Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The ticking of the clock on the wall rang in your head, the only sound in the silent white room whose walls consisted of most of what you'd ever known. It was both easy and hard to lose track of time- sometimes, minutes zipped by so fast you could swear the tick-tock of the clock was moving in fast forward. Other times, it seemed like it was on pause, like the same day had been going on for your whole life.

Today was the latter. You sighed vocally from where you laid on your back in your bed, even though there was no one to hear it. Even if someone was there to hear it, you knew nobody would listen. The people who worked here saw you as more of an experiment than a human being- something to be locked up and used to make them all rich. You were sure nobody knew that you were up here, that you had been born here, that you had spent 24 years here, a captive of Oscorp Labs code-named Project Ambrosia. Surely, if people knew... they would be outraged, right? You were a human being... weren't you? Did you still count?

You looked at your hand, turning it over and back under the bright fluorescent lights. It looked like a human hand to you, at least. You were sure all of you still looked human, despite the modifications that had been made to your DNA. At least, you were pretty sure. It had been a while since they had let you see yourself in a mirror.

And yet... you had given up on anyone being outraged on your behalf. That hope had lived in you, light in the way that only hope can be, years ago, as a defiant child- but hope is a much harder thing to hold onto the older you get. You had dreamed of grass between your toes, of fresh air, of friends. Night after night of begging the universe for someone to rescue you had given way to night after night of being angry that no one had, and that had given way to a quiet resignation of sorts.

How could you dream about something you didn't know anything about?

Either no one knew you were up here, and they never would, as tightly guarded a secret you were, or they did, and it was obvious that no one cared. And regardless, there was no reason to think you would be going anywhere anytime soon- no matter how badly you still secretly wanted to, in the very deepest and most shielded part of your heart.

To your right, the thin slot on the bottom of the door- just big enough for the plate of food that fit through it- opened up, producing your lunch from the other side- pasty looking chicken strips . It didn't look particularly appetizing, and you knew from experience it wouldn't be- but if you chose to starve yourself again, you also knew from experience they would just knock you out and feed you intravenously. It was more trouble than it was worth.

You rose from your firm bed, looking around at the four pristine walls of your windowless cage, breathing in the stale, chemical-scented air that even the scent of food did nothing to liven up. The only good thing about lunch being served was that it generally meant that your time being poked and prodded for the day was over, although it was a double-edged sword- it also generally meant you wouldn't be leaving your little room again for the rest of the day.

As you retrieved your lunch, returned to your bed, and ate, you looked at your arm, your wrist. The evidence of this mornings tests were nowhere to be found on them, as always, but they lingered in your mind- it wasn't as if you had never had blood drawn, but today they seemed intent on testing how quick your regeneration of it was. Bag after bag, labeled and handed off to people who watched you, some with a disgusted fascination, others with dollar signs in their eyes.....

You shivered, and yet it somehow had nothing to do with the blood loss- you had hardly felt it then, and it had no effect on you now. They had been looking at you like you were a freak. The feeling sat heavy in your stomach, making the bland food you were slowly working your way through seem even more unappetizing.

Could you really blame them, though? You certainly weren't normal. You thought of the bags of blood again, bright red- the only splash of color in this sterile, pale place. Did other people bleed that same red? Could they tell just by looking at it that you weren't like them? Would they all know, even if you managed to get out of here? You were so lost in thought that you didn't realize your plate was empty until you shoved a plastic forkful of nothing into your mouth. You tried to clear your thoughts, mostly unsuccessfully; it didn't matter that it didn't do you any good to think about things like that. What did you have to do besides think, after all?

You put the plate back down in front of its little door- someone would get it later, they always did- and lay back down in your bed for a nap, just like you had yesterday and the day before that. It's not even that you were tired- it had just become a habit, and in this place, habit and ritual were the most powerful forces there were.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound was almost comforting, in a way.

It wasn't long before it began to lull you to sleep- your last conscious thought that, for better or for worse, the routine of this place, and your life, would stay unbroken.

If only you knew how wrong you were.

Chapter Text

Somewhere, there was banging. 

You couldn't be sure where- at first you thought it was part of your dream, but the bed underneath you shook with every loud clang of what sounded like metal-on-metal, and the clock on the wall shook along with it, like the whole building was shuddering. Your brain was still foggy with sleep, and it was hard to hear anything through the mostly soundproofed walls of what could laughably be called your "bedroom". In between the loud bangs were periods of softer ones- but it's not really that the softer ones stopped when the louder ones started, more like they just got covered up. 

Listening closely, you realized the loud bangs seemed to be getting louder- coming closer. What could make a sound like that? A thrill of fear ran through you- your healing abilities were unmatched, but if something were to rip you to pieces.... 

You had had pieces cut off before- testing to see if your limbs would reattach themselves. In the end, they hadn't, having lost whatever made you special once they were removed from you- but in a discovery that had shocked everyone, you had grown new ones. The process had taken days that felt like months. The pain had been unbearable- the constant itch of healing so intense that you had scratched and scratched until bright red blood poured from the vestigial flesh slowly taking shape into a human limb. In the end they decided to have you sedated. 

You had still felt the itch in your dreams.

The banging was still getting closer- it sounded like it was just outside your door, now, although it also sounded much more unhurried, and the softer sounds had completely stopped. The clanging started again in full force, shaking even more violently through your little room, and you realized in a mind shattering panic that it sounded like whatever was on the other side was trying to rip the door off. You picked up a pillow- there was nothing in the room that could be truly dangerous. Even the still-ticking clock was made out of plastic. Still, it was better than nothing, wasn't it? You used it to cover your face, pressing yourself into the far corner of your bed, against the wall.  

Within a manner of moments, the door was gone with a loud, metallic shriek.  Standing in the ragged edges of the destroyed doorway, was....

Well, he almost could have looked like a normal, middle-aged man. Auburn hair fell messily over his forehead, his eyes obscured by round dark sunglasses, an old leather trench coat that would have just dusted the floor beneath him if he weren't being held aloft. Tall, imposing, broad- he all but glared at you as you stared at him from over the edge of your pillow. He would have looked completely normal, if not for what looked like a painfully tight metal corset around the lower half of his bare, soft torso, ridged with purple-and-pink scarring. If not for the... metal things that hovered above his shoulders and held him off the ground, the top two writhing in the air around him like rattlesnakes. You'd almost say it felt like they were glaring at you too- focusing on you with their lit up, red centers. 

"Who are you?" He questioned, stepping in closer to your little room sinuously without using his legs. The space was almost too small to contain him- even with the door ripped off, he had to duck a bit to step inside it, and it looked comically tiny in contrast to this large man. You could smell him over the disinfectants- spice and hot leather and metal. 

"I- I live here! Wh-who are you?" You cursed the way your voice shook. 

"Live here?" He looked around your mostly empty enclosure, thick eyebrows knit together, and you could have sworn you almost heard something like pity in his voice. That expression was immediately replaced by both eyebrows arching up in a look of surprise. "You don't know who I am?" 

You searched his features, trying to remember if you had seen him before. You didn't know anyone outside of the medical and science staff that took care of you, and you were fairly certain you would remember if he was one of them. He was rather distinctive looking, after all- despite the situation, you realized you liked looking at him. After a moment, you shook your head. "Should I?" 

His eyebrows furrowed together again, and he opened his mouth to say something, before a blaring mechanical-voiced alarm cut him off from overhead, jarring you straight through your bones. 

CONTAINMENT BREACH. PROJECT AMBROSIA NOT CONTAINED. MOVE TO SECURE. CONTAIN PROJECT AMBROSIA AT ALL COSTS.

He turns to leave with a quickness- you obviously weren't what he was looking for, and the army that Oscorp was going to send after him to make sure you stayed right where you were  wasn't what he had signed up for, either. 

Without thinking, you grabbed one of his metal extensions. He must have been able to feel them, because he stopped in his tracks and turned around, leveling you with another glare much darker than the first. 

"Let us go." Us? You licked your lips hesitantly. Would it be better to stay here? This man could be dangerously unbalanced. He sure looked dangerous. You couldn't remember your heart ever beating as hard as it was right now.

And yet, the words still poured from you.  

"Take me with you." 

"Why should I do that?" The sound of footsteps drew nearer, pounding against the floor. The army was coming. Something inside of you cried out. Your eyes felt warm. Was your hope not gone? Had it simply fallen asleep? You gave him all your hope, now, spilling hotly down your cheeks. It wouldn't be worth it for him- they would try to tear him apart. You needed him to say yes. He was your only chance.

"Please. Please, mister." 

Something softened in him, for a moment as he considered you, and then the room- you didn't know how you could tell, with his eyes covered, but you could. The metal in your grasp twisted out of it as easily as if it were slicked in butter, wrapping firm around your waist. The coil thrummed like it was alive as it pulled you closer toward him. "Doctor. Dr. Octavius." 

"Doctor...." You swallowed. You had never had many good experiences with doctors, but it was too late now. You had no choice but to trust him. More of those loud bangs rang out from around the corner- gunshots, you realized now. They were shooting at him. They had been shooting at him earlier, too. The appendage he wasn't using to hold you or run deflected the bullets like they were nothing, the two beneath you propelling you back towards the way he must have come in.

"He's got Ambrosia! Don't let him get away with it!" The voice rang out from behind you, and you clutched tightly to the limb that held you, even though you were sure it didn't make a difference. It. You were an it to these people. The footsteps pounded behind you, and so did the gunfire, a symphony of attempted murder. To your left, you heard the Doctor all but growl in pain- one of them had hit him. He was leaving a trail of blood on the floor behind him- you tried not to be comforted by how it was the same color as yours. You expected him to drop you, then- to cut his losses and get out. But he only kept moving until you were leaving through a giant hole in the wall, scaling down the side of the giant building like he had done it a hundred times. Maybe he had. 

And just like that, brilliantly, breathtakingly-

You were out.  

Chapter Text

The night air was cold on your skin. 

It smelled incredible- like a thousand things you had no names for. It was an overcast night, but thin pricks of light peeked through the clouds and the thick fog that hung over the city, joined by the big round moon that flushed the tall buildings with pale light. You looked down as you were carried up the sides and over the tops of buildings- below you, the city was still wide awake- traffic congested and unmoving on the streets, restaurants and homes brightly lit, people on bikes and sharing kisses and holding hands- 

"Wow." It was the only word that your mind would see fit to process. It still felt surreal, to be here, to be...free. Your gaze slid to the tentacle wrapped firmly around your waist. Well...free enough. 

"You act like you've never been outside before." The Doctor joked, voice rough around the edges with strain. Him speaking up was enough to fully remind you that he was there at all. You didn't say anything, only stared at him, and something about the look on your face must have made him feel guilty. "I'm sorry." 

"No," You gestured to his injured shoulder, still leaving a thick trail of blood behind you. "I'm sorry. I didn't think that... I mean, I knew they would..." You sighed. "If you put us down somewhere, I can..uh... I can help you." 

It occurred to you this was your first conversation with a stranger outside of those walls. A handsome stranger at that. Was it okay to think of him that way? Something told you you probably shouldn't. You hoped you weren't royally blowing it, regardless- did getting him shot count as royally blowing it? 

He winced, as if just remembering himself that he had a hole in his arm, glancing between his bleeding shoulder and your face with disbelief. His extra arms had fully taken over navigation, moving you effortlessly through the city, which was good, because he seemed to be getting more disoriented by the second. "Help me?" 

"There's a reason they kept me locked up in there." 

There's a look of understanding that passes over his features, and in the next instant you're being set down on your feet, legs shaking beneath you. Based on the ambulances parked just below, you were on the roof of a hospital. You could almost laugh, but resist the urge to- had he done that on purpose? He had sat down against the brick wall that ran around the edge of the roof- his breathing was coming unsteady, his skin colorless and clammy. You made your way to his side, and his extra additions watched you with all four of their unblinking red eyes, completely still - like they were trying to tell you something. Or still deciding whether or not they'd let you touch him.   

You were possessed, suddenly, to brush his reddish-brown bangs back away from his sweaty forehead in a tender gesture, regardless of their permission. Surprisingly, nothing stopped you. Still- Why had you done that? He didn't seem to mind, anyway- if anything, he chased your touch, leaning up weakly into it. It was probably just the blood loss. "You'll be okay. This won't hurt. I promise." 

Without waiting any longer, you pressed both your palms over the hole in his shoulder. He's lucky, in a way- the bullet seemed to have gone clean through, not leaving any fragments or pieces behind. A clean wound. You could feel something shift- either his energy or yours, and the bleeding was stopping, the gory hole repairing itself in an instant, stitching itself back together. You could even feel the electric whoosh underneath his skin of his blood replenishing, so familiar and yet so alien. It was the first time you had gotten to use your powers to really help someone. It felt...good.  

"Project Ambrosia." He spoke underneath his breath still a bit dazed, and at long last he took off his sunglasses to get a better look at you, tucking them into a pocket on his coat. His eyes were a deep, chocolate brown that you found you couldn't look away from. "When that idiot Osborn said in the papers he held the key to immortality...." he laughs, the sound barely a whisper even with the strength slowly returning to him. 

He knew Osborn- even if it didn't sound like he particularly liked him. You swallowed hard, a cold sliver of fear running down your spine, and backed away from him a little- as if that tiny bit of distance would do you any good against running away from him if it came down to it. Your voice is smaller than you would like for it to be. "You're not going to take me back there, are you, Dr. Octavius?" 

"Even if I wanted to, which I don't-" he reassured, but it also sounded like a sigh, like he had lost something, "I can't go back there anytime soon, not after tonight. They'll be on the lookout for me. I might not be so lucky next time."

Guilt slips through you like a chill. Whatever he had actually come there for, he wouldn't be getting it now. All because he had helped you instead. You decided you wanted to change the subject a little- apologizing didn't really mean much, did it? Especially not the second time. "How are you feeling?" 

The Doctor looks down at his arm, still in a bit of disbelief, where the only thing that remained of his grievous injury was a hole in his leather jacket. "Not at all like I just got shot and was bleeding out, miraculously." 

You do laugh, that time, and he gives you a smile that summons something warm into your chest. 

"Glad to know my jokes are still funny." 

"I might not be the best judge of that. They are the first jokes I've ever heard." 

That doesn't have the effect you intended, and brown eyes level on you with pity instead of humor, the awkward silence that develops between you stretching out far into the chill of the city evening. You look anywhere but at him- it was not hard for you to decide that you didn't like to be pitied. Below, an ambulance pulled up to the front of the hospital, siren blaring and flashing in a brilliant display of red and white lights. Above, an airplane streaked silently between the stars and clouds. "....Thank you, Dr. Octavius. For. For getting me out of there." 

"Thank you for saving my life...." He paused, like he was trying to search for something he couldn't remember if you had told him or not.

You don't bring up how you're the one who endangered it in the first place- you're sure that he knows that and he's just being polite. Truthfully, you had never been given a name by the people who held you, and you know somehow that that's what he's waiting for. He probably just wants to avoid asking if you've actually got one, after what happened earlier. You try to remember the one you had given yourself as a child, back when you still thought of yourself as someone who would ever be called by it. You had that chance now, didn't you? It came to you like a burst of inspiration. "Y/N." 

"Y/N." He repeated, slurring the letters together a little. "Thank you, Y/N." 

Within the next few minutes, he was out cold sitting up- you guessed the night had really taken a lot out of him, and that it had caught up to him all at once. You moved closer to his side- to keep the both of you warm, nothing more, and the robotics attached to him, also seemingly drowsy, allowed that, too, one drooping heavily around your shoulders.  

You spent the rest of the night looking at the sky. 

Chapter Text

For the first time in your life, you watched the sun rise. 

The colors of it overwhelmed you, reds and pinks and purples like a watercolor dream over the New York skyline. You had never seen anything more beautiful- and you had felt that way about the city at night just a few hours ago. Were there really people who took all this for granted? just the thought of what you would be seeing in another few hours filled your chest with fluttering wings. You wanted to watch the sun rise every morning from now on. 

"You're up early." Dr. Octavius' voice is thick with sleep as he stretches- you're close enough to hear his back pop, no doubt a consequence of a night spent upright against a brick wall. Guilt washed over you again. Should you have tried to move him? You doubt you could have, anyway, and you hadn't moved much since one of his arms had found it's way around your shoulders. You would have moved away from him already, separated yourself from where your thighs gently touch, if that wasn't the case- or at least, that's what you tell yourself.  

"I'm up still. I wanted to see..." You gestured widely at the sky, and you were grateful he understood without you having to explain it.  

"Has that been there all night?" He pointed to his own extra arm with his flesh and blood hand, the claw end hanging closed over your upper arm. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was turning a little pink. You only nodded.  

"I'm sorry. It says it likes that you're warm. I hope it hasn't bothered you." 

"Not at all." You thought about what he had said for a moment. "..........They talk to you?"

"Let's just say they have... minds of their own." 

Minds of their own- it felt too real for him to mean it any way other than literally. You felt like you were learning things about him, even if they were just educated guesses- you wanted to learn more. "So....What were you there for? At the lab, I mean." 

"I...I'm a scientist." he spoke like he was unsure if that's actually what he was, like he had almost said he used to be a scientist instead. "I was there for a..... breakthrough, pertaining to my research." 

"To steal it?" A note of excitement leaked into your voice.

"You don't sound as morally against that as you should." 

"Well, they stole a lot from me." 24 years worth of stealing. They had stolen your sunrises, your stars, your fresh air. 24 years worth of your whole life. If it were up to them, they would still be stealing it, wouldn't they? You shiver, and it has nothing to do with the chill of the morning. 

The Doctor didn't say anything- just gave you his pity again, leaving it to stir heavy in your gut. "Right."

There was another of those long, awkward silences before a siren cut through the still of the morning, and you spoke up. ".....Do you steal from other people, too? Besides Oscorp?" 

"When I have to." 

"Do you like it?" 

He looked at you like he wasn't sure if this conversation was a test or not- like he thought if he gave the wrong answer you would turn on him. "Like it?" 

"Does it feel good to steal?" 

He thought about it for a long moment. "It gets the job done. It's not enough to be brilliant, to have good ideas. You have to work hard. Sometimes working hard means doing things you don't want to. Sometimes working hard means making... sacrifices." 

"Is that what these are for? Stealing?" You gestured with your chin to the heavy, metal coil still draped languidly over your shoulder, and it look up at you like you spoke to it- except unlike last night, the red center seemed far less hostile. The others were still watching you, too- but they also looked softer, somehow.

"No, they're..I made them for my work. My work with nuclear fusion. There was... an accident." It seemed painful for him to talk about, so you didn't press it any further, even though you couldn't help but wonder what other sacrifices he had made in the name of his work, besides compromising his morals. 

"Nuclear fusion..." You didn't know what those words meant, but you repeated them like you did. They sure sounded important. You hoped you fooled him even as you doubted it. "I guess I should let you get back to it, then, huh? If you'll just, uh... put me back down on the ground...." 

Dr. Octavius looked at you, perplexed. "Are you not staying with me?" 

"If I stay with you..." You chewed on your lower lip, remembering the night before. How pale he had looked underneath the moonlight, a hole torn through him, the way he had said your name when he thanked you. The first person to say your name. You couldn't burden him. You wanted to anyway. "They'll come after me. You could get hurt again." 

"And I'll have you to patch me up, wont I?" 

"Is that why you want me around?" That would make sense, at least, even if it would put a damper on the feeling growing in your chest.  

"Of course not." He snapped, too quickly, eyebrows furrowing together over dark eyes and full mouth turning down into a frown- like just the suggestion made him angry. 

"I didn't mean to offend you, I just..." You shrink away from him a little, and the furrow released itself, the lines of his face softening. You'd learned something else about him- he had a temper, but not a persistent one. ".........Why do you want me around?" 

"How long do you think you'll last against them on your own? You have no money and no identification, nowhere to go. You'll end up right back where you started." 

He made a good point, but it still didn't answer your question. "Why do you....care?" 

"I don't know." He was blunt, at least- sometimes, you felt, more blunt than he meant to be. ".....Somebody should, shouldn't they?"

"...Somebody should, yeah." Whether that person should be him or not hardly occurred to you. You wanted that somebody to be him. Why did you want it to be him? You hardly knew him. Then again, you hardly knew anybody. 

"I won't force you to come with me." Just those words took a weight off your shoulders much heavier than the real weight currently resting on your shoulders. "But I think you should. And I do have a PhD, so I usually know what I'm talking about."

You smiled, giving him a little laugh- he really was funny, you thought- and his answering one back almost rivaled the sunrise. 

"Lead the way, Doctor."  

Chapter Text

The place he took you to- his place, you guessed- was...cozy, in spite of itself. 

That's the best way you could think to describe it, as you stood at the foot of the stairs that led there. It shouldn't have been cozy at all, all shiny chrome, sharp edges and concrete, buried underground where the sun couldn't reach but coldly fluorescently lit by large bars of lights overhead. The abandoned building on top of it on the outskirts of town, to which this large space had probably been the storage basement in its heyday, was an old and crumbling but ridiculously large building almost as tall as your old tower- that almost felt haunted. Yet... there was a certain quality to it. A lived-in warmth in the mismatch of old furniture- a bed that looked big enough for 3 people pushed against the far wall and draped in a soft, worn comforter, an old burgundy red chair that looked like it had seen better days with a stack of thick books on the floor next to it gathering dust and a cluttered dark-wood nightstand beside it, the centerpiece of which was a stained glass lamp. Empty containers littered an island counter, finished silver and shiny and lined with stools that most decidedly were not, that wrapped around an area that contained another counter covered with various, mismatched appliances. Rugs of all shapes and sizes and colors covered the concrete floor beneath your feet. Next to the far wall by the bed was what looked like a large, advanced, computer, parts of it displaying a security feed for some of the floors above, the overgrown lawn outside the building- the area around it, too, wasn't safe from the clutter, covered in cups and half-full toolboxes and thick stacks of books, although these ones had seemed to escape the dusty curse of their brethren. The center of the room was mostly empty, with all the furniture lining the walls, dedicated to a thick metal work-table covered in various electronics and fancy-looking gadgets.  

"Sorry about the mess. I don't usually have.... visitors." He stopped in his tracks, as if remembering something, and turned to look at you. "Are you hungry?" 

Your stomach rumbled, loudly, when he brought attention to it, and that must have been enough for him, as he made his way to the makeshift kitchen and began putting things in a pot on the stove after pulling something from the back pocket of his duster and laying it out among the refuse on the counter. You sat down on one of the soft stools; upon closer inspection, the thing on the counter looked like a newspaper. You hadn't seen him take it as you made your way through the city- but then again, you were still fascinated by the city and hadn't been watching him.  

You guess you hadn't eaten since around this time yesterday, huh? It certainly hadn't felt that long, but now that you had acknowledged it, it almost gnawed at you. To distract yourself, you skimmed the front page of the paper. It was today's paper, the headline reading "Doc Ock Ravages Oscorp Labs". The picture was of the messy hole in the side of the building that you had both left through. 

"Doc Ock?" you questioned, and you could almost see him roll his eyes even though his back was still to you.  

"Short for Doctor Octopus. That's what they call me in the slanderous tabloid this city lets pass for its newspaper." 

"Doctor Octopus?" you made a face, echoing his distaste. You guess you could see why they would call him that, as you watched his four extra arms click and writhe as they watched what he was doing, but it also seemed a bit silly and juvenile. "I think I prefer Dr. Octavius." 

Your reaction made him laugh, really laugh- a deep, rich sound to match his chocolate eyes. "You and me both." 
 
"If you don't like the newspaper, then why bother to take it?" 

"Because I wanted to see what it said about last night." 

Suddenly, the headline made anxiety flood through you. You had forgotten in the rush of new experiences that they were probably already out looking for you- waiting to take you back where they would lock you up again and throw away the key. How much worse would it be, now that you knew even the tiniest fraction of what you were missing? "What did it say?"    

The Doctor had turned back towards you, holding a bowl of bright yellow soup with thin, wavy noodles in both hands, a fork sticking out of the corner. He set it on the counter in front of you- it smelled better than anything you had ever eaten. "Relax, dear. They aren't going to find you here." 

That confirmed that they were looking for you, at least. "How do you know?" 

"Because they haven't found us here, and anyone who has tried-" he trailed off, the implication of what he was going to say obvious, like he suddenly remembered he was ashamed of it. Maybe knowing he had killed people before shouldn't make you feel so comforted, especially since you were now completely alone with him where no one could find you. And yet, somehow, it did anyway. "You're safe."

"I'm safe." You repeated, taking a deep breath, before looking down at the bowl of food he had made for you. Your mouth watered, and yet something stopped you from taking a bite. Could something like this really be for you? What if you took a bite and woke up back in your room, your brain unable to conjure a taste for something that looked so incredible? You fought back anxiety; You weren't dreaming. None of this was a dream. Messily, you wrapped the long noodles around the fork, filling your mouth with a bite. 

It tasted even better than it smelled- salt and chicken and grease drawing a low moan out of you before you could stop it, shoveling another forkful into your mouth almost fast enough to choke on it. You were at least decent enough to be embarrassed about it when you had finished the whole bowl in a few minutes, broth and all. Your face flushed, and Dr. Octavius laughed where he leaned against the counter. 

"Must have been hungrier than I thought. I'll make you a real dinner later, after I go to the store." 

"Real dinner?" You questioned in disbelief. "There's food better than that?"  

He laughed again, but that pity was back in his eyes- you couldn't take it and looked away. You liked his laugh as much as you detested his pity.  "Much better." 

The second part of what he had said hit you, a note of panic in your voice when you spoke. "You're leaving?" 

"Just for a few hours. We do need groceries, after all, especially with two of us. You can't eat ramen for every meal." 

You begged to differ, but you wouldn't argue. It wasn't like you could expect him to watch you 24/7, anyway- even if your continued safety didn't seem to be the only reason you wanted him around. 

A metal claw landed gently on top of your head in an imitation of a head pat and then moved itself immediately as he looked away, seemingly a bit nervous. "You're safe, remember? I'll make sure the security system is on guard before I leave. In the meantime...." He gestured at the bed, slipping his sunglasses back on from where he had tucked them in his pocket the night before. "You can sleep. You must be tired, right?" 

How did he do that? Suddenly, you were exhausted. You eyed the bed- his bed. Something about the thought of laying in it made your heart race. Why? Surely, it was just because you weren't used to people doing nice things for you. Yeah...that had to be it. "Thank you again, Dr. Octavius."

You didn't know what you were thanking him for- the rescue, the meal, the use of his bed. It didn't seem like you could say it enough, regardless. He only shook his head. 

"Think nothing of it." He smiled, thinking for another moment, before adding on- "And please- call me Otto." 

And then he was gone up the stairs, the metal sound of him leaving banging heavy against the room's ceiling, leaving you alone in the new silence of his spacious living quarters. 

Otto. 

You slid, boneless, down off the chair you were sitting on, slipping your bowl into the sinkful of dishes on the other side before dragging yourself across the room to the bed and falling into it gracelessly. It was soft- much softer than your old one, like floating on a cloud. That spice-leather-and-metal smell that clung to him was strong, here, too, unsurprisingly. It smelled so good, you found yourself taking deep inhales of it, arms wrapping around the thick pillow where it was the strongest to pull it against your face with no thought as to what he would think if he found you asleep like this. 

And surely enough, fall asleep that way you did. 

Chapter Text

Otto Octavius had a problem.  

Unsurprisingly, it had something to do with the stolen Oscorp experiment in his home, asleep in his bed. Surprisingly, it had nothing to do with second-guessing his decision to let them stay there. 

But why had he told them he'd make dinner? It had been years since he last cooked anything more complex than ramen noodles. If he remembered correctly, it had been something for an old college girlfriend that it had never quite worked out with. Ramona? Roselyn? Rosemary? Something like that. It hardly mattered, even though he was sure he had been in love with her once upon a time. Right now, what mattered was that he had a hungry runaway to feed- and no idea what in God's name he should be feeding them. Hell, he could hardly feed himself half the time. 

You are in distress, Father. May we assist? The voice rang out in his head, four voices at once that spoke in unison, and he visibly shook it back and forth. He had no idea what they meant by assist, but knew that it would probably ruin the day of everyone else in this grocery store.   

"Absolutely not. Stay where you are." They writhed under his large trench coat, concealed but just barely, not very happy about his decision. He hoped nobody was paying enough attention to him to notice- the last thing he wanted to do was make a scene. He fiddled with the single Bluetooth headphone that he wore, telegraphing that it was there for the people looking at him with interest- so they didn't suspect he was talking to himself. It was broken, but they didn't have to know that. Luckily for him, and everyone else, he had far more control over them now than when he had first woken up attached to them- mostly due to years of practice. After his accident, they had all but taken over for a while- luckily a well-placed shock to his senses had woke him back up, just in time for him to stop them from puppeting him into activating the second reactor. He knew better than anyone that it wouldn't have worked, after the first time, and he shuddered to think what might have happened if it had been turned on, activated with all that tritium... 

Father does not usually trust so easily. Why trust this person? The voice(s) spoke up again, changing the subject- they held a certain level of irritation when being forced to remember their own past mistakes, as they hated to disappoint him. It was true- he had simply left them alone in his home. Why had he done that? Maybe it had to do with the way they looked at him- wide-eyed and curious, as opposed to the usual fear and derision he received. They had asked him for help, even after getting a good look at him- like he was some sort of savior, and not the dangerous criminal he now tended to be. Granted, he doubted anything he could actually do to them was worse than the bits and pieces he had ascertained about their life in that tower. Project Ambrosia... a human rights violation so round and complete that the news outlets would have a field day if they knew the truth. And they called him a mad scientist. Was it pity then, that inspired him? It had to be, didn't it? He had always considered himself a nice man, hadn't he? That was all this was- the act of a good Samaritan, out of the kindness of his heart, even if said good Samaritan was well, less than good in other areas.  

"They haven't given me a reason not to trust them, have they?" And yet, even he knew that was a weak explanation. He thought of them, again, at home asleep in his bed, and his heart began to race- Why? They had only known each other for less than a day. It didn't make sense, but he couldn't deny it was happening.  

Your vitals are spiking, Father.

"Oh, shut up." It was perhaps a bit too harsh- he had a bad habit of that when told something he didn't want to hear- but it worked, even if it inspired guilt in him just as quickly. They were only trying to help, in their own way. "No, that was mean. I'm sorry." 

We forgive you. And yet, they stayed quiet otherwise. 

Otto sighed. He was no closer to coming up with something to make for dinner. He walked up and down every aisle- no matter how often he did it, walking on his own legs now seemed... unfamiliar. He had already picked up his regular groceries, at least. Packs of noodles and canned ravioli and boxes of sugary snack cakes looked up at him from his cart accusingly, like they were as disappointed in him as he was in himself. What kind of 40-something-year-old man ate like he was still in college? 

He ended up in the canned food aisle, again, the last aisle in the store. If nothing here caught his eye, he'd have to go back around and start from the beginning. Already, his back was starting to hurt- as it always did when he stood on his own for too long after the accident. He considered letting his lower arms support him, a thought that made them buzz in his head with excitement at being free from the thick fabric they were now trapped under, but he quickly shut them down- it was better to bear it for a while than to risk people figuring out who he was. Just then, he caught sight of something- a jar of red sauce that, with a little love, and a few extra cans of things he could find in this aisle... 

Yes, that would be perfect.  

It was easy to go about collecting the rest of what he needed, and then he was making his way into one of the blessedly short lines at the front of the store. He leaned over the front bar of his cart and leafed through one of the magazines at the front, mostly to take his mind off his aching lower back while he waited on the person in front of him. Popular Science had a fascinating article on the work of Nikola Tesla- he was halfway through reading it when someone behind him cleared their throat obnoxiously, making him look up and realize that he was next in line.

The teenage girl behind the counter looked at him with the same look of boredom that he was sure she reserved for everyone lucky enough to cross through her line as he put his things onto the conveyor to be scanned. She was chewing gum, popping a bubble with it every few seconds in a way that did nothing but put him absolutely on edge. He secretly hoped that it ended up in her long, blonde hair. Children these days knew nothing of professionalism. 

"You know, like," She said, betraying an accent that sounded far too 80's valley girl artificial to be the way anyone really talked outside of a movie, "You look just like that criminal guy in the papers around here. With all the, like, arms and stuff." 

He considered, in that brief instant, taking his groceries and running. Robbing a grocery store hardly seemed as bad as robbing Oscorp labs, or as almost destroying the city. Somehow, though, he kept his cool- he was glad that his sunglasses meant he didn't have to make direct eye contact. "That's a rather rude thing to say, don't you think?" 

She popped her gum again like she didn't care if it was rude either way and kept scanning his items and bagging them, although she did add, "You're like, a lot better looking than him though."  

Otto didn't know if he should be offended or flattered.

Needless to say, he got out of there as fast as he could the moment he could. The minute he was clear of the store with his cart where no one could see him, he was reverting to his preferred method of transportation, letting his arms carry him back towards home with a quickness while he carried his groceries close to his chest. 

He had a dinner to make. 

Chapter Text

When you awoke a few hours later, it was to another delicious smell filling the large room- even more potent than the one that had lulled you to sleep and filled your dreams. It made your mouth water, almost forcing your body into a sitting position to get closer to it.  

"Oh good. I was just about to wake you. Did you sleep well?" 

You realized you were still clutching onto his pillow and were glad he hadn't asked about it. What would you say? That you liked it because it smelled like him? Even with your limited social skills, you understood that was probably a bad idea. You could feel your face flush with an appropriate amount of embarrassment, and you put the pillow back at the head of the bed where it was before you had laid down.

"Yeah, I..." The smell distracted you. "What are you making?" 

"Spaghetti. I hope that's alright." 

"Spaghetti?" You repeated, and a look crossed over his face like there was something obvious he had forgotten. 

"You've never had spaghetti." 

You only nodded. You weren't even sure what spaghetti was a hundred percent, but you didn't want to tell him that- it might make him give you that look again. 

And yet, he only seemed to relax a bit, like the knowledge was a weight off his shoulders. What had he been worried about? that you wouldn't like what he had made? It seemed so silly, considering who you were. Maybe he had just realized that, too. 

Otto finished up, making two plates- there was plenty left over after. He had made enough to feed a small army- the scene you made with the ramen must have left an impression on him.

He didn't have a table besides what obviously seemed to be his work table, so instead, he pulled one of the stools around to the other side of the wide island counter, and you sat down across from him. Even with the clutter, there was enough room for both of you- even if you were closer than you had been since you had patched him up. You couldn't think about that, though- all you could think about was the plate of food in front of you. 

As it turned out, you liked spaghetti more than ramen. The tangy sauce exploded in flavors all over your tongue, bold and acidic with just the slightest hint of spice. You had finished half your plate before you realized he was watching you with a smile over the rim of his sunglasses instead of eating. 

"Good?" He asked although you were sure he knew the answer. Maybe he just liked praise. 

"Amazing. You should be famous for this." 

"That would be better than what I am famous for, certainly."

You laughed, but an awkward silence crept between you again that you endeavored to break.   

"I like what you've, uh..... done with the place." You gestured to the room around you with your fork. His home felt like him- soft and comfortable even with its sharp metal edges. Maybe even more so because of them.

"You don't have to say that. I'm aware that it leaves a lot to be desired." He chuckled.  

"I mean it, though." 

"Ah.....thank you." He drummed his fingers on the table, briefly, nervously. "A lot of it is things I found. People in this city throw out perfectly good furniture far too often." 

There was another silence as both of you ate, although you tried to remember not to stuff your face this time. It occurred to you this was the first dinner you had ever had with someone else. What did people usually talk about at dinner? You felt like you were floundering for something to say to him. 

"So..." You remembered something he had mentioned this morning. Had it really only been this morning? "Nuclear fusion?" 

Otto swallowed another bite of noodles, then shook his head, amused. "You don't want to talk about nuclear fusion." 

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

The tentacle that usually hung over his right shoulder looked back and forth between you with metallic clicks and swooshes as you spoke to each other, although the others were mostly checked out. Probably only took one to watch, after all. "Listen, I don't want you to feel like," He started, took another bite of pasta, chewed, swallowed, and looked away, "You don't owe me anything." 

He was wrong- you owed him everything. Even if it should be, that wasn't why you had asked. "It's not about that." 

"Then what is it about?" 

"I want to know...more. More than I know now." 

"About what? Fusion?" 

You had prepared yourself to say about everything, but what you said instead was, "About you." 

This seemed to catch him off guard. His face colored in a little, and he averted his gaze to the ceiling, "Well. I don't.... I gave up on fusion a long time ago." 

"Because of what happened?" 

"Right." He still wasn't looking at you. 

"So what do you research now?" 

"Prosthetics. Limbs for people who have lost them." 

"Like yours?"  

He visibly bristled. "No. I wouldn't want that for anyone else." 

You winced, despite yourself, at how he said that- like he was cursed. "Why not? Does it hurt?" 

He looked at you for a moment like that was a very stupid question, and then softened, as if remembering something, as he had earlier. You looked down at your plate, only to find it empty. When had that happened? "I'm not the man I used to be." 

You pictured him, as he once must have been- clean-cut, put together, hair pushed off his forehead, maybe wearing a smart sweater and a lab coat. It didn't seem quite right to you- wasn't that version of him missing something? Between the man he used to be and the man he was... would the man he used to be have saved you? No- he wouldn't have been there at all. You were grateful for the man he was now, even if he wasn't.

"That doesn't have to be a bad thing." You nodded toward the side of the table where the clawed tentacle still hung like an eavesdropping bystander. "Can I... touch one?" 

Again, he bristled, looking between you and it. "They don't like to be touched." 

And yet, there was something in that red light and how it watched you that contradicted him. You weren't afraid of getting hurt- you had no reason to be. It wouldn't hurt you- and it couldn't hurt you permanently if it wanted to. "Can I try anyway?" 

He looked up at the ceiling, like he was listening to something in his head, made a face, and then sighed, defeated. "Be careful." Was he talking to you, or them? Maybe both.  

You reached out a hand towards it, as steady and gentle as could be, and rested your palm against the ridged metal. It was cool to the touch, and yet whirring with life underneath your fingers. 

Two things happened immediately- the appendage nuzzled against your hand, seeking your touch, and you heard a sound from him, one that sounded like a low moan mixed with a gasp. Your gaze riveted on him, hand staying where it was, and he turned the same shade of hot pink as the sunrise had been that morning. The tentacle yanked itself out of your grasp, obviously under his control now. 

Guilt and panic swirled in your stomach. Now you had really blown it. "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to- I thought I was-" You slowed down, tried to control your breathing, "I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

"Hurt me?" he looked confused, for a moment, and relief washed through you. "No. No, but I. I don't think you should do that again." 

You nodded- even if the color he had turned, the sound he had made, had made something feel funny in your chest. It was for the best that you didn't encourage that feeling.  

The two of you finished your dinner in silence.