Chapter Text
A silver flash rushed through your small room. You had your coffee (black. You needed to stay awake somehow after all) in your hand and nearly spilled a precious drop on your bed.
“Pietro! Slow down or you have to buy me a new coffee!” That put a hold on the speedster. There he stood in the middle of the little room you called yours. At least for know. He held his hands up in mock surrender. The cocky grin in place like always.
“Prinzessa, the zun iz zining and you are ztill in your little dark room” he defended himself.
“Orgh!” you groaned. “But it is still so eeearly!”
“My little Toucan, it iz nearly eleven in the morning” that bastard chuckled.
“Too early!” You wanted to pull your blanket over your head, but with the coffee in your hand that was impossible.
“Boriz made zome pancakez. But when it iz too early. I think I will eat them alone”
Now you were awake.
“Pietro. NO!” But he speeded away. You (not so) fast on his heels.
~~~*~~~
Boris’s pancakes were the best in the world. The first time you got to try some you nearly cry. Of course, neither of the boys let you live that one down.
You really liked your current living situation. It was a tiny little flat in Madrid. The days were sunny, the tattoo-studio was in the front of the old building and had a few rooms for you to live in the back. Every one of you three had a room to themselves, you had a small kitchen, a bathroom and a tiny living space. The studio was small as well with the room for regular clients of Boris and a special one for yours.
It was definitely one of the nicer living situations you had had so far. By miles better than that flat in Berlin. You still wanted to shower when you thought about that hell hole.
Boris opened the shop mostly in the evening. With that you had the whole day in front of you. And with a few delicious pancakes in your belly, you searched for the cook of your beautiful breakfast/ lunch.
Boris, a mountain of a man with more tattoos than free skin was currently drawing a few new design ideas he had. Due to his massive form and the small flat you found him fast. He sat on the couch. His drawing pad in his hand, multiple pens living in a circle around him. You looked curiously over his shoulder. At the moment he was working on the drawing of mountains.
“Beautiful” you smiled a small smile.
“It is for your collection” You left a peck on his head. Boris was a gentle soul and a dear friend of yours. Always prepared to have something at hand for your clients.
“Hey Prinzessa! Why don’t I get a kizz?” Pietro asked as he suddenly stood behind you. A second before he hadn’t been there. In the beginning his pace really scared you, he would just pop up out of nowhere. But by now you welcomed it. It was Pietro and he liked to brag. And he had told you, that it was sometimes just easier for him to speed than to walk “normal”.
“Because Pietro, you ate most of my pancakes!”
“How can they have been yourz, when I ate them?”
It was sometimes overly frustrating to throw something at him, just for him to teleport himself away. Like right now. The pillow hadn’t left your hand fully and he was away.
“Maybe stand up fazter next time, Prinzessa” he yelled already from the next room.
Maybe you would mess with his shampoo again. Pink hair would suit him just fine.
You went to your room. It could use a little tidy up. Not that it was messy. You didn’t have much that could get messy (due to the lifestyle you and your boys were participating in), but from time to time it did need a clean.
You put your clothes away and even vacuumed the floor. Of course, you rechecked your backpack. It was your emergency bag. A few faked pass boards, cash, a few cloths. The bare necessities to survive. And survive you did. For the last year you and your boys had had not one encounter with Hydra.
Sure, you were not really staying long in any place, but if that was the price to pay you would gladly do it. Same as Pietro.
Speaking of the devil.
“Pietro. Why are your dirty socks in my room?” you yelled through the flat. You heard Boris chuckle from his position on the couch.
“Becauze… you wazh your clothez more often?” He shouted back.
Yep, his pretty silver hair would get pink the next time he would shower.
~~~*~~~
The evening was drawing closer and with that the opening of the little tattoo-studio. Boris was just preparing his room, same as you. But your preparation was a little different from the one of the tattoo-artist.
While he put paint into the right places, you were preparing towels. While he cleaned the mirrors you took account of the tissues. You both had a couch for your clients.
After you were satisfied you went back into the living quarters. After all Pietro and you tended to keep to yourselves. The less people saw you the better. And the longer you could stay in one place.
Pietro was just restocking the fridge. Plenty of sweets found their way into it.
“What are you preparing for speedster?”
“Everyzing”
You smiled. As annoying as Pietro could be, he was a dear friend. Dared you to say your best friend. Not that you had much to choose from. But still. Pietro always looked after you. He and Boris knew that the sessions you did always exhausted you.
Not just mentally, but physically as well. And the best cure against that were sweets. And after you had once passed out after an especially bad session Pietro made sure to always have at least a chocolate bar on him.
~~~*~~~
Another difference between you and Boris was, that you never knew what the evening would bring. Boris had his appointments. You didn’t.
It was nearly closing hour when a client for you appeared. Boris led the young girl into your working room. You were still in the back. But you could hear what Pietro said. It was always the same. Two terms they had to agree on, for your services. No payment.
“We will help you. Don’t cry. But we have two conditionz.” Pause.
“You never talk about it. And you get a tattoo after it.”
A brokenly whispered “okay” was heard.
You entered the room.
On the couch sat a young girl. She couldn’t be older than 19. She had long read hair and was crawling into herself. You closed your eyes and breathed out. Then you smiled a reassuring smile and went to the girl.
“Hello. What is your name?”
Her eyes were red. She had been crying for a while. Her long red hair was all over the place. She trembled and without looking closer you could see the place where she was clutching her stomach.
“Gabriella” she whispered. Her eyes were fixed on you. You tried to put her at ease. Speaking calm, slow and no fast movements. Something Pietro had had a hard time to learn. But he had learned.
“I can and will help you” a hand on her shoulder.
“Will you let me see it?” you asked in a low voice and pointed towards her stomach.
She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. With trembling hands and short breaths, she was lifting her green shirt up.
Oh my.
Her stomach was an arrangement of colours. But they didn’t worry you as much as the infected cut she had. It run from her bellybutton to the hem of her trousers.
“I’ll put my hand on either side of this nasty bad boy.” You looked into her scared eyes. And waited till she nodded.
“It will scar. And that scar will have an unnatural colour. To cover that up Boris will give you a tattoo.”
Her eyebrows raised a little but she nodded. She was white as a sheet. She was in immense pain, you were sure.
She laid back per your instructions and the you placed your hands on her stomach.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
You closed your eyes and concentrated on the cut. On the infected flesh. The torn tissue. Gabriella was meanwhile pulled into a conversation by Pietro. It was your routine. And you could now say with confidence, that Pietro knew when he had to leave the room and when he could stay and distract whoever you were working on.
“Have you been to any plazes bezide Madrid zo far, Gabriella?”
“Noo” she shifted. “But I always wanted to wander in the alps”
“Why the alpz?”
“They are just beautiful” and here was the first smile you would see from Gabriella. But gladly it would not be the last one. To achieve that you had to do just one thing:
You worked.
~~~*~~~
After you had mended the cut, you leaned back. On Gabriellas stomach was now a yellow scar where before the infected injury had been.
A few hours later she would leave the shop. With a tattoo of a sunset over the alps on her stomach. The yellow scar was now just another ray of the setting sun. If you didn’t know it was a scar you didn’t see it. Boris was a master of his art. After all he had a lot of practice.
Gabriella left with a small smile on her face and tears of relief in her eyes. She had thanked you and Pietro and Boris with about every breath she took. She was kind. She deserved better.
After she was gone Boris closed the shop.
~~~*~~~
“Yellow huh?” Boris asked over dinner.
At the beginning you had protested against speaking of what you did and what those people endured. But Boris had shown you that you needed to vent. Needed people you could talk to. Otherwise, you would get insane.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure it was an ex-boyfriend.” You shook you head. What people could do to people was still astonishing to you. Even after everything you still tried to believe in the good. It was hard. But your friends were a great help.
“Yez. Zhe waz alwayz growing tenze when I would azk about anything to do with dating” Pietro took a sip of his coke. He drank that stuff like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe it was. After all his speed could be explained with a massive sugar rush as well. Maybe.
Some people talked openly about what had happened to them. Some just cried.
“Maybe he was jealous because she broke up and had a new guy?”
“Or because of a shirt she wore”
After all everything you knew about Gabriella could fit on a stick note. She had had an infected cut on her belly. And whoever did it, did it because he or she was envy of her or jealous. It was the one thing you never told your clients. The one thing they didn’t need to know.
But the colour of the scar did tell you one thing or another.
And it did always scar. Weather you were healing an internal injury or a shallow one. There would always be a scar or a colourful bruise. They never faded.
The subject got changed by the time you were finished with your pasta. Together you washed the dishes. And maybe even Pietro a little bit too. He was fast yes, but one could surprise him now and then nevertheless. Like when you would fill your glass with the water from the sink in which you were washing the dishes, and then launching the water at him, when he turned his back to you.
Pietro was a good sportsman. Still at the end of your impromptu 11 pm water battel there was a soaking Boris (at first it had been collateral damage, but then he had laughed at you when Pietro put ice cubs in your shirt), a slippery floor, a grinning Speedster and you with wet hair and freezing and wet clothes.
You all had a smile on your faces as you laid down in the beds (after a warm shower for you).
Your life was not perfect. But it was good.