Ficlet | Just Another Day
Title: Just Another Day
Author: attilatehbun
Fandom: Young Avengers
Pairing/Characters: Teddy Altman (possibly hinted at Teddy -> Greg)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~750
Summary: everything is so just like every day that it doesn't even occur to him that it's not
Author's Notes: Spontaneous birthday ficlet for tussah
::
The morning after breaks as always, mind-numbing in its normalcy. Teddy's mom cracks the door, letting in a stab of light that has Teddy burrowing his head deeper under the pillows and grumbling as she says, "Teddy! Up! School."
Teddy grumbles some more as her head withdraws, rolling out of bed and rubbing one hand over his face to wipe away the sleep. He stumbles to the bathroom, idly scratching himself through his pajama pants, and everything is so- so- so- just like every day that it doesn't even occur to him that it's not. He's halfway through brushing his teeth when it hits him, jaw going slack and dripping a bit of toothpaste froth. What hits him, then, is Greg. Greg, and what Greg said, and what Teddy's done that has probably fucked things up forever.
"Fuck," he curses around the toothbrush, and spits.
These are the only things in his mind as he dresses, Greg and how pissed he must be and whether he's told anyone and if there's anything, anything at all that Teddy might be able to do to fix it. And for the first time, a tiny voice is getting some recognition, one that's saying Maybe you don't want to fix it and Maybe it's better this way.
But Teddy's not sure quite what to make of that voice, or how it fits in with his careful constructions -never mind that those are possibly shattered beyond repair, never mind that now- so he pushes it away. Careful, as always, he slides the scowl off his face and erases the furrow between his eyebrows as he walks into the kitchen.
And he's still careful, measured, face a studied blank, but Mom's Mom-Senses must be extra strong this morning, because she slips him a second bowl of sugary cereal instead of the cornflakes she normally insists on and ruffles his hair as he eats. But she doesn't say anything, and Teddy's glad of that, glad of a mother who understands it's important to stay quiet sometimes. It's this thought that stills his hand in his usual grab-the-satchel-shoot-out-the-door wave and stutters him into the second deviation marking this otherwise normal day. Instead of waving and dashing, he leans in and kisses his mother on the cheek, smiling genuinely for the first time.
"See you tonight, Mom," he says, and she ruffles his hair again, and then he's dashing back out the door like normal.
It's Greg that drags him down again, all the way to school, thoughts of Greg and the mansion and (not) everything else threatening to push his shoulders out of shape with their weight. But he refuses to let it show; he squares his shoulders and smooths his features and will not acknowledge the heat of Greg's glare at the back of his head as he settles into his seat.
He doesn't know what to do except stick with the pretense that this is all just another day, no matter that his interior monologue is currently stuck on fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck and his heart is beating like it might burst. He can still see his hand, scaled and pointy and raised against Greg, can feel the words Mutant Skrull in every flick of Greg's eyes to him. But he's careful and he's measured and he doesn't look over or think about plates or Captain Marvel or Tony Stark or- or--
Oh.
The rest of the events of the evening fill in, washing out everything Greg Norris and school hierarchy in a flash-flood of powers and team and having something to offer. It's like that kid, Iron Lad was his name, hit it all with one of his repulsor rays, and everything that was unimportant burned away. What's left is a loose, bubbly feeling of freedom, something so new and different that it more than anything else marks this as Not Just Another Day.
His second genuine smile of the day forms around his pen as he digs a sheet of scrap paper out of his bag. Screw Greg Norris, and screw the rest of them, he thinks, I have better things to worry about now, like--
And he scribbles on the paper, writing large for importance, and grins wider. He taps the pen against his teeth because it's not just another day, is it? Not now, not with him grinning down at the page, the word seemingly grinning back at him, with all the new, normalcy-shattering things it represents.
He underlines it again, because yeah, it is definitely better.
CODENAMES?
::fin::
Author: attilatehbun
Fandom: Young Avengers
Pairing/Characters: Teddy Altman (possibly hinted at Teddy -> Greg)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~750
Summary: everything is so just like every day that it doesn't even occur to him that it's not
Author's Notes: Spontaneous birthday ficlet for tussah
::
The morning after breaks as always, mind-numbing in its normalcy. Teddy's mom cracks the door, letting in a stab of light that has Teddy burrowing his head deeper under the pillows and grumbling as she says, "Teddy! Up! School."
Teddy grumbles some more as her head withdraws, rolling out of bed and rubbing one hand over his face to wipe away the sleep. He stumbles to the bathroom, idly scratching himself through his pajama pants, and everything is so- so- so- just like every day that it doesn't even occur to him that it's not. He's halfway through brushing his teeth when it hits him, jaw going slack and dripping a bit of toothpaste froth. What hits him, then, is Greg. Greg, and what Greg said, and what Teddy's done that has probably fucked things up forever.
"Fuck," he curses around the toothbrush, and spits.
These are the only things in his mind as he dresses, Greg and how pissed he must be and whether he's told anyone and if there's anything, anything at all that Teddy might be able to do to fix it. And for the first time, a tiny voice is getting some recognition, one that's saying Maybe you don't want to fix it and Maybe it's better this way.
But Teddy's not sure quite what to make of that voice, or how it fits in with his careful constructions -never mind that those are possibly shattered beyond repair, never mind that now- so he pushes it away. Careful, as always, he slides the scowl off his face and erases the furrow between his eyebrows as he walks into the kitchen.
And he's still careful, measured, face a studied blank, but Mom's Mom-Senses must be extra strong this morning, because she slips him a second bowl of sugary cereal instead of the cornflakes she normally insists on and ruffles his hair as he eats. But she doesn't say anything, and Teddy's glad of that, glad of a mother who understands it's important to stay quiet sometimes. It's this thought that stills his hand in his usual grab-the-satchel-shoot-out-the-door wave and stutters him into the second deviation marking this otherwise normal day. Instead of waving and dashing, he leans in and kisses his mother on the cheek, smiling genuinely for the first time.
"See you tonight, Mom," he says, and she ruffles his hair again, and then he's dashing back out the door like normal.
It's Greg that drags him down again, all the way to school, thoughts of Greg and the mansion and (not) everything else threatening to push his shoulders out of shape with their weight. But he refuses to let it show; he squares his shoulders and smooths his features and will not acknowledge the heat of Greg's glare at the back of his head as he settles into his seat.
He doesn't know what to do except stick with the pretense that this is all just another day, no matter that his interior monologue is currently stuck on fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck and his heart is beating like it might burst. He can still see his hand, scaled and pointy and raised against Greg, can feel the words Mutant Skrull in every flick of Greg's eyes to him. But he's careful and he's measured and he doesn't look over or think about plates or Captain Marvel or Tony Stark or- or--
Oh.
The rest of the events of the evening fill in, washing out everything Greg Norris and school hierarchy in a flash-flood of powers and team and having something to offer. It's like that kid, Iron Lad was his name, hit it all with one of his repulsor rays, and everything that was unimportant burned away. What's left is a loose, bubbly feeling of freedom, something so new and different that it more than anything else marks this as Not Just Another Day.
His second genuine smile of the day forms around his pen as he digs a sheet of scrap paper out of his bag. Screw Greg Norris, and screw the rest of them, he thinks, I have better things to worry about now, like--
And he scribbles on the paper, writing large for importance, and grins wider. He taps the pen against his teeth because it's not just another day, is it? Not now, not with him grinning down at the page, the word seemingly grinning back at him, with all the new, normalcy-shattering things it represents.
He underlines it again, because yeah, it is definitely better.
CODENAMES?
::fin::