Fic - "You May Be Right"
Title: You May Be Right
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Hal Stewart, Wayne Scott (Metro Man). Megamind.
Word Count: 3,718
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Just an average weekday morning at Scott Manor.
Warnings: Crude language, sex-talk.
Notes: As promised/threatened, a sequel to You Never Can Tell! I can't get enough of these two guys who get each other. This one was a prompt from junosunderland, who wanted to see Wayne waking Hal up for work in the morning! Title is taken from the Billy Joel song, because this pairing has a soundtrack, and that soundtrack is funky. If you haven't seen them yet, check out Juno's awesome character designs to get the full effect!
For every cup of coffee Wayne drinks, Hal usually drinks two. Stifling a yawn, Wayne sets the machine to make eight cups, just in case. He tends to prefer milder flavors like hazelnut, but he’s feeling generous today and uses the dark espresso roast that Hal favors, counting out eight heaping spoonfuls into the filter basket before swinging it shut and pressing brew. As the steady drip of coffee begins to fall and the air fills with the smell of it, he finally takes a good look out the window and grimaces. It’s snowing. The manor grounds are already blanketed in white, and at the rate the flakes are coming down it looks like they’re in for a lot more. Hal is going to be pissed.
On that ominous note, Wayne heads back upstairs for the first pass. Waking Hal up for work in the morning is a process with many stages, and by now he’s got it down to a science, a well-rehearsed routine that varies only in the degree of difficulty, depending on which side of the metaphorical bed Stewart wakes up on. Sometimes he’s cooperative. Sometimes he’s a holy terror. Right now he’s asleep on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, his mouth hanging open in that weird half-snore of his. Wayne sits down beside him on the bed and gives his shoulder a quick shake.
“Hey, boss,” he murmurs. “It’s seven o’clock. Time to start waking up.”
With a vague snort of displeasure, Hal makes a blind swipe at Wayne’s face, still half-asleep. Scott catches him by the wrist, chuckling.
“Now, now, we’ve talked about this,” he scolds. “My nose is not a snooze button.”
One bleary brown eye manages to pry itself open and glare at him. “What pass is it?”
“First pass.”
“Nnnnngh, thank God,” Hal groans and twists over onto his side, yanking the blankets up over his head as a shield against the morning sunlight.
“Snooze on, buddy,” Wayne pats the mountain of blankets affectionately. “Stay warm.”
He creeps out of the room and ambles down the long hallway, the rich carpet making soft whispering sounds under his slippered feet. Although they’ve shared a bedroom for over a year now, Wayne still uses his private quarters at the far end of the hall for grooming and getting dressed. Hal has made it abundantly clear that he has a strict “three-bottle policy” for the shower--- you got your two-in-one shampoo-conditioner, your body wash, and one luxury item--- anything more than that is for pussies and won't be tolerated. Considering the fact that it would have taken two trips to move all of the products from Wayne’s shower, it was agreed that it would probably be best if they just kept their own territories. Besides, Wayne’s closet alone is almost as big as Hal’s old apartment. No way to move that to the other end of the hall.
Wayne used to sing in the shower, but lately he’s been using the time to practice speeches and rehearse presentations. Through various shampoos, conditioners, scrubs, and washes, he gestures and smiles and laughs politely, then tries to figure out a way to say “you are an idiot” without using those actual words. Big meeting with the board of directors today. Have to be charming. Have to be amazing.
It’s a tricky thing, launching a revolutionary prisoner rehabilitation program on a national scale. Right now they only have participating prisons in Metro City, Los Angeles, Atlanta, and Chicago, and today he’s pushing the board to expand even further, with possible locations in New York City and Houston. He wants to really earn the N in the acronym that he’s so proud of--- the full name is the National Ex-Villain Volunteer and LEgal Activity Focus Program, or, the NEVV LEAF Program. Yes, he used two Vs to make a W. It was the only way to make it work. They just spell it New Leaf in the logo, anyway. It's catchy. It sells.
Finished with his shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and trots back down the hallway to the bedroom. Mount Blanket is exactly as he left it. He locates one edge of the comforter and tugs it back, causing Hal to jump and yell at the sudden brightness.
“Agh!”
“Good morning, sunshine,” Wayne says. “Are you at least halfway back to the land of the living?”
This time Hal opens both eyes, his face still screwed up as his vision adjusts to daylight, his mouth curling in a crooked grin.
“Whoa, talk about a wake-up call,” he smirks.
And before Wayne can stop him, he grabs a corner of the towel and yanks it towards him. The tucked clasp comes undone and the whole thing breaks free while Wayne squawks, “Hey!” Hal crows with laughter as Scott tries to wrestle the towel out of his hands, an attempt that brings him close enough for Stewart to give his bare ass a resounding slap before Wayne finally recovers the stolen article, stepping back and self-consciously covering his nudity.
“Oh, that was very mature,” he huffs.
“Whatever, you know you love it,” Hal smiles through his yawn. “You come in here wearing nothing but a towel, I know exactly what you want me to do.”
A blush creeps up the back of Wayne’s neck, even now, after all this time.
“Yeah, well,” he mumbles. “Second pass. Next time I come in, it’s time to get up.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Hal crooks an arm over his eyes again. “Wouldn’t want to be late for school.”
Wayne fusses with the towel all the way back down the hall, only to take it off as soon as he gets to his room so he can put on his bathrobe instead. He ties the belt in a double-knot to discourage any drive-by yanking, then steps back into his slippers and heads for the kitchen. The coffee’s done. He grabs two mugs from the cupboard--- one has the New Leaf Program logo on it, one simply bears the legend FUCK MORNINGS. Two sugars and a splash of milk for himself, five sugars and no milk for Hal. He checks the clock and sighs. Time for the fun part.
“Hal.” He stands over the bed, arms crossed. “It’s 7:30, boss. Up and at ‘em.”
“Urrrgh,” Hal growls, crossing both arms over his eyes. “No, man, forget it. I’m done.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am! I’m sick of this. I quit.”
“You can’t quit.” Wayne rolls his eyes. “You’re a convicted felon on parole, not a dissatisfied office drone.”
“Fuck you!” Hal snarls, dragging his pillow out from under his head and burying his face in it, his next words comically muffled. “I’m not going. I don’t care.”
Not really in the mood to debate the issue, Wayne grabs Hal under the armpits and, with a quick dash of super-strength, hauls him bodily upright and sets him down on his feet next to the bed. Hal is too surprised to even protest, and by the time he realizes what just happened, Wayne has already used his super-speed to escape safely to the kitchen. Sipping his coffee demurely, he hears a distant bellow of “Wayne, you fucker!” echoing from the second-floor hallway, then a pair of feet pounding angrily down the stairs. Moments later Hal appears in the kitchen doorway, clad in sweatpants and one of Wayne’s undershirts, the latter of which is too big for him.
“You son of a bitch,” he seethes. “You did not just use your powers to fucking pick me up like a toy.”
Wayne says nothing, just offers him his coffee with a patient smile. Groaning in defeat, Hal takes the mug, takes a sip, then points to the legend and says, “Yes to everything about this.”
“Thought you’d like that.”
Groaning again like a Frankenstein monster, the redhead trudges over to the corner drawer, digs up a pack of cigarettes and taps one out, sticking it in the corner of his mouth while he rummages for a lighter. It’s a habit that he picked up in prison to mark the time and soothe his nerves, and now he likes it because it gives him an excuse to take a break from work every few hours, take just ten goddamn minutes to himself every once in a while. Wayne doesn’t mind because he secretly thinks it makes him look kind of sexy. The lighter snaps and Hal pulls, releasing a cloud of smoke with a satisfied sigh. Then he looks out the window.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” He gestures wildly at the weather. “A fucking blizzard. Awesome. This day is gonna be so awesome. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I’m probably gonna die.”
“Wear a hat.”
“Lose all my fingers to frostbite.”
“Wear gloves.”
Hal uses the heel of the hand holding the cigarette to scrub crankily at one eye.
“I think I deserve a little fucking sympathy here,” he grouses. “I don’t get to sit in a fancy office all goddamn day.”
“That’s funny, neither do I,” Wayne says irritably. “As a matter of fact, today I have a meeting with the board of directors. You know, the one I’ve been talking about all week? So I think if anyone deserves some sympathy today, it’s me.”
Hal has the good graces to look apologetic, even if he doesn’t say anything. They finish their coffee in silence, Wayne nursing a single cup while Hal goes through two, plus another cigarette. The redhead is attempting to fill his mug a third time when Wayne intercepts him.
“Shower first,” he says, plucking the cup from his hand. “Then more coffee. And breakfast. What’ll it be, boss?”
“Bacon,” Hal answers, and he doesn’t even pretend to flinch when Wayne presses a quick kiss to his forehead.
They climb the stairs together and part ways at the top, Hal to clean up and Wayne to get dressed. Scott spends an unhealthy amount of time agonizing over his tie, but he keeps one ear tuned to the sound of running water--- he likes to have breakfast cooking when Hal gets out of the shower, as nauseatingly domestic as that sounds, even in his own head. Once he has the tie picked out the glasses come naturally, and he selects the corresponding pair from his extensive collection of frames. Hal mocks him constantly, but the beard-and-glasses combo seems to do the trick nicely, as far as concealing his identity goes.
Shirtsleeves rolled up, jacket and tie draped carefully over a chair nearby, and Wayne sips his second cup of coffee as the bacon sizzles in the pan. Oh, sure, he could hire a chef--- he could hire a whole staff of them, from saucier to pâtissier if he wanted--- but he really does prefer to do the cooking himself. Feels good. Feels normal. He’ll take as much of that as he can get. He’s addicted to this feeling of having a home.
A clatter draws his attention to the coffee machine--- Hal, dressed in jeans and a grey sweatshirt, is pouring himself another cup. Wayne carefully turns the bacon with a fork.
“You sure took your time in there,” he observes in a knowing tone.
“Yeah, man, I really had to scrub my dick,” Hal sing-songs over his mug. “It was still covered in your spit.”
“You should have seen my hair this morning,” Wayne sing-songs back. “It was all crushed into the shape of your fists.”
Hal coughs and pushes up his glasses with his middle finger. Unlike Wayne, he actually has prescription lenses in his--- he got them right after he arrived in prison, having never realized how terrible his vision was until he had perfect vision as Titan and saw what he’d been missing. Wayne didn’t understand how Hal could have gone twenty-eight years without realizing he needed glasses, but the redhead simply shrugged and said, “I guess I just accepted that the world was always gonna be a little blurry.”
“Okay,” Wayne says. “Grub’s up.”
He serves up scrambled eggs and bacon and carries the plates to the table. Hal brings the whole coffee pot with him to better accommodate refills. As he eats, he keeps wincing and shrugging his right shoulder, occasionally rolling it up towards his neck and back again.
“You okay?” Wayne checks.
“I’m sick of ringing that goddamn bell,” Hal frowns, reaching back with his left hand to prod the muscle. “Fuck me. This is cruel and unusual punishment, man.”
Wayne leaves the last few bites of egg on his plate and crosses to the other side of the table, coming up behind Hal’s chair to take hold of his shoulders. Hal arches up towards him like a cat arching into a petting hand, and as Wayne digs in with his fingers, he gives a loud growl of relief.
“Ahhh, yeah,” he grunts. “That feels soooo good, dude.”
The community service assignment for the month of December has been to work as a charity bell-ringer for Metro Mercy Hospital. Hal has been standing in parking lots and ringing a bell for three weeks now, and he despises it more than any assignment he’s ever had, citing both the monotony of the task and the humiliation of standing there begging for spare change.
Wayne finds a particularly nasty knot in the muscle under the right shoulder blade and worries at it with his thumb--- Hal hisses and squirms in a combination of pain and pleasure.
“One more week,” Wayne reminds him. “Then you get a break. You just gotta hang in there, buddy.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Of course, the board of directors had been none too pleased when Mr. Scott announced his intentions to grant Mr. Stewart a reprieve from his duties over the holidays.
“It’s going to look like we’re giving him a vacation, sir.”
“We are giving him a vacation,” Wayne used a tone that would brook no argument. “We wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for this man. We took an enormous gamble on him, and he’s spent the last two and a half years making sure it pays off. This guy is busting his ass to make us all look good. The least we could do is give him two weeks off for Christmas.”
“Look on the bright side,” he urges, rubbing a steady circular pattern into Hal’s back. “You’re working at the mall today. That means lunch at the food court!”
“True,” Hal concedes. “God, remember last week when I was stuck at the grocery store that only had sub sandwiches for lunch? Sub sandwiches for seven straight days, man, that was the worst.”
Wayne gives one last squeeze. “Hope that helps.”
As he starts to move away, Hal reaches back and grabs him by the wrist, giving him an answering squeeze.
“Thanks, big guy.”
Dishes get left in the sink to be dealt with later. Wayne puts on his tie, jacket, and a handsome black overcoat. Hal puts on his parka, gloves, and a red plaid bomber hat. The last item is met with a stern look of disapproval.
“Come on, Hal,” Wayne says, hating to correct him. “You know you have to wear the---”
“I know, okay, I just thought I could--- fine.”
He storms back to the closet, throws a few things around for dramatic effect, and returns wearing the stocking hat with the New Leaf logo on it.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Wayne sighs, wrapping a grey cashmere scarf around his neck and tucking it into his coat. “They have to know who you are. That’s part of the program.”
“I really am sick of this, Wayne,” Hal mutters, his sullen glare directed at the floor. “I’m sick of being a goddamn slave to this city.”
Quickly and calmly, Wayne takes Hal’s face in his hands and turns it up towards him, forcing him to make eye contact.
“Babe,” he says. “I know the feeling.”
Under his palm, he feels a muscle twitch in Hal’s jaw. That’s enough. Message received. He releases him just as quickly, then gestures loosely at his exposed neck.
“Don’t you want a scarf?”
Hal raises his chin to a defiant angle. “Nope.”
A car horn honks in the driveway, distant but audible to both of them. That’ll be Dan, Hal’s parole officer-turned-work chaperone, here to pick him up. Per the New Leaf Program’s guidelines, he ensures that Hal makes it to work every day, checks up on him at random intervals, and makes sure that he goes straight home when the work is done. Not that Hal would ever go wandering around Metro City without an escort; as one of its most-hated citizens, he tends to attract attention of the highly negative variety. Most people will leave him alone when he’s working--- satisfied enough to see him doing penance--- but they don’t like to see him just walking free. He’s been harassed on more than one occasion, and these days he spends most of his free time confined to the grounds of Scott Manor, just for his own safety.
“Welp, gotta run,” he says, jerking a thumb towards the front door. “Catch you later, dude.”
He exits without so much as a goodbye, but a few seconds later his head reappears around the corner.
“Good luck, man. With the meeting. You’ll be great.”
Then he’s gone.
- - -
Two hours later and Wayne is feeling pretty goddamn good about that meeting, if he could say so himself. His proposal was met with unanimous approval. He’s one step closer to making this project a reality on the grand scale that he’s always envisioned. A good mood like this needs to be shared, and he happens to know someone who could probably use some cheering up right about now. The mood is so good that it can’t even be ruined by ten minutes circling through the mall lot in search of a parking space. There’s only one week left until Christmas Eve.
Snow is still swirling in the air as he trudges up towards the entrance that leads to the food court, guided by the shrill ringing of a little handheld bell. There’s Hal, wearing a bright blue apron with the Metro Mercy logo on it over his parka, slouched next to a bright blue bucket on a pedestal. He’s ringing the bell and staring at the ground. Some people slip a few coins into the pail and give him vague, sympathetic looks, but most avoid him altogether, giving him a wide berth as they approach the building.
Wayne marches right up to him and wedges a dollar bill into the slot in the bucket’s lid.
“Hey, thanks, man,” Hal says absently, just ringing away.
“Aren’t you supposed to say Thank you and happy holidays?”
Hal does a double-take as he finally looks up and recognizes him. “Wayne!”
“Hey, boss,” Scott smiles. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead or frostbitten yet.”
“Not yet,” Stewart smiles back, the bell still rattling automatically at his side.
His nose and cheeks are bright red from the cold, and he has his chin wedged awkwardly down the front of his parka. There’s a slight chatter to his teeth already. It’s going to be a long, miserable day, but here he is, ringing that stupid bell anyway, and Wayne is suddenly more touched by that fact than he has any right to be.
“So,” Hal prompts. “The meeting?”
“It went great.”
“Oh, great.”
Pause.
“Here,” Wayne says. “You need this more than I do.”
He pulls the grey cashmere scarf out of his jacket, unwinds it from his neck and slips it around Hal’s instead, wrapping him up snugly and tucking the ends into his parka. Hal makes incoherent noises of protest, but then it’s already too late and the deed is done, leaving him with no choice but to accept it. He sighs.
“Thanks.”
Compelled, Wayne lays a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m proud of you, Hal.”
Hal looks up sharply, his expression bewildered. The confusion is gradually replaced by understanding, then inexpressible gratitude, and then he looks down at his slush-covered shoes and mumbles, “Whatever, man. I’m just doing the work.”
“Okay,” Wayne nods. “I’ll see you tonight.” He chucks him under the chin. “Don’t freeze to death.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll do my best,” Hal smirks. “Fortunately I’ve stored up all this fat for the winter.”
“Oh, is that what it’s for?”
“That and to suffocate my prey.”
“You’re an evolutionary marvel.”
“You know it.”
Wayne is halfway back across the parking lot when he turns and cups his hands to his mouth, shouting across the distance between them.
“Hey, what do you want for dinner?”
Hal squints up into the sky, considering. Then he shouts back at the top of his lungs.
“Bacon!”
_________end.
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Hal Stewart, Wayne Scott (Metro Man). Megamind.
Word Count: 3,718
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Just an average weekday morning at Scott Manor.
Warnings: Crude language, sex-talk.
Notes: As promised/threatened, a sequel to You Never Can Tell! I can't get enough of these two guys who get each other. This one was a prompt from junosunderland, who wanted to see Wayne waking Hal up for work in the morning! Title is taken from the Billy Joel song, because this pairing has a soundtrack, and that soundtrack is funky. If you haven't seen them yet, check out Juno's awesome character designs to get the full effect!
For every cup of coffee Wayne drinks, Hal usually drinks two. Stifling a yawn, Wayne sets the machine to make eight cups, just in case. He tends to prefer milder flavors like hazelnut, but he’s feeling generous today and uses the dark espresso roast that Hal favors, counting out eight heaping spoonfuls into the filter basket before swinging it shut and pressing brew. As the steady drip of coffee begins to fall and the air fills with the smell of it, he finally takes a good look out the window and grimaces. It’s snowing. The manor grounds are already blanketed in white, and at the rate the flakes are coming down it looks like they’re in for a lot more. Hal is going to be pissed.
On that ominous note, Wayne heads back upstairs for the first pass. Waking Hal up for work in the morning is a process with many stages, and by now he’s got it down to a science, a well-rehearsed routine that varies only in the degree of difficulty, depending on which side of the metaphorical bed Stewart wakes up on. Sometimes he’s cooperative. Sometimes he’s a holy terror. Right now he’s asleep on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, his mouth hanging open in that weird half-snore of his. Wayne sits down beside him on the bed and gives his shoulder a quick shake.
“Hey, boss,” he murmurs. “It’s seven o’clock. Time to start waking up.”
With a vague snort of displeasure, Hal makes a blind swipe at Wayne’s face, still half-asleep. Scott catches him by the wrist, chuckling.
“Now, now, we’ve talked about this,” he scolds. “My nose is not a snooze button.”
One bleary brown eye manages to pry itself open and glare at him. “What pass is it?”
“First pass.”
“Nnnnngh, thank God,” Hal groans and twists over onto his side, yanking the blankets up over his head as a shield against the morning sunlight.
“Snooze on, buddy,” Wayne pats the mountain of blankets affectionately. “Stay warm.”
He creeps out of the room and ambles down the long hallway, the rich carpet making soft whispering sounds under his slippered feet. Although they’ve shared a bedroom for over a year now, Wayne still uses his private quarters at the far end of the hall for grooming and getting dressed. Hal has made it abundantly clear that he has a strict “three-bottle policy” for the shower--- you got your two-in-one shampoo-conditioner, your body wash, and one luxury item--- anything more than that is for pussies and won't be tolerated. Considering the fact that it would have taken two trips to move all of the products from Wayne’s shower, it was agreed that it would probably be best if they just kept their own territories. Besides, Wayne’s closet alone is almost as big as Hal’s old apartment. No way to move that to the other end of the hall.
Wayne used to sing in the shower, but lately he’s been using the time to practice speeches and rehearse presentations. Through various shampoos, conditioners, scrubs, and washes, he gestures and smiles and laughs politely, then tries to figure out a way to say “you are an idiot” without using those actual words. Big meeting with the board of directors today. Have to be charming. Have to be amazing.
It’s a tricky thing, launching a revolutionary prisoner rehabilitation program on a national scale. Right now they only have participating prisons in Metro City, Los Angeles, Atlanta, and Chicago, and today he’s pushing the board to expand even further, with possible locations in New York City and Houston. He wants to really earn the N in the acronym that he’s so proud of--- the full name is the National Ex-Villain Volunteer and LEgal Activity Focus Program, or, the NEVV LEAF Program. Yes, he used two Vs to make a W. It was the only way to make it work. They just spell it New Leaf in the logo, anyway. It's catchy. It sells.
Finished with his shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and trots back down the hallway to the bedroom. Mount Blanket is exactly as he left it. He locates one edge of the comforter and tugs it back, causing Hal to jump and yell at the sudden brightness.
“Agh!”
“Good morning, sunshine,” Wayne says. “Are you at least halfway back to the land of the living?”
This time Hal opens both eyes, his face still screwed up as his vision adjusts to daylight, his mouth curling in a crooked grin.
“Whoa, talk about a wake-up call,” he smirks.
And before Wayne can stop him, he grabs a corner of the towel and yanks it towards him. The tucked clasp comes undone and the whole thing breaks free while Wayne squawks, “Hey!” Hal crows with laughter as Scott tries to wrestle the towel out of his hands, an attempt that brings him close enough for Stewart to give his bare ass a resounding slap before Wayne finally recovers the stolen article, stepping back and self-consciously covering his nudity.
“Oh, that was very mature,” he huffs.
“Whatever, you know you love it,” Hal smiles through his yawn. “You come in here wearing nothing but a towel, I know exactly what you want me to do.”
A blush creeps up the back of Wayne’s neck, even now, after all this time.
“Yeah, well,” he mumbles. “Second pass. Next time I come in, it’s time to get up.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Hal crooks an arm over his eyes again. “Wouldn’t want to be late for school.”
Wayne fusses with the towel all the way back down the hall, only to take it off as soon as he gets to his room so he can put on his bathrobe instead. He ties the belt in a double-knot to discourage any drive-by yanking, then steps back into his slippers and heads for the kitchen. The coffee’s done. He grabs two mugs from the cupboard--- one has the New Leaf Program logo on it, one simply bears the legend FUCK MORNINGS. Two sugars and a splash of milk for himself, five sugars and no milk for Hal. He checks the clock and sighs. Time for the fun part.
“Hal.” He stands over the bed, arms crossed. “It’s 7:30, boss. Up and at ‘em.”
“Urrrgh,” Hal growls, crossing both arms over his eyes. “No, man, forget it. I’m done.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am! I’m sick of this. I quit.”
“You can’t quit.” Wayne rolls his eyes. “You’re a convicted felon on parole, not a dissatisfied office drone.”
“Fuck you!” Hal snarls, dragging his pillow out from under his head and burying his face in it, his next words comically muffled. “I’m not going. I don’t care.”
Not really in the mood to debate the issue, Wayne grabs Hal under the armpits and, with a quick dash of super-strength, hauls him bodily upright and sets him down on his feet next to the bed. Hal is too surprised to even protest, and by the time he realizes what just happened, Wayne has already used his super-speed to escape safely to the kitchen. Sipping his coffee demurely, he hears a distant bellow of “Wayne, you fucker!” echoing from the second-floor hallway, then a pair of feet pounding angrily down the stairs. Moments later Hal appears in the kitchen doorway, clad in sweatpants and one of Wayne’s undershirts, the latter of which is too big for him.
“You son of a bitch,” he seethes. “You did not just use your powers to fucking pick me up like a toy.”
Wayne says nothing, just offers him his coffee with a patient smile. Groaning in defeat, Hal takes the mug, takes a sip, then points to the legend and says, “Yes to everything about this.”
“Thought you’d like that.”
Groaning again like a Frankenstein monster, the redhead trudges over to the corner drawer, digs up a pack of cigarettes and taps one out, sticking it in the corner of his mouth while he rummages for a lighter. It’s a habit that he picked up in prison to mark the time and soothe his nerves, and now he likes it because it gives him an excuse to take a break from work every few hours, take just ten goddamn minutes to himself every once in a while. Wayne doesn’t mind because he secretly thinks it makes him look kind of sexy. The lighter snaps and Hal pulls, releasing a cloud of smoke with a satisfied sigh. Then he looks out the window.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” He gestures wildly at the weather. “A fucking blizzard. Awesome. This day is gonna be so awesome. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I’m probably gonna die.”
“Wear a hat.”
“Lose all my fingers to frostbite.”
“Wear gloves.”
Hal uses the heel of the hand holding the cigarette to scrub crankily at one eye.
“I think I deserve a little fucking sympathy here,” he grouses. “I don’t get to sit in a fancy office all goddamn day.”
“That’s funny, neither do I,” Wayne says irritably. “As a matter of fact, today I have a meeting with the board of directors. You know, the one I’ve been talking about all week? So I think if anyone deserves some sympathy today, it’s me.”
Hal has the good graces to look apologetic, even if he doesn’t say anything. They finish their coffee in silence, Wayne nursing a single cup while Hal goes through two, plus another cigarette. The redhead is attempting to fill his mug a third time when Wayne intercepts him.
“Shower first,” he says, plucking the cup from his hand. “Then more coffee. And breakfast. What’ll it be, boss?”
“Bacon,” Hal answers, and he doesn’t even pretend to flinch when Wayne presses a quick kiss to his forehead.
They climb the stairs together and part ways at the top, Hal to clean up and Wayne to get dressed. Scott spends an unhealthy amount of time agonizing over his tie, but he keeps one ear tuned to the sound of running water--- he likes to have breakfast cooking when Hal gets out of the shower, as nauseatingly domestic as that sounds, even in his own head. Once he has the tie picked out the glasses come naturally, and he selects the corresponding pair from his extensive collection of frames. Hal mocks him constantly, but the beard-and-glasses combo seems to do the trick nicely, as far as concealing his identity goes.
Shirtsleeves rolled up, jacket and tie draped carefully over a chair nearby, and Wayne sips his second cup of coffee as the bacon sizzles in the pan. Oh, sure, he could hire a chef--- he could hire a whole staff of them, from saucier to pâtissier if he wanted--- but he really does prefer to do the cooking himself. Feels good. Feels normal. He’ll take as much of that as he can get. He’s addicted to this feeling of having a home.
A clatter draws his attention to the coffee machine--- Hal, dressed in jeans and a grey sweatshirt, is pouring himself another cup. Wayne carefully turns the bacon with a fork.
“You sure took your time in there,” he observes in a knowing tone.
“Yeah, man, I really had to scrub my dick,” Hal sing-songs over his mug. “It was still covered in your spit.”
“You should have seen my hair this morning,” Wayne sing-songs back. “It was all crushed into the shape of your fists.”
Hal coughs and pushes up his glasses with his middle finger. Unlike Wayne, he actually has prescription lenses in his--- he got them right after he arrived in prison, having never realized how terrible his vision was until he had perfect vision as Titan and saw what he’d been missing. Wayne didn’t understand how Hal could have gone twenty-eight years without realizing he needed glasses, but the redhead simply shrugged and said, “I guess I just accepted that the world was always gonna be a little blurry.”
“Okay,” Wayne says. “Grub’s up.”
He serves up scrambled eggs and bacon and carries the plates to the table. Hal brings the whole coffee pot with him to better accommodate refills. As he eats, he keeps wincing and shrugging his right shoulder, occasionally rolling it up towards his neck and back again.
“You okay?” Wayne checks.
“I’m sick of ringing that goddamn bell,” Hal frowns, reaching back with his left hand to prod the muscle. “Fuck me. This is cruel and unusual punishment, man.”
Wayne leaves the last few bites of egg on his plate and crosses to the other side of the table, coming up behind Hal’s chair to take hold of his shoulders. Hal arches up towards him like a cat arching into a petting hand, and as Wayne digs in with his fingers, he gives a loud growl of relief.
“Ahhh, yeah,” he grunts. “That feels soooo good, dude.”
The community service assignment for the month of December has been to work as a charity bell-ringer for Metro Mercy Hospital. Hal has been standing in parking lots and ringing a bell for three weeks now, and he despises it more than any assignment he’s ever had, citing both the monotony of the task and the humiliation of standing there begging for spare change.
Wayne finds a particularly nasty knot in the muscle under the right shoulder blade and worries at it with his thumb--- Hal hisses and squirms in a combination of pain and pleasure.
“One more week,” Wayne reminds him. “Then you get a break. You just gotta hang in there, buddy.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Of course, the board of directors had been none too pleased when Mr. Scott announced his intentions to grant Mr. Stewart a reprieve from his duties over the holidays.
“It’s going to look like we’re giving him a vacation, sir.”
“We are giving him a vacation,” Wayne used a tone that would brook no argument. “We wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for this man. We took an enormous gamble on him, and he’s spent the last two and a half years making sure it pays off. This guy is busting his ass to make us all look good. The least we could do is give him two weeks off for Christmas.”
“Look on the bright side,” he urges, rubbing a steady circular pattern into Hal’s back. “You’re working at the mall today. That means lunch at the food court!”
“True,” Hal concedes. “God, remember last week when I was stuck at the grocery store that only had sub sandwiches for lunch? Sub sandwiches for seven straight days, man, that was the worst.”
Wayne gives one last squeeze. “Hope that helps.”
As he starts to move away, Hal reaches back and grabs him by the wrist, giving him an answering squeeze.
“Thanks, big guy.”
Dishes get left in the sink to be dealt with later. Wayne puts on his tie, jacket, and a handsome black overcoat. Hal puts on his parka, gloves, and a red plaid bomber hat. The last item is met with a stern look of disapproval.
“Come on, Hal,” Wayne says, hating to correct him. “You know you have to wear the---”
“I know, okay, I just thought I could--- fine.”
He storms back to the closet, throws a few things around for dramatic effect, and returns wearing the stocking hat with the New Leaf logo on it.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Wayne sighs, wrapping a grey cashmere scarf around his neck and tucking it into his coat. “They have to know who you are. That’s part of the program.”
“I really am sick of this, Wayne,” Hal mutters, his sullen glare directed at the floor. “I’m sick of being a goddamn slave to this city.”
Quickly and calmly, Wayne takes Hal’s face in his hands and turns it up towards him, forcing him to make eye contact.
“Babe,” he says. “I know the feeling.”
Under his palm, he feels a muscle twitch in Hal’s jaw. That’s enough. Message received. He releases him just as quickly, then gestures loosely at his exposed neck.
“Don’t you want a scarf?”
Hal raises his chin to a defiant angle. “Nope.”
A car horn honks in the driveway, distant but audible to both of them. That’ll be Dan, Hal’s parole officer-turned-work chaperone, here to pick him up. Per the New Leaf Program’s guidelines, he ensures that Hal makes it to work every day, checks up on him at random intervals, and makes sure that he goes straight home when the work is done. Not that Hal would ever go wandering around Metro City without an escort; as one of its most-hated citizens, he tends to attract attention of the highly negative variety. Most people will leave him alone when he’s working--- satisfied enough to see him doing penance--- but they don’t like to see him just walking free. He’s been harassed on more than one occasion, and these days he spends most of his free time confined to the grounds of Scott Manor, just for his own safety.
“Welp, gotta run,” he says, jerking a thumb towards the front door. “Catch you later, dude.”
He exits without so much as a goodbye, but a few seconds later his head reappears around the corner.
“Good luck, man. With the meeting. You’ll be great.”
Then he’s gone.
- - -
Two hours later and Wayne is feeling pretty goddamn good about that meeting, if he could say so himself. His proposal was met with unanimous approval. He’s one step closer to making this project a reality on the grand scale that he’s always envisioned. A good mood like this needs to be shared, and he happens to know someone who could probably use some cheering up right about now. The mood is so good that it can’t even be ruined by ten minutes circling through the mall lot in search of a parking space. There’s only one week left until Christmas Eve.
Snow is still swirling in the air as he trudges up towards the entrance that leads to the food court, guided by the shrill ringing of a little handheld bell. There’s Hal, wearing a bright blue apron with the Metro Mercy logo on it over his parka, slouched next to a bright blue bucket on a pedestal. He’s ringing the bell and staring at the ground. Some people slip a few coins into the pail and give him vague, sympathetic looks, but most avoid him altogether, giving him a wide berth as they approach the building.
Wayne marches right up to him and wedges a dollar bill into the slot in the bucket’s lid.
“Hey, thanks, man,” Hal says absently, just ringing away.
“Aren’t you supposed to say Thank you and happy holidays?”
Hal does a double-take as he finally looks up and recognizes him. “Wayne!”
“Hey, boss,” Scott smiles. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead or frostbitten yet.”
“Not yet,” Stewart smiles back, the bell still rattling automatically at his side.
His nose and cheeks are bright red from the cold, and he has his chin wedged awkwardly down the front of his parka. There’s a slight chatter to his teeth already. It’s going to be a long, miserable day, but here he is, ringing that stupid bell anyway, and Wayne is suddenly more touched by that fact than he has any right to be.
“So,” Hal prompts. “The meeting?”
“It went great.”
“Oh, great.”
Pause.
“Here,” Wayne says. “You need this more than I do.”
He pulls the grey cashmere scarf out of his jacket, unwinds it from his neck and slips it around Hal’s instead, wrapping him up snugly and tucking the ends into his parka. Hal makes incoherent noises of protest, but then it’s already too late and the deed is done, leaving him with no choice but to accept it. He sighs.
“Thanks.”
Compelled, Wayne lays a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m proud of you, Hal.”
Hal looks up sharply, his expression bewildered. The confusion is gradually replaced by understanding, then inexpressible gratitude, and then he looks down at his slush-covered shoes and mumbles, “Whatever, man. I’m just doing the work.”
“Okay,” Wayne nods. “I’ll see you tonight.” He chucks him under the chin. “Don’t freeze to death.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll do my best,” Hal smirks. “Fortunately I’ve stored up all this fat for the winter.”
“Oh, is that what it’s for?”
“That and to suffocate my prey.”
“You’re an evolutionary marvel.”
“You know it.”
Wayne is halfway back across the parking lot when he turns and cups his hands to his mouth, shouting across the distance between them.
“Hey, what do you want for dinner?”
Hal squints up into the sky, considering. Then he shouts back at the top of his lungs.
“Bacon!”
_________end.