around to face the boy on the machine. "Work out. More exposure to the sun would increase your strength more efficiently."
Just because he'd decided to talk to him didn't mean he was going to talk about the stupid stuff most kids talked about. He wouldn't even know where to start. But he could talk about what his senses could make of Bolton's mutation, based on what he had picked up from Cherub and Lucy in the Sky before now.
"Because I don't do it to increase my strength." Startled into honesty, Paul let the weights drop back to meet with a soft chink of metal on metal, and turned to find the boy watching him. Which, okay, slightly creepy, definitely unsettling, especially as he'd been doing his best not to watch in the mirror. Sure, he'd been aware of the steady rhythm of fists hitting the bag, and maybe, just maybe, he'd been using it to pace the pattern of his pull-downs, but he'd been trying hard not to watch, keeping his focus on his own posture and making sure every movement was even. "Wait, how do you know about the sun?"
"Enhanced senses," Midnighter replied without missing a beat. This was an easy conversation to have, compared with whatever bullshit Shaw would have recommended they talked about. "Why do you do it, then?"
He wondered if it was like him, with the katas. Nothing that would help him improve his fighting, and no longer something he needed to do to get a good enough handle on his body and what it could do. Now he went through them like other people did yoga. They settled him down, gave his mind something to focus on that wasn't how to respond to his environment.
"Why does it matter?" Paul rolled his shoulders back, linked his hands behind him, and stretched, pulling back to open up his chest. "I do it."
And why it mattered to some stranger, he had no idea.
"Curious," Midnighter answered, but he got the message to mind his own business loud and clear. His lips thinned into an unhappy line for a second, and he turned back to his punching bag. That would teach him to try and get to know someone, like he was just one of the kids. It pained him to admit, but Shaw was right; he had no fucking idea how to do this. And it was probably better that way.
Paul released the stretch, and linked his hands in front of him, stretching his shoulders instead. Probably didn't need to stretch, but it was as much habit as the rest. "It's familiar," he said eventually, once he'd counted to twenty in his head and relaxed again. "Used to do it a lot at my last school, and now I just... I don't sleep any more. Still need to work off some of the energy."
Midnighter caught the bag with an open hand the second the other kid spoke up. There really was no point kidding himself about how much he wanted to talk to him. Wanted to know more about him. He'd turned to face him again by the time he was done explaining, and he nodded in understanding, or something close enough to it. Not quite what katas were to him, then. More like what this was to him, without being quite as efficient in terms of muscle mass. "I get that." A small tilt of his head indicated the bag behind him, and his tone was as wry as could be. "Obviously."
"You don't sleep?" Logically, Paul supposed, there had to be others, but he'd never considered it. It was rare he came across anyone else after lights-out, but maybe they were just better at keeping in their rooms, or working on homework. Or possibly even invisible. He was beginning to learn not to rule any of the possibilities out. "But your roommate does?"
"Stark tends to sleep in his lab," Midnighter answered with a half shrug. "I don't need much." A few hours every few weeks, but he saw no reason to go into specifics. "But staying cooped up in the room doesn't sound very appealing." Whether Stark was around or not.
"Gets old fast," Paul agreed easily, standing up from the bench and resetting the weights back to something a standard human could use. Everyone would have their own settings, but leaving it as high as he needed was a dick move, just meant it took longer for whoever was next to set it up. "I'm Paul."
A talk that went on that long and involved talk of old schools seemed like it needed names.
"Midnighter," he replied, making no move to offer a hand. For once, he wanted to, but he curbed the urge, and waited to see what Paul would make of the lack of a regular name. To him, it was a reminder that they were different, Paul a real person, Midnighter little more than a weapon.
Paul nodded. Odd name, definitely, unusual name, but it wasn't the first time he'd met someone who went by a different name than the one they'd been given at birth. At least, he was assuming that the guy's birth certificate didn't say Midnighter. "Guess we're in your time now, then."
"Something like it," Midnighter agreed, and appreciated the lack of questions. He would've answered them, and probably with less reluctance than he usually did, but it was still fucking nice, for a change. But he was crap at making conversation, and Paul's easy acceptance of his name didn't mean that he was going to forget what it underlined. "Don't let me keep you," he added, nodding at the machines. He assumed that Paul had come here for more than a couple minutes' worth of pull-downs, after all. At least his muscles didn't risk cooling down, that much was fucking obvious.
Didn't cool down, didn't get sore. Didn't even get tired, until he was close to the end of his strength, and a few hours after sunset wasn't enough for that. Paul moved across to the chest press, loading the weights and bending to adjust the height of the seat. "Or you. Looked like you had a few things to work through with that bag."
Midnighter had kept himself, manner of speaking. He glanced at the bag, pursed his lips in a thin line, then answered, "Not really." It was more of a constant state of being than a few things he needed to work out, after all. "I'm always like that." Might as well get that out of the way.
"Always?" Paul's eyebrows raised as he settled on the seat, reaching back to bring the pads forwards. "Then why bother taking it out on the bag?"
"You don't wanna see me when I don't take it out on something," Midnighter replied evenly, turning back toward the bag. Better something than someone, too, or at least anyone around school. There were plenty of assholes out there he was certain deserved it more than the fucking bag.
"Don't know that until I have," he pointed out mildly, and adjusted his posture, steady and solid, starting to work the pads, keeping his elbows level.
Midnighter wasn't sure what he could reply to that, other than saying nobody in their right mind would, but as Paul started working out again, he figured not saying anything was the right course of action. He went back to what he did best: violence, the sound of flesh hitting leather drowning out the noises of the machine Paul was working on as he laid into the bag once again.
Three sets later, Paul let the pads fall back and the weights meet again, leaning forwards to pull his shoulders in against the low buzz in his muscles. Didn't need to keep watching Midnighter, really. It wasn't even direct line of sight. There was no reason for his eyes to keep going back to the way Midnighter kept pounding on that bag, or the way it made his muscles work under that shirt and wow, there was a thought he hadn't expected to have. "You ever try that against a person?"
Again, Midnighter caught the bag, steadying it as he stopped punching it. Tried what, exactly? Fighting, yes. Pounding into them like this? Fuck no. Either it would've killed them - most people - or it would've been useless - Braddock and Crawley. And his brain didn't like to present him with useless scenarios, as it turned out. "Not like this, no." He turned sideways, so that he could look at Bolton - Paul - by turning his head. Couldn't help it, really. "I can restrain myself. Wanna go?" The offer was out before he could help it, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He didn't even fucking know if the guy could fight, except for the way he moved. Almost military, sometimes, not unlike Midnighter himself.
"Why would you restrain yourself?" He leaned further, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm stronger than human, and anything else I can heal." Faster, once the sun came up. Didn't know how much power Midnighter could send his way, but one thing about not being tied to gravity was that he tended to fly instead of falling. It lessened the weight of most things that hit him.
"We'll see," Midnighter replied non-committally. He knew some of the guy's weaknesses, but he had no precise stats on him - yet. Maybe Paul was right, and there was nothing Midnighter could do that he couldn't heal (not that it meant that he wanted to hurt him that much, necessarily), but maybe he wasn't, and Midnighter wouldn't take that chance. He would know, first. "That a yes?"
"It's a let's try." Probably a stupid idea, since he'd seen how hard Midnighter was going at that bag, but the idea of sparring against someone instead of working through resistance on impersonal machines was definitely appealing, spark of adrenaline already pulsing through him. "Unless you're really scared of hurting me."
"Wouldn't offer if I was," Midnighter simply answered, headed over to the mats. Most people, he would've offered they warm up first; not exactly an issue for Paul. And no, Midnighter wasn't scared of hurting him; he'd been sparring with people he could hurt a lot more easily than Paul, and they were fine. He could restrain himself by now.
Paul stretched up for a moment, easing his shoulders back to loose, and followed across to the mats, toeing his sneakers off and bending to pull off his socks. Easier to keep his balance barefoot, and it wasn't like his feet were going to get cold. "Limits?"
"Nope," Midnighter answered. If the guy could pull one over him, he wanted him to, whatever the 'one' in question might be. "You?" He was still wearing his boots, and would take them off if Paul wanted, but he wasn't even sure that he could kick him hard enough to break anything - apart from his eardrums, maybe - and he had no intention of trying to find out.
"Stay away from my eyes," Paul said, after a moment's consideration. Usually he'd specify his face, but he was pretty confident that could heal, too. Plus it was stronger than he was used to. "Please."
"Sure," Midnighter agreed with a simple nod. Not a target area he would've gone for, anyway, not in a spar. And he realized, after a couple seconds, that of course he had been staring at Paul's eyes, the gold specks in the blue. He blinked, and wondered whether his brain would let him get distracted during a spar. "Anything else?"
Paul hesitated a moment longer, bending low to free his hips. "How much do you know about what I am? What I can do?"
"Solar energy absorption and conversion," Midnighter answered, listing the facts he had gathered on the guy. Most of it he had recognized immediately, from having seen it in Cherub and Lucy. But there were differences. "It's your only source of energy." No need for food or water, not even any need for oxygen, if his readings were right. "Enough of it means superhuman strength, endurance, healing. And you walk a lot more than you have to." At all.
He nodded slowly, not quite sure where Midnighter was getting that much information from. "Sometimes I run."
"Sometimes you run," Midnighter echoed, and agreed, and appreciated the line. It wasn't often he liked people's humor. Or even understood it. Time for the usual disclaimer, though. "My brain's constantly listing fighting scenarios. Ways to take people out. And I have the physical enhancements to follow them through. I don't lose control anymore, but if I do, get the fuck away as fast as you can." He didn't want Paul to have to heal damage Midnighter had done. "Still wanna?" Wouldn't be surprised if Paul changed his mind. It was the point of the disclaimer, after all.
"Yes," he said, without hesitation, and with a slow, slightly feral grin. Physical enhancements sounded like he wasn't going to have to hold back either, though that didn't mean he wouldn't be cautious until he'd found some of those limits. "Pretty sure you can't stop me getting away if I need to. How's your healing? Another of those enhancements?"
"Yeah," Midnighter confirmed with a nod, and really liked that grin. Wanted to see more of it. Fuck, but that kid was beautiful. "Don't hold back." Fucking please don't hold back; he could use a challenging spar, and he hadn't had a really satisfying one since Shatterstar.
"So if I drop you..." Physically drop. From a height. Not just down to the mat, though he wasn't ruling that out as any kind of possibility. Enhanced strength meant Midnighter could probably avoid broken bones, but it still wouldn't be without risk. At least, he was guessing it wouldn't be.
"Reinforced skeleton, enhanced strength," Midnighter replied, even as his brain gave him the stats on how high he would have to be dropped from to risk injury. "Ceiling isn't high enough that you could harm me."
Distance, though. Distance for a few seconds and if he needed it to get away, he'd be able to use it. As long as Midnighter wasn't clinging onto him for... not something he wanted to think about, crap, those were thoughts that he wasn't expecting and didn't want to deal with, pushed ruthlessly away and suppressed. "Then why are we still wasting time talking?"
"We're not," Midnighter replied, and moved in for a first attack, using more of his speed than he would've with most people. Didn't want Paul to have the time to fly out of reach; being able to fly above your opponent was a hell of a tactical advantage, and the less Midnighter let him have it, the happier his brain would be.
Didn't have time to fly, but that still wasn't Paul's first instinct. His first instinct was the one he'd trained in for years, moving to block and glorying in not needing to slow the movement down, pushing in to press his bodyweight in against Midnighter in at attempt to push him back.
Scenarios filing through his mind and Midnighter chose one of the easiest, encouraging Paul's momentum and sidestepping with his actual speed to get to his unprotected back, strike there. There was already a small grim-looking smile on his lips, for how satisfying it felt to only restrain himself in terms of what scenario to pick, and not of his enhancements.
Harder and heavier than any blow that Paul had felt for several months, enough to push his breath out in a sharp, soft sound, but he didn't need breath, and he didn't need balance. The impetus of the strike lifted him from the mats and all he needed to do was tuck his knees up to keep his feet from catching on the ground, jacknifing his legs straight to push up higher.
Midnighter's fingers wrapped around Paul's ankle while he was still within reach, and he pulled down, hard, very aware of the thousands of different scenarios that could result from his action, depending how the guy reacted.
Gravity didn't have the pull on Paul that it had on most people - most objects, as well - but the pull was still hard enough to drop him to the mat, breathless with giddy laughter, instinct bringing his free leg back to kick out at Midnighter's shoulder, trying to free himself from that hold. Couldn't go anywhere or move far as long as Midnighter had his ankle trapped, wasn't close enough in to wrestle, so his first priority was getting loose.
Instead of trying to evade or block the kick, Midnighter took it, moving his shoulder slightly as it connected to lessen the impact. He knew the damage it had just done, minimal, but enough that if he could feel pain, he would have. He let go of Paul's ankle because he liked those scenarios better, for a spar.
Midnighter letting go meant that Paul's kick out pushed Paul back, letting the impetus twist him up, back to his feet, both of them planted firmly on the mat again, half a heartbeat to balance again, defence up automatically. "Still scared of breaking me?"
"Still think I couldn't stop you getting away?" Midnighter shot back, darkly, and was moving again, because fighting on was the best answer to both those questions, the way he saw it. Besides, if he stopped then he might let himself get distracted by the guy again. At least in the middle of fighting, he was too focused on scenarios for his brain to wander in that direction.
The punch he aimed at Paul was easy to block, and he fully expected him to. But he didn't count on it, either. The beautiful thing with his brain was that he didn't have to count on anything. He was ready for all the possibilities.
"Still think you can't stop me getting away and do serious damage at the same time." Which was what mattered, if safety was going to be an actual concern. That, and a hold on his ankle didn't actually stop him heading into the air, if he had time to remember that was a thing he could do.
What he could do was block that punch, aiming one of his own towards Midnighter's ribs. Midnighter might be enhanced, but he hadn't mentioned not needing to breathe.
Midnighter hadn't mentioned most of his enhancements, but he did in fact need to breathe. Just not as often as most people. He blocked his breath and let the punch connect, making the most of the overture it gave him, at close quarters now, to aim a solid punch at Paul's jaw before he had time to pull back, or follow up.
Before he had time to block, either, the force of the punch rocking Paul back and off his feet again, just a few inches above the ground, body beginning to learn that it was easier to lift his feet and let the air take him instead of resisting the force of it. New tactic, then, since he was well clear of the mats, and that was to go up, halfway to the ceiling, hopefully out of reach as he rubbed at his jaw. "Nice right cross."
Midnighter smiled at up Paul up there by the ceiling. It wasn't a very nice smile at all, just a thin curl of his lips, but it was there. Paul was learning. "You got a codename?" he asked, looking up at him, ready for whichever his next move might be.
Didn't need to be a nice smile, it was startling enough to see any kind of smile and learning was the point of sparring. Better with someone who could match his speed and didn't try to hold back, too.
"Didn't ask you for any other name," he pointed out, and flipped, reversed, gaining speed as he headed back down, feet aimed at Midnighter's back.
"Couldn't give you one if you did," was an answer in itself, the smile making another brief appearance before he picked which scenario to go with, turning around at the last second to sidestep and put all of his strength into the punch aimed at Paul's midsection.
"Neither could I," Paul countered, breathless because he might not need to breathe but speech still needed air and his reaction had been fast enough to avoid most of the force of that punch but not all of it, twisting to aim under Midnighter's arm to drive a fist towards his side.
Midnighter's arm came down, making sure that the blow glanced off of his ribs with less force than intended - because he wanted the air to speak, too. "Stuck for inspiration?" he asked, immediately following it up with another punch, knee coming up to catch Paul's side before it even connected.
Which meant Paul was caught between the fist and the knee, breathless and sore and warm with something close to admiration as he pulled away, easier to regain his balance in the air. "Some guy called me a plant?" he offered.
"Way better than a plant," Midnighter remarked gruffly, shifting his weight back, ready for the next attack. Way better on every level, photosynthesis or not. Fuck whoever that guy was, not knowing any better than that.
If that hadn't been an attack, it was definitely as startling as one. Paul dropped to the ground, knees bent, feet wide to brace, and tried hard not to stare at the compliment. "Better?"
"Never met a plant that gave me a good workout," Midnighter pointed out, because fuck if he was going to say something as cheesy as 'you're way closer to a god than a plant', even if it was what went through his mind. Instead, he made the most of Paul's currently floor-grounded status and moved in for another attack.
Habit was the sole reason that Paul moved back across the mat instead of leaving the ground again, shifting his weight to block that attack, balance pressing forward. "Careful, that sounded like a compliment."
"You could just fucking take it," Midnighter pointed out, relishing once again the way that he couldn't use Paul's weight against him the way he would with people who had a more normal relationship with gravity. Instead, he kept striking out, forcing him to stay on the defensive as much as possible, unable to take off without at least a couple of Midnighter's strikes connecting.
"The compliment or the beating?" Paul managed a breathless grin, and yeah, Midnighter was getting the better of him, but not by much. Enough that more of Midnighter's punches were landing than his, but he was still managing a few solid kicks and learning how to use flight as an advantage.
"You figure it out," Midnighter replied, deciding to (ignore how fucking bright that smile looked) step it up a notch. He faked a punch and grabbed a hold of Paul's arm when he moved to block it, holding on tight and keeping Paul in place as he aimed a punch at his jaw with his other hand. He was ready to segue into the next move if Paul managed to block that - and looking forward to finding out whether he would.
Couldn't block it, could ride it, flipping up from the floor to twist his arm, not pulling out of Midnighter's grip but using it as a pivot point, bringing both feet up to drive towards Midnighter's chest. "Never was good at taking a beating."
This was fucking amazing. Midnighter's brain was pushing forward specific scenarios as soon as Paul began to rotate, and he had moved out of the way before he was in a position to kick at him, pulling hard on their linked arms to jar him out of his planned alignment - and land another solid punch in his side, while he was at it. "Wouldn't be complimenting you if you were."
Paul went with the pull and stopped trying to pull away, moving in instead and wrapping his legs tight around Midnighter's waist. "Should I be flattered?"
For a split second, Midnighter couldn't even pay attention to his brain anymore. Something odd, unexpected burst in his lungs - nothing physical, or he could have identified it - and traveled down his spine. But then he was back to himself, or worse than; his brain hated the physical proximity, the ongoing contact, the fucking vulnerability. The only way out was to make the most of it, and he twisted and dropped, trapping Paul between his body and the floor, and suddenly breathing hard - not because of physical exertion, but because of how hard he had to work not to let go, not to follow the most damaging scenarios his brain could come up with, his entire body tense.
He wasn't trying hard to get away, but there was no way to miss how tense Midnighter had gone. Paul dropped back, stayed still, and watched carefully, free arm stretched out, palm up. "Tell me."
Midnighter didn't say anything for a few long seconds, just focusing on keeping himself under control. Then he moved, quickly, letting go of Paul and off of him, onto his feet. Even in his haste, his movements seemed controlled, efficient, but he knew better. He was standing a few feet (3'11) from the other kid, and he almost spoke up, but then thought better of it, and took another step back before he did, glaring at the floor instead of looking at Paul, his words clipped, his voice almost a growl. "Too much of a threat. I couldn't see the easier scenarios anymore." He was so fucking angry. At himself.
Nodding slowly, Paul pushed up to his elbows, careful not to look like a threat. "You know, I think that's another compliment."
Midnighter's jaw clenched. He headed off, towards the punching bag, and punched it with enough force that it landed a few feet away, crumpling sadly on the floor. Midnighter felt marginally better - safe enough to turn back around and look at Paul, anyway, when he was all the way over there. "You're getting better at it." Taking fucking compliments, even when they were unintended. That didn't make them any less real.
"I'm not the only one." He sat up, knees drawing up, folding his arms over his knees, watching Midnighter. The flying punchbag didn't even make him flinch, didn't look to see where it landed, confident that it wasn't going to be on him. "Haven't had a workout like that since all this started."
Midnighter eased down into a crouch, so he was at eye level with Paul, but he could still move quickly and efficiently in case of a sudden threat. "It's what I do." It was what he was; this certainly had served to remind him. "I should've known. That something like that would set me off." It made perfect sense.
"Good or bad?" Not moving off his ass. It gave him a disadvantage, meant he'd be slower to move if he needed to, but he was hoping that looking unthreatening would mean that he didn't need to.
"I managed not to go there," Midnighter replied evenly, after a few seconds' silence. "Could've been worse." It would give him something new to work on. He wasn't sure how, but he needed to get this under control, as he had the rest.
Paul nodded, not moving any other way. "Something you need to avoid, or something you need to keep doing?"
"I can't get it under control if I avoid it," Midnighter replied, forcing himself not to look away, for once. He couldn't ask for something like that. He barely knew him, and it was fucking dangerous, in a much more certain way than simply sparring with him.
"Want to do this again, then?" It was a slightly tentative offer, mostly because he didn't know how it would be taken, but he'd been telling the truth. No one had made him work so hard at sparring since he'd started flying.
"I wanna," Midnighter confirmed, surprised by the tug of something in his stomach, how much he wanted to. But he knew better. "But I need to work on that response, first." He couldn't spar with Paul the way he wanted to with that fucking sword of Damocles dangling so precariously over his head - their heads.
Paul nodded again, more slowly. "Do you know what triggered it?" Because if Midnighter knew, he could avoid whatever it was, until Midnighter was ready to confront it. Not just because he wasn't sure why he didn't want to wait an uncertain amount of time before trying this again.
"Proximity," Midnighter replied, without a shadow of a doubt. He had been running scenarios ever since, and he knew just what had triggered that response from him. "Combined with how dangerous you are." Could be. Whatever.
"I can't be less dangerous," Paul said simply, though it wasn't a great feeling to be that much of a threat to anyone. Anything. "I can stay further away, if that would help. The full body contact did it, right?"
"Yeah," Midnighter confirmed, through clenched teeth. "But avoiding it won't help me control it." Fuck. He was going to ask after all, wasn't he. "I need to learn to work through it. In controlled circumstances, at first."
"Avoiding it won't," Paul agreed steadily. "But we can work out if it's specific to me and how dangerous you think I am, or if it's specific to the proximity, and maybe you don't have to try to work through both things at the same time."
"How dangerous I know you are," Midnighter replied, and pushed to his feet, slowly, before taking a few steps away. A lot of his senses trained on Paul, even if he wasn't looking at him anymore; it wasn't as if he could help it, even if he had wanted to. "The scenarios wouldn't have escalated if you didn't present such a threat. I could work through the proximity with a baseline human." It wouldn't be easy, but he could. He had run the scenarios on that already. "And with a lot of mutants." Not all of them, though, clearly. Shatterstar would also have been an issue, if it had come up during their spar.
"So you don't have to do both at once." Paul rolled his weight to one hip, tucking his legs to the side, one hand pressed to the mat beside him. "And we can try out something where I keep further away from you. See if that triggers your thing again. Not just us, I mean, there's gotta be someone who's dealt with stuff like this who can help out, right?"
Midnighter wasn't sure that there was. Talon and Shatterstar were his best bets, although with either of them, he wasn't sure the cause would be their mutation. Just... life. "I'm the only one with a brain like this."
"Then are there people that your brain would be okay with helping me get away if you got triggered?" he asked, following the logic. Not to take Midnighter down, not to control him, just to get him away to a safe distance where he wasn't a threat.
"No," Midnighter replied, without the shadow of a doubt. Until the threat was no longer so high-level, his brain would not be okay with anyone coming close. "Anyone coming close would just add to the threat. The scenarios would get worse. I have to learn to function past them." As he had from the start. He thought he had gotten it under control, but it turned out he just hadn't been in a threatening enough situation.
"Right." Paul nodded, considering. "So what do I need to do to not be a threat, if that happens?"
"Get the fuck away if you have an immediate way out," Midnighter replied, but that was an unlikely option. There were scenarios, but not many, compared to the rest of them. "Otherwise, stay still." Like he had. Good response, and thank fuck. This could've gotten ugly.
Which was why he was going to ask, because Paul apparently wanted to continue sparring, and that meant that Midnighter had to make it as safe as possible. "We could train me, before we spar. With you in my space, outside of a fight. Try and get me used to it." He wasn't sure he would ever be used to having someone in his space, but he could get used to the force of the responses his brain demanded he had, at least. Make them easier to ignore, when he wanted.
If there was a way out, he'd take it, because there was no chance that Paul would miss that much of a change in Midnighter's attitude. He was more focused on what he'd need to do if he couldn't get out and get away, but if having more people around would make it worse, he wasn't going to suggest it again. "When you're expecting it, you mean? Or just... randomly? Like in the corridors."
"Not in the corridors," Midnighter replied immediately. "You're difficult to hurt. Not everybody is." Braddock had been reaching out to him in the corridors, but Braddock didn't fight like Paul did. Braddock didn't trigger those kinds of scenarios, perhaps also because Midnighter couldn't get through his shield. Those kinds of scenarios would have been pointless.
Besides, if he was honest with himself (and he tended to be), Midnighter didn't want to be letting Paul into his space in front of people. He barely wanted to do it in private, just because he never wanted to let anybody into his space, but out there, in front of people? No fucking way. Shaw would never leave him alone, for one thing.
"Makes sense." And was something that Paul hadn't thought of. Still learning, and he'd not forget again. He didn't mind putting himself at risk, especially when it was a reduced risk compared to a year ago, but he wouldn't put anyone else at risk without a damn good reason. Since it was avoidable here, he'd take one of the alternatives. "Where's gonna work, then?"
"Here's good enough for me," Midnighter replied, because the location mattered less than the circumstances. Since Paul didn't need to sleep, the right circumstances were easy enough to find.
The gym. It worked. Plenty of mats around, if they needed them, and not many other people, at least at night. Paul looked at Midnighter for a moment, long moment, trying to think it through, then gave up and simply nodded. "All right. But no more tonight."
Midnighter simply nodded; it was a hell of a favor Paul was agreeing to do for him. Whatever worked for him, really. It was a hell of a favor, so it warranted a, "Thanks."
"Any time." It wasn't - exactly - a pleasure, and it definitely wasn't no problem, but it was something he was easily willing to do. Not a hardship, to be sure. "Just don't want to push it when you're already on edge."
"Probably a smart move," Midnighter agreed. He would never have paused to consider his emotional state, but now that Paul had, he had to admit that it made sense.
Emotional or not, Midnighter's reactions had already been triggered once, and it had to be easier to trigger again that soon after. "Tomorrow, then. Unless you've got plans."
"Tomorrow," Midnighter confirmed. He rarely had plans at night, even now that he was sparring with Shatterstar. But he had to admit - at least to himself - that he liked the thought of seeing Paul again the next night.
He was a fucking idiot.
"Tomorrow," Paul repeated, grinned, and held his hand out, palm up, unmistakably an offer and not a threat. "For tonight, want me to get out of your hair so you can work it off?"
For him, the gym wasn't going to be enough any more. Not that time.
It was just a hand, but right then, it mattered a lot to Midnighter, in part because of that fucking beautiful smile. How could he smile about something so grim as what he had agreed to? But that hand... It was a challenge Midnighter set himself, and he ignored Paul's words for now. He just focused, and moved. Stepped closer, looked up from Paul's hand to his eyes, and put his in it for a steady shake. "I'll go for a run," he answered his words at last, "leave you to it."
It made more sense, or so it seemed to him. He'd steer clear of Laura's area of the grounds, in case she was outside, and try and burn it all off with some steady, intense effort.
Paul curled his fingers around Midnighter's hand, staying light, warmth of the contact spreading in a low, pleased buzz, but never a tight grip. Never anything that might suggest challenge or threat or trap. "I'm probably heading out," he admitted, not letting go of the hand. "Need to fly and let some of this go before I head back and disturb Cal."
And Cal would definitely be disturbed if Paul went back as restless as he'd headed out. Maybe more so.
Cal - one of the new kids, mimic. Midnighter had been steering clear of him. He didn't want another one of him out there. Probably Paul's roommate. Benefit of having Stark as a roommate (beside the state of the art laptop he'd put together for Midnighter for no fucking reason he could figure out), he rarely was in their room at all.
But it was difficult to focus on any of that when Paul was holding his hand. It had gone from a challenge Midnighter had met to something else, for all that his mind was still listing scenarios. The prolonged touch seemed to spread diffuse warmth through his lungs in a way he was unaccustomed to. At least, he assumed that it was warmth. He pulled his hand back, resisted the unnecessary urge to clear his throat. "Alright," he simply stated, and forced himself to step back.
"Alright," Paul repeated. Shouldn't have felt like that much for Midnighter to let go of his hand, but it had, and fuck, that was weird. Unexpected. Different. He curled his fingers, not a fist, but not as open, and let his arm drop back to his side. "I'll keep clear if I see you running."
Just for... privacy. Really. And safety stuff. Not being a threat.
"You don't have to," Midnighter assured him. Because he didn't, because it would be better training for Midnighter if he didn't. Because Midnighter didn't exactly want him to keep clear.
"I'm not gonna divebomb you," he said wryly. "Not tonight, anyway." Not when Midnighter had to be on edge already. Not when that could definitely be interpreted as a threat.
"Pretty sure there's a middle ground there somewhere," Midnighter pointed out, sounding wry and being amused. The corner of his lips might even have raised into a hint of something.
Hint of something kind of nice. "Well, I'm not gonna come down and land by you." Or anything like that, really. Not that night. Just needed to get out and feel the space and wow, that was a new feeling.
"I'll see you tomorrow, anyway," Midnighter replied, then realized how it might have sounded, and decided not to care. Yeah, he was looking forward to it, despite what it would entail. So what if Paul figured that out.
"Tomorrow," Paul confirmed, with a slow, warm smile, and managed to stay on the ground - more or less - until he found the nearest way out and launched himself up into the night sky, resisting the urge to yell out inexplicable exhilaration.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-06 10:37 pm (UTC)http://avvesione.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/medaka_box-05-shiranui-evil-smile-smirk.jpg
no subject
Date: 2014-05-06 10:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-06 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-06 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-07 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-07 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-07 09:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-07 12:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-07 12:20 pm (UTC)Just, y'know. Mid and Pol style.
But that spar was totally foreplay.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-07 09:34 pm (UTC)I love you guys.