Runaway with you if things don't go as planned
Title: 20/20
Fandom: Runaways
Pairing: Gert/Chase
Word Count: 485
A/N: Written initially for alice_and_lain but cleaned up. I am so lazy.
“Damn it,” Gertrude Yorkes hissed under her breath as she fruitlessly groped at her sheets. “Where did I put those things?”
“What’s up babe?”
Gert squinted, trying to get a reading on if Chase was smirking at her or genuinely confused. “I lost my glasses again.”
“No problem, I’ll snatch a spare.”
Hoping a withering glance in his general direction would suffice, she said, “I’d like to point out that my eyes, unlike the leapfrog, are not a one size fits all.”
Having moved out of her area of vision, Gert could only stand around helplessly as she heard the clatter of drawers and Chase’s mutterings before she sensed him coming back. Whenever someone invaded her personal space she knew it, but Chase somehow managed to make it feel less like an intrusion and more like simply shifting from one viewpoint to another. Before she had a single focus and then he was there, in the way but not really since she began to focus on him too.
Even within reaching distance Gert couldn’t read his expression but she felt his fingers brush against her hair, the calluses tickling her cheek as he slipped thick black frames on her.
“And some poet guy said love was blind,” he said smugly.
Gert blinked and shook her head while adjusting to how the world became a new shade of blurry. “These are not even close to my prescription.”
“Seriously? What a gyp, you’d think the furry nerd would have some kind of bifocal thing for it.”
“These are reading glasses, hon,” she said and plucked them off, albeit gently. “Apparently mutants really do have evolved genes because these aren’t half as strong as the ones I need.”
Chase moved into her personal space and breathed hotly into her ear. “I could be your guide? Like a seeing eye dog except I don’t need to wiz on trees.”
“Or I could just suck it up and get out the contacts,” Gert murmured, but the small catch in her voice betrayed her.
“I like contacts.”
His hands were winding along her side, up against the small of her back.
She swallowed, fumbling for something more. Some thread of thought to fixate on. “I like being able to see stuff that’s right in front of me.”
Chase leaned forward, to the point where she could make out the finest details of his face. How he had imperceptible freckles along the ridges of his cheeks from days in the sun, and his straw blond hair with split ends. The way the left corner of his mouth twitched first, sliding over his canine into a self-satisfied grin that both
He smiled. “Really? How about now?”
When he caught her mouth in his Gert instinctively felt her eyes close, her quest for her glasses entirely forgotten for the moment. But that was okay. She saw what was in front of her perfectly fine.
Title: Far From Home
Fandom: Impulse(after issue 85)/Runaways(season two, issue 11)
Word Count: 597
A/N: I regret nothing.
The problem with running away from home when you’re Bart Allen is that you’re not really running away. There’s no distance put between you and wherever you’re running from when you can cross the globe in five seconds. And he’s not patient enough to slow down so it feels like he’s gone a long way from Wally’s shouting and the empty house in Manchester, it just feels like a brief intermission and any second a scarlet streak will come barreling down on him telling him how childish he’s acting.
Bart doesn’t care that it’s childish, because it’s not like they were treating him like an adult when they decided to shuffle him off into Jay’s care without a second word. They stopped calling it a temporary solution, and that makes Bart hate them more because he knows they’ve given up on Max coming back just like they gave up on him.
So he doesn’t know why he’s wandering around a bus terminal at three in the morning, except he never had to before and it feels different enough from every other place he’s ever traveled, the deserts and jungles and playgrounds, that maybe it’s far enough from everything he’s seen to count as “away.”
He’s out of place there, with the grimy benches and litter scattered everywhere because the terminal is nobody’s home so they don’t bother to take care of it. If he squints he can see phone numbers and curses etched into the tiling but they don’t bother to make sense. And if Max hadn’t taught him it was wrong Bart could see himself writing something on there too, just because.
Bart kicks an empty pack of cigarettes away and wonders if this anxiousness is part of living life like normal people do. He wonders how long he’ll be able to keep himself here before he gets scared and starts running again.
Then he notices a girl huddled asleep on one of the cleaner benches, and he knows he’s looking at somebody more out of place here than he is because she’s sleeping there like it’s home, and this place isn’t anybody’s home and never should be and a part of him is wondering if he should check the walls again for some kind of sign or number like they would magically match up.
But Bart isn’t a detective, he’s just a scared kid who happens to run fast so he doesn’t go over to the bench and shake her to ask if he can take her somewhere safer or at least help her look for someone. It’s not something Max explained on his list of do’s and don’ts while protecting the world. And now he can’t just run home and ask Max anymore.
So he sits. And he fidgets. And he tries very hard to pay attention to everything else in terminal and he actually gets to the point where he’s wondering if he should just memorize the schedules when it hits him that in the past few hours he can’t remember anything except this one moment where the girl pulled her fuzzy pink cap off while half-asleep and tucked it under her head for a makeshift pillow.
He wants to ask the sleeping girl her name, not to write it up on the wall because it doesn’t belong there, but he wants something to hold on so maybe after he’s finished running from home he can trace his steps back and show her the way.
Fandom: Runaways
Pairing: Gert/Chase
Word Count: 485
A/N: Written initially for alice_and_lain but cleaned up. I am so lazy.
“Damn it,” Gertrude Yorkes hissed under her breath as she fruitlessly groped at her sheets. “Where did I put those things?”
“What’s up babe?”
Gert squinted, trying to get a reading on if Chase was smirking at her or genuinely confused. “I lost my glasses again.”
“No problem, I’ll snatch a spare.”
Hoping a withering glance in his general direction would suffice, she said, “I’d like to point out that my eyes, unlike the leapfrog, are not a one size fits all.”
Having moved out of her area of vision, Gert could only stand around helplessly as she heard the clatter of drawers and Chase’s mutterings before she sensed him coming back. Whenever someone invaded her personal space she knew it, but Chase somehow managed to make it feel less like an intrusion and more like simply shifting from one viewpoint to another. Before she had a single focus and then he was there, in the way but not really since she began to focus on him too.
Even within reaching distance Gert couldn’t read his expression but she felt his fingers brush against her hair, the calluses tickling her cheek as he slipped thick black frames on her.
“And some poet guy said love was blind,” he said smugly.
Gert blinked and shook her head while adjusting to how the world became a new shade of blurry. “These are not even close to my prescription.”
“Seriously? What a gyp, you’d think the furry nerd would have some kind of bifocal thing for it.”
“These are reading glasses, hon,” she said and plucked them off, albeit gently. “Apparently mutants really do have evolved genes because these aren’t half as strong as the ones I need.”
Chase moved into her personal space and breathed hotly into her ear. “I could be your guide? Like a seeing eye dog except I don’t need to wiz on trees.”
“Or I could just suck it up and get out the contacts,” Gert murmured, but the small catch in her voice betrayed her.
“I like contacts.”
His hands were winding along her side, up against the small of her back.
She swallowed, fumbling for something more. Some thread of thought to fixate on. “I like being able to see stuff that’s right in front of me.”
Chase leaned forward, to the point where she could make out the finest details of his face. How he had imperceptible freckles along the ridges of his cheeks from days in the sun, and his straw blond hair with split ends. The way the left corner of his mouth twitched first, sliding over his canine into a self-satisfied grin that both
He smiled. “Really? How about now?”
When he caught her mouth in his Gert instinctively felt her eyes close, her quest for her glasses entirely forgotten for the moment. But that was okay. She saw what was in front of her perfectly fine.
Title: Far From Home
Fandom: Impulse(after issue 85)/Runaways(season two, issue 11)
Word Count: 597
A/N: I regret nothing.
The problem with running away from home when you’re Bart Allen is that you’re not really running away. There’s no distance put between you and wherever you’re running from when you can cross the globe in five seconds. And he’s not patient enough to slow down so it feels like he’s gone a long way from Wally’s shouting and the empty house in Manchester, it just feels like a brief intermission and any second a scarlet streak will come barreling down on him telling him how childish he’s acting.
Bart doesn’t care that it’s childish, because it’s not like they were treating him like an adult when they decided to shuffle him off into Jay’s care without a second word. They stopped calling it a temporary solution, and that makes Bart hate them more because he knows they’ve given up on Max coming back just like they gave up on him.
So he doesn’t know why he’s wandering around a bus terminal at three in the morning, except he never had to before and it feels different enough from every other place he’s ever traveled, the deserts and jungles and playgrounds, that maybe it’s far enough from everything he’s seen to count as “away.”
He’s out of place there, with the grimy benches and litter scattered everywhere because the terminal is nobody’s home so they don’t bother to take care of it. If he squints he can see phone numbers and curses etched into the tiling but they don’t bother to make sense. And if Max hadn’t taught him it was wrong Bart could see himself writing something on there too, just because.
Bart kicks an empty pack of cigarettes away and wonders if this anxiousness is part of living life like normal people do. He wonders how long he’ll be able to keep himself here before he gets scared and starts running again.
Then he notices a girl huddled asleep on one of the cleaner benches, and he knows he’s looking at somebody more out of place here than he is because she’s sleeping there like it’s home, and this place isn’t anybody’s home and never should be and a part of him is wondering if he should check the walls again for some kind of sign or number like they would magically match up.
But Bart isn’t a detective, he’s just a scared kid who happens to run fast so he doesn’t go over to the bench and shake her to ask if he can take her somewhere safer or at least help her look for someone. It’s not something Max explained on his list of do’s and don’ts while protecting the world. And now he can’t just run home and ask Max anymore.
So he sits. And he fidgets. And he tries very hard to pay attention to everything else in terminal and he actually gets to the point where he’s wondering if he should just memorize the schedules when it hits him that in the past few hours he can’t remember anything except this one moment where the girl pulled her fuzzy pink cap off while half-asleep and tucked it under her head for a makeshift pillow.
He wants to ask the sleeping girl her name, not to write it up on the wall because it doesn’t belong there, but he wants something to hold on so maybe after he’s finished running from home he can trace his steps back and show her the way.