"I've been considering whether or not I can get away with a parade," Alec replies, smirking. "There could be confetti and candy. Which reminds me -"
He starts to get up, but then decides he doesn't actually want to, settles down again and notches his chin towards Lark's abbreviated kitchen instead. "I have a bet going with Tommy. I think he's too serious, and I'm concerned for his well being. Emotional, you understand. I advised he try a lollipop any time he felt too serious, which he refused, so I need people to help me enforce this."
Lark nods faux-seriously as Alec tells him he's worried for poor, broody Tommy. And then he laughs and he has to get up investigate. He comes back with two (one cherry, one grape) and offers one to Alec.
"Enforce how? Just throw one into his mouth every time he's pessimistic?"
"You'd make such a philanthropist," Lark smirks. "Seriously, how did this come up?"
He's equally glad that the closest thing he has to friends are getting along, and worried by it. Tommy making friends is kind of a dangerous prospect. And Alec doesn't have friends, he admits it readily.
"Indeed. As well you know, my deep and abiding love for people in general is one of my defining characteristics," Alec replies loftily, turning his attention largely back to the laptop.
He likes Tommy. Then again he liked Bull, too. "I sent him some red hots for Christmas. He said they were disgusting. When I asked what he preferred he said he didn't really have a sweet tooth. And as we all know, that's just not acceptable for a healthy mental state."
"I can't trust anyone who doesn't at least like a good Tootsie Pop." Lark agrees, working his contentedly in his mouth.
He watches Alec work, which is a vantage point that Lisbeth only allowed him to have once, when she was working on his communicator. But even with all she taught him, he can't recognize much at first glance. "What are you doing?"
The computer came with a generic operating system on it, appropriate to the time Lark came from; a picture of a puppy, easily understandable icons.
Alec is working in the DOS screen, all black background and white typewriter text, lines of code scrolling out sometimes from his fingertips, sometimes from a command he taps in and then reaches up to turn his sucker. He turns it so Lark can see.
"Restructuring this so it works better. And so I can teach you to do a few things more easily. That operating system was some bullshit."
In the space of a day he's had it confirmed that Alec will be there if Lark attacks someone unstable and dangerous even to them. He's come back to this: to something that, because of Lisbeth Salander, has almost subconscious meaning to him. It's a sign of partnership in navigating the dangers of the Barge; it's a sign of something more.
At least with her it had been.
Lark doesn't let himself equate her actions with Alec's, but he's smiling and his fingers thread through Alec's hair once. "Thanks. One of these days, I'm going to teach you something useful, too."
Alec, as well Lark knows, is very capable of being tactile; enthusiastic, even. But almost as often he's very much not, especially when it's not his idea. Lark cards his fingers through Alec's hair, and Alec tips his head away with an absent, lazy swat, his eyes on the screen; he smooths his hair back into place, even though it was already sticking up randomly.
He's smirking, though. "So the question now becomes are you having an inferiority complex moment, or do you honestly think you don't?" Now his eyes do flick up, and the smirk is steadier in its place.
Such a cat, Lark sometimes thinks, because yeah there's no cat anywhere who would get within a hundred feet of him now, but he remembers the barn cats in the countryside when he was a kid. Capricious little bastards, all of them.
"Neither," Lark retorts, with a smirk of his own that dares Alec to guess what he's thinking.
"Which means you have an end goal and think I don't already know something you'll need to accomplish it," he replies, allowing no uncertainty into his lazy tone.
"I try never to assume you don't know something, Alec." Which is a taste of a secret because it's very, very true.
"I can't just crave validation every now and then?" That's not what this is but he knows he can make it look like it if he tries. (What it really is: they plotted something and it went off without a hitch, better than Lark hoped, and he can't discuss it with Alec ever again because it would undermine the alibi. It's like dancing around happiness and never quite jumping in.)
"Let's ride tomorrow. Take the bikes out in Death Valley."
"You can but you don't. That ego of yours? Bulletproof," Alec teases, tipping Lark his very best grade A innocent look, the one that melts hearts and cools tempers. It's when he looks at him, though, that he gets it in the moments before Lark even opens his mouth.
And he laughs.
"You think you're up for that, do you? Sand and loose gravel, when you're still taking turns under 60?" But they both chase challenges - don't mind danger or pain when it comes right down to it - and he clucks his tongue softly, thoughtfully. "Fine. My tan could do with a touch up anyway, but you have to tell me why Death Valley."
Alec doesn't tan; he burns, and he gains more freckles, but he doesn't tan.
Lark snorts; yeah he's up for it. He might lose a leg in the process but who cares here, right?
"Death Valley," he says, and groans a little, like having to share this is like tearing a band-aid off that's been stuck on too tight. "It's my favorite place, that's all."
"Ah, ah," comes the sly reprimand, right before Alec takes another bite of the olivier salad. He pockets it in his cheek while he continues: "I'm gonna need more than that. Why there and not somewhere else? Paint me a picture."
Lark leans back, then blindly reaches for the fork, to steal a bite while he thinks. After he's swallowed he has an answer.
"Death Valley is actually fairly close to Pasadena. To the ocean, to green grass and palm trees, to some of the wealthiest people in the world. I live there, but I can pack up a bottle of water and drive east, and I end up in an entirely different world. It's so hot there that car companies from all over the world come to test how their products function in extreme conditions. It's so hot there that no one stays for long. It's such a strange place that rocks seem to glide with nothing pushing them. I go there to run as a wolf; I often come home with blisters just from touching the sand. But if you run over it, as hard as you can, everything just...blurs. You can't tell if you're hot or cold, if you're alone or with a pack. If you have open land or you're trapped in a canyon. You just exist and it's bliss."
"Yeah, that's called heat delirium," Alec replies, but he's listening, he's thinking.
X5s are durable, there's no doubt about that. If a wolf can survive running it, Alec doesn't really think there's a possibility a transgenic can't - and in the end, he's just not afraid of the elements, even if that actually sounds very close to hell to him.
But he remembers holding Lark's head steady and telling him not to slide, not to exist too far ahead or too far behind; and he does like a challenge.
"You think it will be the same on a bike? Or are you planning on bailing?"
He chuckles. "If we're on the same bike, sure. If I'm on my own I'll be too worried about not crashing to think about anything else but it seems like a good place to learn anyway. What are you up for, teaching or just enjoying my favorite corner of hell?"
It would be a lie to say that Alec would, someday, like to be the kind of person who puts others first; he's thought about it, admired it occasionally in others, but it's not really for him. Either way, it wouldn't be in him now.
"If I'm stuck on a bike, in hell, having heat hallucinations or whatever, you're at least keeping your ability to have a conversation with me," he declares without hesitation.
"Fine. Don't worry, I'll be right there, telling you what hallucination to avoid." It means the Death Valley trip won't be like the ones Lark loved at home, but seeing Alec there will probably make up for it.
Alec opens his mouth to reply, then hesitates once he realizes he has an actual schedule to keep now. He's been striving to fill his time however he can, and now between infirmary shifts, patrols, both sparring and Enclosure runs with Eggsy, lessons with Nina - it makes him smirk a little.
"Tomorrow night," he comes back a moment later. "After dinner. Each figure out our own way in. Sound fair?"
Because fair is something they both have an excess of experience with.
"Sure, I'll meet you there. You're staying over, still?" He nips Alec's neck, happy to keep the bruise he left there earlier going. "I want to hear more about your upcoming holiday."
The feel of Lark's teeth sends a pleasant shiver through him, but Alec reaches up with one hand to push his face away anyway, flicking lightly at his ear.
"I have to go meet Eggsy and Nina for sessions, then a session with the Emperor, and a shift and a patrol. You think I have time to stay anywhere?" The look he tips Lark is both petulant and sly.
"I think you can spare an hour or two, yeah," Lark smirks, biting at his shoulder instead, not unlike the way he does when he really, really wants Alec to keep doing something. "I bet you could time your day to the half-minute if you wanted."
Alec pushes him away again, flicks at his ear harder this time.
"How do you jump from down to the half minute to spare an hour or two? And why would I want to?" He is fully aware of where this is heading and, as such, closes the laptop to set aside.
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He starts to get up, but then decides he doesn't actually want to, settles down again and notches his chin towards Lark's abbreviated kitchen instead. "I have a bet going with Tommy. I think he's too serious, and I'm concerned for his well being. Emotional, you understand. I advised he try a lollipop any time he felt too serious, which he refused, so I need people to help me enforce this."
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"Enforce how? Just throw one into his mouth every time he's pessimistic?"
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"I've got a couple other people working on it, too. We're all very concerned. It's time to show him how well he's loved."
The look he tips Lark around the stick in his mouth is positively cherubic.
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He's equally glad that the closest thing he has to friends are getting along, and worried by it. Tommy making friends is kind of a dangerous prospect. And Alec doesn't have friends, he admits it readily.
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He likes Tommy. Then again he liked Bull, too. "I sent him some red hots for Christmas. He said they were disgusting. When I asked what he preferred he said he didn't really have a sweet tooth. And as we all know, that's just not acceptable for a healthy mental state."
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He watches Alec work, which is a vantage point that Lisbeth only allowed him to have once, when she was working on his communicator. But even with all she taught him, he can't recognize much at first glance. "What are you doing?"
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Alec is working in the DOS screen, all black background and white typewriter text, lines of code scrolling out sometimes from his fingertips, sometimes from a command he taps in and then reaches up to turn his sucker. He turns it so Lark can see.
"Restructuring this so it works better. And so I can teach you to do a few things more easily. That operating system was some bullshit."
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At least with her it had been.
Lark doesn't let himself equate her actions with Alec's, but he's smiling and his fingers thread through Alec's hair once. "Thanks. One of these days, I'm going to teach you something useful, too."
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He's smirking, though. "So the question now becomes are you having an inferiority complex moment, or do you honestly think you don't?" Now his eyes do flick up, and the smirk is steadier in its place.
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"Neither," Lark retorts, with a smirk of his own that dares Alec to guess what he's thinking.
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"I can't just crave validation every now and then?" That's not what this is but he knows he can make it look like it if he tries. (What it really is: they plotted something and it went off without a hitch, better than Lark hoped, and he can't discuss it with Alec ever again because it would undermine the alibi. It's like dancing around happiness and never quite jumping in.)
"Let's ride tomorrow. Take the bikes out in Death Valley."
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And he laughs.
"You think you're up for that, do you? Sand and loose gravel, when you're still taking turns under 60?" But they both chase challenges - don't mind danger or pain when it comes right down to it - and he clucks his tongue softly, thoughtfully. "Fine. My tan could do with a touch up anyway, but you have to tell me why Death Valley."
Alec doesn't tan; he burns, and he gains more freckles, but he doesn't tan.
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"Death Valley," he says, and groans a little, like having to share this is like tearing a band-aid off that's been stuck on too tight. "It's my favorite place, that's all."
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"Death Valley is actually fairly close to Pasadena. To the ocean, to green grass and palm trees, to some of the wealthiest people in the world. I live there, but I can pack up a bottle of water and drive east, and I end up in an entirely different world. It's so hot there that car companies from all over the world come to test how their products function in extreme conditions. It's so hot there that no one stays for long. It's such a strange place that rocks seem to glide with nothing pushing them. I go there to run as a wolf; I often come home with blisters just from touching the sand. But if you run over it, as hard as you can, everything just...blurs. You can't tell if you're hot or cold, if you're alone or with a pack. If you have open land or you're trapped in a canyon. You just exist and it's bliss."
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X5s are durable, there's no doubt about that. If a wolf can survive running it, Alec doesn't really think there's a possibility a transgenic can't - and in the end, he's just not afraid of the elements, even if that actually sounds very close to hell to him.
But he remembers holding Lark's head steady and telling him not to slide, not to exist too far ahead or too far behind; and he does like a challenge.
"You think it will be the same on a bike? Or are you planning on bailing?"
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"If I'm stuck on a bike, in hell, having heat hallucinations or whatever, you're at least keeping your ability to have a conversation with me," he declares without hesitation.
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"When?"
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"Tomorrow night," he comes back a moment later. "After dinner. Each figure out our own way in. Sound fair?"
Because fair is something they both have an excess of experience with.
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"I have to go meet Eggsy and Nina for sessions, then a session with the Emperor, and a shift and a patrol. You think I have time to stay anywhere?" The look he tips Lark is both petulant and sly.
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"How do you jump from down to the half minute to spare an hour or two? And why would I want to?" He is fully aware of where this is heading and, as such, closes the laptop to set aside.
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