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Bessie sipped on her cinnamon tea as she looked out the window facing the backyard and its newly raked lawn.
It was quite the picturesque scene outside, with the afternoon sun painting everything in a warm gold, contrasting the actual chill of the autumn air. She turned her gaze towards the apple trees and their now barren branches.
Picking those apples today had been no small task, but that’s what she had Milford for, always at the ready to assist her. And at her instructions he had picked fruits from both tree, and ground, diligently separating the windfall from the fresh ones by two large crates.
One for her, and one for the children and Sportacus. They’d appreciate the fresh apples. She knew with certainty that Sportacus would, anyway.
“All done, Ms. Busybody,” Milford’s strained voice said from the kitchen. “I’ve given Stephanie the other crate, just like you said. Oh my, this is heavy.”
Well then, her little moment of tranquillity was at an end. Bessie entered the kitchen to find, a not so much rosy cheeked than red faced, Milford with a wooden crate covered in a chequered cloth on top of the kitchen island.
“Thank you, Milford,” she said and saw the man practically glow at the simple ‘thanks’.
“You’re welcome,” Milford smiled warmly, wiping his brow. He then eyed the crate. “Are you going to make apple pie?”
“With these? No, cider, actually,” she said, making a mental note of giving Milford a small bottle as a token of proper appreciation of his assistance.
“I see. Well, I’ll be on my way then.” Visibly stalling, despite his words of leaving, and making an awkward shuffle in place instead, he added, “but, I’m always available, if you’d need any further help.”
“Duly noted,” she said and walked past him. “Good bye, Milford,” she dismissed him, paying no mind to his dejected little nod, already focusing on the task at hand.
No time like the present. She had prepared the kitchen, all she needed now was to sort through the crate of windfall apples to make cider out of. Sans the actually spoiled ones, it would be such a shame to throw away this much fruit, she’d reasoned. Usually this variety was too sweet, but she had a newly required recipe she wanted to try out.
Bessie removed the cloth and halted over the sight of the apples, crisp and varying in shades of pink to bright red.
Oh, for crying out loud.
“Milford?!” she called his name in a demand, and snapped her head up towards the exiting man.
Milford turned back where he stood in the doorway, “yes, Ms. Busybody?”
“These are the fresh fruit!” She held up one of the apples. Smooth firm skin, just like the rest in the crate on the counter. “You gave Stephanie the wrong container!”
“Oh dear.”
Now, see, Robbie didn’t exactly mind the passage of seasons as much as the varying temperatures. Winter was cold and full of frozen pulverized water everywhere, but the Holiday spoils were a literal treat. Not to mention the after Christmas sale. Same went for February when he could gorge himself on discount chocolate on the fifteenth of February to celebrate yet another successful year of singlehood. Spring was cold, soggy, and the air full of pollen, but Easter made up for it with the same reason of candy. Summer was… hot. And clammy. But there were perfect days for doing absolutely nothing during that season, unfortunately those were also when everyone, and by everyone he meant the local brats and that blue clad blowhard, decided to pollute the air with noise and, urk, fun.
Autumn on the other hand?
Autumn was thee season.
School was in full swing again, so the noisemakers’ time of being insufferable was limited. Along with the countdown for more Halloween candy, the costume departments were brimming with new supplies for his disguises, décor, crafts. The sheer aesthetic was all he could ever ask for.
Yes, autumn was by far the superior season.
With fresh supply at his disposal, he was in the midst of plotting a new scheme. He had overheard the brats saying something about orchards and apple picking. A scarecrow felt quite fitting, yes.
The schemes had gotten somewhat far in-between, and it had been years since Robbie had actually done something proper. He couldn’t let them know… err… think that he’d grown soft on them, after all.
He’d barely started drafting the bare bones of his plan when a mighty upset pink child, on his figurative doorstep, was bearing down on his hatch with forceful precise rapping.
“Robbie, come out!” Stephanie’s voice demanded.
Robbie blinked, brought out of his focus by the voice of the prepubescent pink girl.
“I know that you’re down there, Robbie, come out!”
She actually sounded proper angry, enough to pique his interest to make the climb and not just hide and wait her out.
“What. Do you. Want?!” Robbie snarled as he lifted the lid.
She wasn’t fazed, lobbying right back, “what did you do to Sportacus?” Hands on her hips and a face to match the stern tone.
He squinted at her in confusion. “Say whut?”
“You heard me. What did you do to Sportacus?”
As much as he’d love to take the credit for whatever had befallen the blue elf, it might be for the better to first find out just what exactly he was taking undue credit for.
“That… depends. I might need a reminder,” he squinted down at her anew with an added frown, “so why don’t you give me a summary?”
Just as a precaution.
“Sportacus ate an apple we gave him. He’s still awake, but now he’s all…” Stephanie grimaced and made a gesture with her hand, that didn’t help Robbie in the slightest in deciphering the irate child.
Sportacus was still awake? Awake but not quite lucid, judging by the hand wiggle. That was a new one.
“Did you sneak in one of your sugar apples again?”
Not that Robbie could recall, no. “He ate an apple?” he asked.
“Uhuh,” she noised.
“That you gave him?”
“Uhuh.”
“Then how is this my fault?!”
“Because it has to be!”
Flawless logic there.
Robbie could point out that it had been several months since he’d used the good ol’ reliable apple trick, however, that would probably only serve as further argument for her that it was then due time that he did something again, which was true, seeing as she had just interrupted his preparations for a new scheme.
Or he could just tell her to get lost and slam the lid in her face.
But he was now invested, and being too curious for his own good, he found himself climbing out of the chute. “Now this I have got to see,” he said and let the pink terror lead the way.
She took him to the park, and he saw the rest of the brats surrounding a blue figure sitting under a tree.
“Robbie Rotten!” the group exclaimed as one and descended upon him when they’d spotted him. And no sooner did they, too, nag the same questions and accusations as Stephanie had.
Robbie paid them little mind, his gaze fixed on Sportacus instead, who looked quite uncomfortable and unusually still, leaning with his back against the trunk of the tree and clutching one of his notorious water bottles in a two hand grip.
Maybe he should’ve taken credit for this, alas it was too late, Robbie thought. Ignoring the brats completely by now, he walked over to Sportacus to have a proper gloating at him.
“Hello, Sportaflop,” he leered down at him.
Sportacus straightened up, stiff as a plank and smiled. A bit too wide even for him. “Hi,” he chipped.
It made Robbie give pause.
Nearby Sportacus there was a bruised apple on the ground. And, judging by the chunk missing from it, it had to be the very one Stephanie had told Robbie of.
He toed the spongy apple, put two and two together, did some mental gymnastics.
And got five.
“You had a bad apple, huh? Got a little tummy ache there,” Robbie lowering his voice, “or something else?”
The smile fell and Sportacus pressed his lips into a firm line and it was all the acknowledgement Robbie needed to know that he was right.
Robbie hung his head and silently swore.
They’d gotten the elf involuntarily intoxicated!
Had this been a couple of years ago, Robbie might have all too gleefully hopped onto this chance presented before him on a silver platter. Paraded the drunk elf and crowed, ‘look, this is what you’re letting your children associate with!’ On the other hand, he might not have done so. He wasn’t that cruel. There was framing for swiping sweets and then there was… this.
Fact still stood that Robbie really had gone soft. Damn it.
Which led to the problem at hand, and his own soft core to be blamed. Sportacus should not be seen in this state. Not in front of the brats.
“Yes, I see what the issue is.” Louder, Robbie explained in a half-truth to said brats, “Sportaflop had a bad apple,” seeing a flash of panic in Sportacus’ eyes before he finished, “and now he’s feeling sick.”
“So, you really didn’t do anything?” Stephanie asked.
“Told you so.”
“Huh, I’m sorry, I suppose.”
Robbie knew a disingenuous apology when he heard one, and he should probably take offense, but that was the last thing on his long list of issues right now.
Robbie weighed his options. He got down on his haunches and asked Sportacus in a low tone, “can you get up? Can you get to your ship?”
Sportacus shook his head in a negative.
Figures.
If Sportacus couldn’t leave, then Robbie would have to make the brats scatter instead.
With his knees protesting, Robbie stood up and turned to them. “Now you know what’s wrong with your darling hero. All is well in the world and he’ll live to cartwheel another day. So, shouldn’t you worrywarts be going home now? Isn’t it your dinner time or something? Or bed time for the runt, I guess.”
“I’m no runt,” Ziggy protested.
“It is our curfew very soon, though,” Pixel said.
“So,” Robbie continued, “you better go then.”
“But we can’t leave Sportacus!” Trixie objected. “Not if he’s sick!”
“Yeah,” Stingy chimed in.
Robbie was going to regret this. No, scratch that, he already did.
“I’ll keep an eye on him, until he feels better,” he offered.
What had he gotten himself into?
Stephanie stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You will?”
“Sure.” Anything to make them leave. He’d get Sportacus back to his stupid ship and they’d never speak of this again, unless Robbie should ever be in the need of calling in a favour, that is.
“Do you promise?” her eyes got dark. “I will know if you lied and left him.”
“I, uh,” somehow this was worse than her being angry at him earlier. This vowed of retribution somehow, of which Robbie wanted no part of. “I promise?”
That was apparently good enough, judging by the smile and nod of hers, and they all said loud goodbyes at Sportacus, who silently waved back.
“Thank you, Robbie!” they cried in parting to him as well.
“Yes, yes! Shoo! Away with you!”
“You owe me,” Robbie said the moment he’d lost sight of them, and turned back towards his ward.
Just in time to see, as if strings cut, Sportacus sagging back against the trunk. No longer in need of putting on an approximation of sobriety.
Robbie also now understood why he’d been so eerily silent earlier.
“Thank you, Robbie.” It came out as a ‘Whobbie’.
The elf had always had a funny accent, but this was downright brutal. “Say that again,” he coaxed, he might as well have a little fun with this while it lasted.
Sportacus clammed up with what could only be described as a sullen expression crossing his features. If Robbie didn’t know better, he’d say that Sportacus was sulking.
“C’mon,” he tried not to outright gloat, and somewhat failed, “it’s simple. Roll your R’s. After me now; Rrrrrobbie Rrrrrotten.”
And what came out was another Wwwwh, instead of the R’s, yet again.
“Say rabbit.” Grinning from ear to ear when he only received a dirty look.
Sportacus was sulking!
He laughed aloud. “Are you really that bad off, or do you have a speech impediment or something?” he managed to chortle when he’d calmed somewhat.
“Yes.”
He blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
Sportacus hummed and nodded.
“Huh,” Robbie noised, falling silent.
Awkward.
He eyed the discarded apple that was the reason for all this brouhaha. Robbie was by no means an expert on what was acceptable and unacceptable sportscandy, personally they all went into the unacceptable category. But this one looked downright rotten. “So… Pinky gave me a quick rundown of things. But let me give a play by play of what you did anyway, to see if I am getting this straight, because I can’t believe we’re here now,” he said and started counting on his fingers. “You took the mushy apple into your hand, seeing the state of it, took, urk, a bite out of the mushy apple. And you didn’t think that it was a bad one?!”
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Sportacus defended, breaking his recent vow of silence.
“My point still stands.”
There was that sulking pout again. Sportacus should do that more often. It brought some humility to the otherwise holier than thou hero, made him more human, if you could call it that. More approachable, Robbie settled on.
“Alright, fun time’s over,” Robbie said, jabbing a thumb upwards, “let’s get you back to your airship and we’ll pretend this never happened, shall we?”
“I can’t get in.”
Robbie frowned. “What do you mean you can’t get in?” He’d come to accept that he might have to do some semi-heavy lifting, but, not get in at all?
“It won’t let me in if I’m inebri, inehe” Sportacus visibly struggled with the word, “ine… like this.”
Robbie decided to spare him from making fun of the slurring and incapability to say the word even he himself was struggling with on a good day. “How’s that?”
Instead of answering him, Sportacus shouted to the sky, “ladder!”
Nothing.
“See?” Sportacus said.
“Well, that’s rather inconvenient for everybody involved,” Robbie stated. “It’s like some kind of alcohol interlock system?” Robbie looked up at the ship, and tried to gauge the distance. Too far up, he decided. “How can it even tell from there?”
“It’s synced with this,” Sportacus explained and showcased his left armguard.
Right.
Looked like he’d be out here for some time. He sat down next to Sportacus, rather than standing around looking dumb and tiring his legs out.
The ground was cold and damp. Robbie shivered and rubbed his arms for friction to stave off the chill. He should’ve brought a coat, then again he hadn’t thought that this day would end with him babysitting his nemesis.
Sportacus started playing with the bottle of water, and judging by the sloshing noise it made it had to be half empty, right until he dropped it when the usual perfect hand to eye coordination failed him and looked down at the bottle like it had deeply betrayed him as it rolled away.
It struck Robbie that he’d never asked what any other person should’ve done by this point; “how are you actually feeling?”
Sportacus made a vague hand wiggle that reminded of the one Stephanie had done to sum up the situation.
“You… you have been drunk before? Right?”
“No.”
It figured. Sportacus couldn’t even eat candy, for starters, and went to bed the same time as a preschooler. He was the poster child of straight edge, so of course he hadn’t. “Mazel Tov then, I suppose.”
“I’ve been on strong painkillers before, it feels a bit like that… I don’t like it,” Sportacus stated.
“For what?” What kind of pain could warrant strong painkillers? For all Robbie knew, the elf might get off his face on tramadol, considering current circumstances.
“I’ll show you the scars,” Sportacus gave a lopsided smile, “if you ask nicely.”
Robbie basically choked on spit in surprise. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that Sportacus was- No. Absolutely not. It couldn’t be. He coughed and cleared his throat, willing his voice down an octave from a squeak to something akin to normal, “forget that I asked. Can you stand up or walk, at all?”
The smile fell. “I… I don’t trust my legs right now.”
“As in…?”
“If I lean my head back the room begins to spin.”
“We’re outside, but okay.” Yes, he was unfortunately somewhat familiar with that. Robbie didn’t know why it happened, physiologically speaking anyway, but had dubbed it ‘shouldn’t have had that last shot of butterscotch liqueur’ level drunk.
All this from one bite of fermented apple?
“Lightweight,” Robbie mocked out loud.
“I appreciate that you want to keep me company, but, you don’t have to, really,” Sportacus said, or Robbie guessed that that’s what he was trying to anyway. “I’ll just… wait it out, I guess.”
“Yeah, sure. And when the kids find you here in the morning, right where I left you, Pinky will have my head on a pike.” The brats didn’t scare him easily, but they were getting older and craftier. “No thanks, I’m looking after my own interests here, too.”
They should, however, find somewhere dry and warmer to wait for Sportacus to sober up enough for the ship to let him back in. However long that would take. If worse came to worst, Robbie supposed that he could let him…
Sportacus let out a laugh, but there wasn’t anything humorous about it, and it made Robbie feel ill at ease how uncharacteristic it was. “I should’ve known that you didn’t do this to be nice to me. You never do,” Sportacus chuckled, saturated in something bitter. “Leave me. I’ll tell Stephanie that, I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I’ll come up with something.”
Robbie was given an out. He should take it for both of their dignity’s sake. But because his pride always trumped his dignity, he instead found himself bristling, “I gave you a wheelbarrow full of apples,” years ago, but still, “I can do nice things. When I want to!” And this here was why he never did anything nice, as the blasted blue elf so ineloquently put it, not with gratitude like this!
Sportacus snorted, shaking his head. “You had stolen those, and tricked me.”
Robbie made an indignant huff and crossed his arms in response. So, Sportacus had figured that one out. And of freaking course Sportacus was a morose drunk. Only thing worse would be if he’d been more wired than when sober. Now that would’ve been a right nightmare.
“Why don’t you like me?”
That question was so out of the blue that it left Robbie momentarily stupefied.
A direct question which answer could be varying between; ‘because you’re too noisy. Because you undid my life’s work and I’m now the laughing stock of the Villain community. Because everyone worships the ground you’re doing jumping jacks on. Because you’re too kind to everyone, too unassuming, too good.’ All those and many more went through his head. What came out of his mouth was, “because you’re perfect.”
Sportacus stared. “Because I’m…” now frowning, “what?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m really not.”
“Oh, I know that.” He tried to remind himself on a daily basis anyway. “But your horde of fans doesn’t”
“You sound jealous,” Sportacus scoffed.
That one hit a little too close. At gunpoint he might, just might, admit that he dreamt of receiving the same level of praise as the damnable hero did. To have the very same hero fawn over him in adoration. To have him… but that’s all they were; dreams.
“Whatever,” Robbie groused. “Besides, not everyone can like you, and you just got to live with it.” Robbie certainly knew he had to.
“I know that,” Sportacus said, slumping a little further down the tree trunk, closer to Robbie, and the elf was a living furnace Robbie realised, practically feeling the heat radiating off his skin without them even touching. “But it bothers me when someone I like doesn’t like me.”
“You… what?”
Sportacus gave him a droll expression. “You heard me.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
Yeah, about as serious as the heart attack he was currently giving Robbie right now, no doubt. “Look, it’s not like,” he groaned, he was never going to recover from this, “I don’t hate you. And if I’d wanted to, I could’ve told the brats that you were drunk on fermented apples and ruined your rep, for real.”
Robbie thought he could hear cogwheels turning, before Sportacus said, “but you didn’t.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Thanks.”
“Give me credit where my credit is due.” Or however that went. “I’m not leaving your drunk butt out here. Pinky’s wrath or not.”
Sportacus hummed. “Thanks, Robbie, that means a lot.” Then leaned in the last inches against Robbie, and then stayed there. Sportacus wasn’t sagging, but was definitely putting pressure where their arms touched, lining them up from shoulder to wrist and touching the back of Robbie’s hand. And for the life of him, Robbie could not stop staring at where Sportacus’ hand fidgeted, knuckles brushing against his own as he did so.
“Some good out of this, I suppose,” Sportacus eventually mumbled and Robbie had to physically strain to make out the words. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I’ve missed your games.”
Games?!
However, Robbie’s initial comment of protest over the gross simplification of his schemes was derailed because, oh, okay, that was definitely an intentional stroke of Sportacus’ thumb, and now they were practically holding hands! “You’ve,” Robbie’s voice squeaked despite his best efforts, though managing to turn his head to look down at Sportacus, only to find the hero craning his head to stare up at him as well, “you’ve missed me trying to drive you out of town?”
“I know where I have you when I can see you,” Sportacus stated, and if it hadn’t been for the slur in his speech, or the odd statement itself, then Robbie would’ve thought that he was stone cold sober looking up at him that unwaveringly. “I’ve missed you.”
Sportacus had missed him?! “I mean, I, uh, likewise?”
The smile was blinding, though too unnervingly wide. “Really?”
“Yes?”
It was sort of true, seeing how much time Robbie spent actively, idly, subconsciously, thinking of the hero. It wasn’t something he’d be able to explain easily. Actually, he’d prefer not to and simply take it to his grave. And frankly, he was still wrapping his head around that Sportacus acknowledged his sheer existence enough to miss it. More often than once he’d gotten the feeling that the rivalry was purely one sided, not because Sportacus didn’t consider him a threat, or even a nuisance, but because he simply didn’t care. That Robbie was just another anonymous face in the crowd.
“Robbie,” Sportacus wetted his lip, and letting go of Robbie to get up on his knees, “I have something I want to tell you.”
“And… that’s?”
Robbie didn’t see it happen much less have time to react, but suddenly his entire visual field was occupied by Sportacus. He jolted backwards in surprise at the inhumanly fast movement, and hit the back of his head against the tree trunk.
Sportacus followed the motion, crowding Robbie, and declared, “I like you.”
“Wha, what?! Yes, you said that earlier!”
“No, I like you,” he said slowly and with conviction, shaking his head.
Did he actually mean…? Oh jeez. “You’re drunker than I thought, you’re talking nonsense.” At least the first statement was definitely true. The second being a direct consequence in the shape of a severely impaired judgement.
“Not nonsense. I think you’re cute. And, and fun, even when you try to kick me out of town. But you’re also nice,” adding with that lopsided smile that really should’ve been Robbie’s first red flag, “when you want to.”
“Yeah, definitely drunker than I thought.”
“Robbie?” Sportacus breathed, tilting his head and leaned in, pausing inches away with a question in his eyes that Robbie realised weren’t as sharp as he’d been fooled into thinking. And was now so close that Robbie could feel the warm puffs of his breath contrasting the cold air on Robbie’s already burning face.
He knew what Sportacus was aiming to do.
Robbie looked at the slightly parted pink lips beneath the moustache.
There was a temptation there.
The man of his dreams was practically offering himself on a silver platter before him.
Drunk.
Robbie couldn’t do it.
On the second time that evening he found himself rejecting that silverware.
As if watching as a mere spectator he saw his own hand squarely place over Sportacus’ clavicle over the uniform, keeping him at bay.
“Uh, well,” he was grasping for words, “that is to say, uhm, how about we try this some other time?” He added in his head, ‘when you’re sober.’
Sportacus pulled back with a violent jerk. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Robbie lied. “We’re… we’re cool.”
“Oh, okay,” Sportacus mumbled and sagged back against the tree trunk, away from Robbie. “Sorry, again.”
“Uhuh,” Robbie noised and looked at a specific tuft of grass that was mighty interesting.
They sat in awkward silence for several minutes and Robbie was starting to freeze his butt off now that the only heat source had left his side.
He decided to bite the bullet and turned to Sportacus. “Maybe we should-” and was cut off by a surprisingly loud noise that had him gape.
He was pretty sure he’d never heard the elf honest to goodness snore before!
Escaping awkward situations by unconsciousness, Robbie would have to remember that one for future references.
There was a bothersome clanging noise and Sportacus winced, cracking dry bleary eyes open a sliver and was greeted by a metallic bluish blur. Too tired and disoriented, he drew the bolster back over his head. It smelled musty from disuse. “Please, not so loud,” he groaned.
“As if you’ve ever granted me that wish,” a familiar voice replied.
Robbie?!
Sportacus peered out from his confines again, stark awake and now recognised that he was in Robbie’s lair. Lying on the floor on what was either a really thin lumpy mattress, or a pile of blankets. Not looking through bars this time at least.
“You are one grouchy drunk, did you know that?”
Right. The fermented apple.
His memory was still pretty hazy on the details after Robbie had uncharacteristically offered his help, and he certainly had no memory of reaching the lair. He must’ve blacked out, and that in itself was quite worrying.
Sportacus pushed his hair out of his eyes and raised his arm to open the armguard to look at the clock. Only to find his arm bare. Both his arms were.
Coming to his full faculties with a start, he realised that not only was he missing his hat, armguards, and shirt; he was in his underwear. “Where are my clothes?”
“In the washer.”
Before he could ask why, Robbie continued, “much like that rotten apple, you didn’t agree with the slide down here. You just about puked your guts out the moment we landed.”
Sportacus groaned and hid his face in the pillow. “I’m sorry,” he spoke into it.
“Yes, you kept repeating that,” Robbie’s voice said in a droll tone. “It wasn’t even nearly as annoying as you insisting on brushing your teeth afterwards.”
Well, at least he’d had his priorities straight, Sportacus could comfort himself with.
“You owe me a new toothbrush, you threw my spare across the room when you were done.” Adding, “rude.”
“Sorry.”
Robbie chuckled, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps.
Daring to show his face, he found a bemused looking Robbie looming over him. Far too bemused. Then again, Robbie had always found humour in others misery.
“How’s the hangover?”
Sportacus couldn’t tell if he was gloating or if the question was out of genuine concern. The way that Robbie had his hands clasped behind his back and rocking on the ball of his feet made him guess it wasn’t the latter.
“I’ve… felt better,” Sportacus answered sincerely. There was a dull ache behind his eyes, with the lights being too bright. And though not quite nauseous, he felt uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in his own skin, like something was wrong. An undercurrent of anxiety. Probably the embarrassment of what Robbie had just told him amplified by what was ‘the day after’ paranoia he’d only heard of, until now. He could do with some water, and a very long nap.
“Now that I do believe.”
Sportacus wondered if he should dare ask for a glass of water, if there was any drinkable water down here. And directions to the bathroom while at it.
Robbie squatted down and showed what he’d been hiding behind his back, holding out a red apple for Sportacus. “Hair of the dog?”
The crisp apple had him recoil in revulsion, the usually enticing smell having his already empty stomach roll.
This had Robbie laugh and throw the fruit away over his shoulder, uncaring of where it landed. “That’s a no then.”
This up close, Sportacus noticed that Robbie looked tired. Well, more so than usual. He always looked tired, even if he tried to hide the dark rings under those rare grey eyes with concealer, but now he looked downright exhausted. “Have you been up all night?” Sportacus asked before he could stop himself.
Robbie stilled, seeming taken by surprise, though it was fleeting. “No thanks to you,” he acknowledged. “Not like you’re in a position to judge. Your eyebags got eyebags.”
The jab aside, that Sportacus looked about as he felt, made him wonder, had Robbie kept watch? All night?
Before Sportacus could ask any further questions, about anything, there was a loud banging coming from above and ricocheting through the lair, making them both flinch.
A “Robbie?” accompanied it.
That was Stephanie’s voice, Sportacus recognised, peering up from where he’d ducked his head back under the covers.
Robbie, in turn, let out a longsuffering sigh and got up to stalk over to the elevated platform with the strange cylindrical showcases of outfits.
Robbie clapped his hands and a periscope came down from the ceiling.
“Oh, it’s you,” Robbie drawled when he looked into it.
There had to be a microphone attached to it, because not long after there was a reply. The noise from the speakers carried loud and clear, and Sportacus tried to not cover his ears too blatantly when Stephanie asked, “where’s Sportacus?”
“He’s here.”
“Is he okay? Can I see him? You didn’t lock him up again, did you?”
“Yes, no, and no need for that. He threw up earlier, so I don’t think he’s in any shape for those cartwheels just yet.”
“Oh no, so he really was sick? Please, tell him I’m so sorry for that apple, I hope he’ll feel better soon!”
“Yeah, whatever. Begone, or I’m telling him you’re skipping school.”
Skipping school? What time was it?!
There was an indignant outcry from Stephanie, but she left shortly after the threat and Sportacus found himself with some mighty mixed feelings over the short exchange. Glad that she was going to school, but all the same guilty how equally glad he was that she was leaving.
Sportacus saw Robbie shove the apparatus upwards where it had come from, watching his figure as he stretched upwards with some appreciation of the tight outfit. “Did you have to tell her that?” he asked.
Robbie turned to him and grinned, “I keep hearing that I should be more truthful,” practically sauntering back down to the makeshift bedding Sportacus occupied.
Robbie came to a halt, once again towering over Sportacus. However, the glee from earlier was gone. “Speaking of truthful. Do you remember yesterday?”
Sportacus furrowed his brow at the enigmatic question. Remember what, specifically? He’d eaten an apple he, in hindsight, shouldn’t have. Stephanie had gone after Robbie in the belief that there had been foul play, before Sportacus had realised himself what had happened and could object. Robbie offering to keep him company and… then it got hazy.
He swallowed thickly. “What happened?”
“Of course you don’t remember.” Robbie dragged his hand over his face, then said, “you tried to kiss me. And not we’re best friends I love everyone tried to kiss me either.”
Oh.
Oh no.
He had.
He didn’t remember the details, but, yes, he did remember why he had this ball of anxiety in his chest now.
Concentrating, it came to him like scenes out of a silent movie. That he’d spilled his guts in more ways than one.
And that Robbie had rejected him.
Sportacus had kept it together in front of the kids, only to make an absolute ass out of himself in front of Robbie instead. And under the influence acted on an ill-advised attraction he’d managed to keep under wraps for literal years!
“So…” Robbie shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable, more genuine of just how bothered he must be from what happened last evening, before he, to Sportacus’ utter surprise, sat down by the edge of the crude bedding. “Is there anything you would like to tell me, like where the heck all that came from?”
Sportacus might as well own up. “Robbie, I, I’m sorry that I made you uncomf-”
“Not what I asked,” Robbie cut in.
Sportacus continued regardless, “that I made you uncomfortable, and that you had to find out like this. But, yes, I’ve… I would be lying if I said that that came out of nowhere.”
Robbie stared with a furrow between his eyebrows, that Sportacus wanted to just lean over and smooth out with the pad of his thumb. Instead he laid down to stare up into the ceiling high, high, above.
He continued, “I think you’re cute, actually, and… and that you’re attractive.” Closing his eyes, here it went. “I’m attracted to you.” What Robbie lacked in personality traits he made up for in looks and ingenuity. That was unfair, he berated himself, evidently Robbie had voluntarily taken care of him in his vulnerable state, and before this it had been a long time since Robbie had used any contraptions with any real bite in them towards Sportacus. There virtually hadn’t been any during the summer, he’d barely seen Robbie at all -and Sportacus had found himself missing his self-proclaimed villain.
Which had directly led to why they were currently having this very conversation.
A shadow fell over him and he opened his eyes again to find Robbie obscuring his view, leaning over him fully and placing his hands by Sportacus’ head where he laid on his back, practically boxing him in in a crude mirroring of their places yesterday. And wasn’t that just another distressing reminder of what he’d done to Robbie; just short of forcing himself on him.
Looking up into his face, there was a twitch in Robbie’s lips into a brief smile, before taking on a strange expression Sportacus couldn’t decipher. “So, it wasn’t just the fermentation talking then?”
Sportacus shook his head in a negative. He did mean in.
“Then, I guess you won’t mind this so much.”
Without further explanation of what he meant by those words, Robbie leaned down and kissed him.
It was a brief warm press of lips against his own, but they were Robbie’s lips and a hot electric surge went through Sportacus on contact.
Robbie lingered a moment after the kiss, tantalizingly, painfully, close. But before Sportacus could lean up in hopes for a second one, he drew back in a sitting position.
“But, I,” Sportacus followed and sat up as well, smiling, elevated, very confused at this development, all at once, “I thought you didn’t…?”
Robbie looked bemused again, but there was warmth behind it and he shook his head. “You were drunk off your butt and I’m not that kind of villain.”
“Oh,” Sportacus said aloud. It hit him that Robbie could’ve exploited that, could’ve exploited him in the state he’d been in. “Thank you,” he exhaled.
Robbie snorted and ducked in for that second kiss that Sportacus was craving, cupping the back of his head to draw him closer and deepening it.
If not for the headache and slight nausea, this would’ve been perfect.
Robbie pulled back again, smiling and caressed Sportacus’ cheek with his knuckles and the small touch felt more intimate than the kisses themselves had. “You need anything? Since I’m guessing you’re not migraine level hungover, but you’re not hungry either. Though I can only hope that you’ve sworn off apples forever.”
Besides a final lesson in learning to check the apples before he ate them, be they fermented, or sugar, then no, not likely. “Some water would be nice,” Sportacus smiled, deciding to get the most out of this rare bout of altruism that Robbie was displaying.
“Your ugl… aesthetically questionable water bottle is here somewhere, so, yes, I can do that,” Robbie said, getting up and making a pained noise over the disturbing crackle of his joints. His eyes went over Sportacus’ upper torso on display, with an appreciation in them Sportacus wasn’t used seeing from him, “and you can tell me about how you got all those scars I didn’t get to ask you nicely to see before you chucked all your clothes off.”
Sportacus groaned, he couldn’t believe he’d said that as well, and covered his head with the old disused bolster again, slightly mortified but found himself smiling at the sound of Robbie’s soft laughter.
“Ms. Busybody,” Bessie heard Milford enter her home seconds after his knocking. “Stephanie told me that they would return the apples after school. But I’m afraid, well, you see, she said that Sportacus already had one of the apples and he wasn’t feeling all that well and-”
“I already know,” Bessie stated from where she was looking in through the oven at the apple pie that was currently baking.
“Oh, you… do?”
“Yes,” she said and straightened up. “I had a couple of interesting calls today. Apparently,” she turned to Milford where he stood at the threshold and said with a smirk, “half the town saw Robbie push Sportacus in a wheelbarrow towards his lair last evening. They were both in quite the state, from what I understand.”
Milford nearly tripped over his own feet at the implications. “Oh dear.”
“I believe it’s better if we don’t tell the children about this. Now, put on those mittens and help me with this pie.”
“Yes, Ms. Busybody.”