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By chance, they were by the water on New Year’s Eve.
It didn't really matter where they were going or what they had been doing or whose viscera they had just washed from their suits. It was something different every day, but it was really always the same thing: chasing Bendix and avoiding him, trying to do some good to make what happened to them, to their team, worth something. Midnighter would honestly like to say that it all started to blur together after a while, but of course, that wasn’t true for him. The computer in his head made sure he remembered all of it, keeping meticulous record of the wheres and the whats and the whos and the hows. The details of their lives, reduced to data points.
Tonight they’d found somewhere to stay on a beach, a vacation home that the computer deduced had been left empty over the holiday. It had electricity and running water, and those two things alone made it better than any place they’d stayed in the last three months. They took turns showering while the other stood guard and then, at Apollo’s insistence, washed their uniforms and their temperature-controlled synthetic under-suits. Apollo had found them robes in the master bedroom to wear while they waited for their own clothes to dry; the robes were plush and opulent and would be hell to fight in, but Midnighter found himself putting the one Apollo handed him on anyway, the computer providing detached analysis, not only on how best to get out of or otherwise utilize the robe in the case of a sudden fight, but also the probability that Apollo would end up undressing in front of him.
The latter thought made Midnighter’s heart stutter once, before he shut down that reaction with brutal efficiency. He’d run the calculations hundreds of times. He knew better. That wasn’t his to wish for, or to even consider.
And still, like a supplicant to an altar, he followed Apollo out to the porch when he went.
The porch wrapped all the way around, but in the back of the house, it faced the water, which was dark and calm, reflecting the night sky. Apollo bent to lean against the rail and turned his face up. His features were luminous under the gaze of the moon, its light accenting the perfect curve of his cheekbones and catching the upward curl of his long eyelashes. Midnighter knew he wasn’t being as discreet as he should, but it was hard to make himself look away when the sun itself was so enamored with Apollo that it illuminated him so lovingly even through its proxy.
Apollo drew in a deep breath and then released it, slow and steady with the calmness of someone who didn’t actually have to be breathing. His shoulders came down a full inch with his exhale. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said.
Midnighter hadn’t even looked. From his position by the doorway, he had a perfect view of someone far more beautiful. “Yeah,” he said anyway.
“It’s good,” Apollo was cautious with the words, like he was testing them out; but they still made Midnighter’s stomach twist a little, especially when Apollo’s warm, hopeful gaze turned towards him. “Makes me almost feel human again.”
Midnighter made a noise of assent, because he couldn’t look into Apollo’s eyes and shoot him down, even if he disagreed. He had no power here. The truth was, he’d known he was fucked from the day, almost six months ago, that Apollo had turned to look at him, and some part of him he hadn’t known actually existed had jolted to life so powerfully that it had shut down the computer’s ability to register Apollo as a target, and he’d been left staring into those celestial blue eyes without any filter. And he’d never recovered, not really.
He was absolutely sure that Bendix had intended to scoop this part out of him entirely. Maybe Bendix had even succeeded; the bastard wasn’t one to leave a job half-finished, that was for sure. And if Bendix had succeeded, then it was Apollo who had created that part of him, pulling together something from nothing. And next to the wonder and rapture of his true creator standing right beside him, even the beauty of nature was a pale comparison.
Apollo looked back out across the water. “They’re getting ready to set off fireworks,” he said.
Midnighter looked where Apollo indicated. A group of people were gathered around, a ways down the shoreline, preparing a small arsenal of fireworks to set off. Midnighter watched passively as the computer cycled through a dozen potential ways to disable the mundane threat, and then a few other ways to utilize the fireworks in an unrelated fight, should one come up. “Great way to bring in the new year,” he said. “Making sure to contribute to the destruction of the environment.”
“Colorfully,” Apollo added, matching his dry tone. When Midnighter shot him a look, Apollo smiled. “We can’t solve every problem at once. You really wanna kill someone for setting off fireworks?”
“Sometimes,” Midnighter said, but they both knew he was just talking. He came over to stand next to Apollo, although he stayed upright rather than leaning against the railing. “We were supposed to save the world, weren’t we?”
Apollo’s smile twisted a little. Something in Midnighter curled up at the sight, at the knowledge that he had brought Apollo’s mood down; but before he could think of a proper penance, Apollo was reaching out and taking his hand.
For a minute, it felt like the computer in Midnighter’s brain had short circuited, even though he knew that was impossible. He stared at their intertwined fingers, awestruck. He’d touched Apollo’s hands before, of course, but it was usually in passing or in circumstances where there was no time to think about what they were doing, like in the field or during medical care. But there was nothing else to claim his attention now, and he couldn’t have wrested it away if he’d tried. Apollo’s fingers were warm and smooth and so much softer than he’d ever imagined. He knew firsthand that Apollo had worn his hands to the bone, that they should be rough and calloused; but it seemed that his ability to not be hardened by the world, no matter how much it threw at him, extended even to the soft pads of his fingertips.
When he finally managed to look up at Apollo, brow furrowed, Apollo’s whole face had softened, something far too dangerous for Midnighter to name flickering in his cerulean irises. “First we save each other, right?” He asked.
Midnighter could feel his heart tripping over itself as he watched, almost in slow motion, Apollo’s eyes drop to his lips, and his face tilt up, and his tongue dart out briefly. He didn’t need the computer and its calculations to pick up on the end goal.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He pulled his hand free and stepped back.
Apollo’s face fell completely, and then went blank. He straightened up from the rail, turning so it was against his back instead, and curled one hand around the wood. “I apologize,” he said. His voice was steady, calm, composed. Withdrawn. “That was presumptuous of me.”
As if. As if Apollo could ever ask more of Midnighter than he had a right to. Midnighter’s hands curled into fists at his side. “We can’t,” he said, forcing the words up through clenched teeth.
“I understand,” Apollo said. His expression didn’t waver, and neither did his voice. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
If Apollo had reached in and pulled out his intestines, it would have hurt less. “I’ll fuck it up,” Midnighter explained, the words tumbling out of him. “We need each other to survive this. And if we try to be anything more… it’s too much of a risk. I’ve run it through the computer. I’ll fuck it up. It’s only a question of when.”
As he’d been speaking, Apollo’s face had changed: from that careful blankness, to confusion, to a cautious hopefulness that was even now shifting into something that looked startlingly - painfully - like affection. “You ran it through the computer?” He asked.
“Yes,” Midnighter said tightly.
“And in all the scenarios you saw, it never worked?”
Apollo’s lips were twitching at the edges, like he was trying to stop the smile from coming back. “Not enough of them,” Midnighter said tightly. “It’s not a fucking joke, Apollo. If we try something like this and we fuck it up, what are we going to do?”
“We suck it up and make it work anyway,” Apollo said calmly. When Midnighter scoffed and looked away, Apollo continued, “What, we’re supposed to let Bendix take every fucking thing away from us? Every shot at happiness? M. Come on. You’re running the idea of us through the computer and you won’t even give us a real shot?” He paused, and then said, in a voice brimming with sincerity, “I have faith in us, you know.”
Midnighter dragged his eyes back up to Apollo, and had to swallow hard at the sight of his beautiful, benevolent smile.
Which was why, he was sure, the bastard’s smile morphed into a sly grin. “I promise the real thing is better than anything your computer can come up with.”
“Asshole,” Midnighter breathed out, the word tinged with laughter that shouldn’t have come so easily.
Down by the water, the first firework shot off towards the sky. The explosion of color danced across Apollo’s face as he turned briefly to look at it. “Must be midnight,” he said. He looked back at Midnighter. “What do you think? Take a chance with me? Try something new for the new year?”
“It’s a bad idea,” Midnighter warned, one final objection that felt meaningless even as he said it. If Apollo could have faith in them, who was he to argue? He reached out reverently with one hand to touch Apollo’s cheek, an acolyte having his first true brush with divinity.
Apollo reached up and covered Midnighter’s hand with his own, then used his other hand to tilt Midnighter’s chin up. He leaned down, gaze flickering between Midnighter’s eyes and his lips.
And the computer was silent, drowned out by the sheer ecstasy of Apollo's lips on his.