Chapter Text
When Alex confessed to Parvin, she immediately fled the room. He felt awkward, holding his bouquet right outside her door, watching as she ducked into her dorm and to the open bathroom. She doubled over at the toilet, pulling her hijab away so she could cough into the porcelain bowl. He knew showing up after class with a nice outfit and some flowers was a bit forward, but he never imagined it to be nauseating. The least he could do was put the bouquet aside and follow her in to comfort her and gracefully take the rejection.
When he came into the bathroom, though, she wasn’t vomiting. Okay, technically she was, but it wasn’t vomit. She coughed up blossoms, multicolor roses that spattered with blood where her windpipe rubbed raw. Alex grabbed at his own throat in sympathy.
Parvin took his hand and forced him to stay until she was able to speak again. She’s always been so strong, wiping saliva away so she could explain. Hanahaki disease plants seeds of grief deep in the chest of someone who believes their love is impossible to return. Making the love known can fix it, but if you don’t, you could squeeze your heart with roots and fill your lungs with flowers until there’s nothing left to keep you alive.
She was going to let herself die in fear of him rejecting her. In college, he couldn’t fathom why. Isn’t it safer to take the risk, to move on with your life?
Now, Alex understands. It’s slow at first, only a cough. He’s probably coming down with a cold, right? Then it’s a tickle at the throat, like something phlegmy he can’t clear out of his lungs. He can’t get enough air when he inhales, and his ribs constrict oddly, but that could easily chalk up to a muscle twinge.
Then the first petal came. Alex sat on his bed, pinching it between his fingers with a scowl. It’s red like his blood should be, a speck of black in the corner, so it’s probably a poppy. He gets irradiated to hell and back, starts countless shootouts, and goes up against the Dark Knight himself, but the thing that does him in is fucking poppies.
Well, it doesn’t have to. He knows this came from that big, dumb robot, and G.I. may understand. He doesn’t even have to like him back, just hear him out. Alex could get rid of this disease, literally nip it in the bud, with three simple words.
“I’d rather die.”
“What was that, Alex?” G.I. turned his head, not looking from where he stood in the corner facing the wall. Alex appreciated the thought behind giving him privacy when he changes clothes, but there’s nothing to see for him, so…
“Don’t worry about it.” He shoved the petal into his pocket, standing and straightening his coat. “Just allergies.”
“Ah. I was unaware you had those.”
“Sometimes. You can turn around now. We’re leaving, anyway.” After the debacle in Pokolistan, apparently they had to make a public appearance proving they’re worth keeping around and can be trusted. G.I. was in a more compact body, and they should be attending a fancy gala with the caveat of playing nice with ordinary humans. Waller had unlimited checks for their fancy wear, so he’s both trying to look his best and a little bit like an asshole. A purple herringbone vest buttoned over his ribcage deftly hid the fact he had no neckwear, his snowy shirt undone to show off his sternum. The decision to make the back of his vest the same stark white wasn't his, but he liked the cufflinks that some chucklefuck decided to give him with the symbol for radioactivity on them. He whistled appreciatively at the cut of wide-legged pants, a pair of wingtip brogues miles better than the worn out slip ons he usually wore. “How do I look?”
G.I. twisted, then gave him a thumbs-up. “I enjoy it.” He looked down to his pale dinner jacket, his tie hanging undone around his neck. “However, I do not believe this is regulation length.”
“You should really know by now we don’t have fabric shortages anymore.” Alex strode over to set the single button, unable to believe pants with a well-made satin stripe could hang this loosely around his twiggish legs. “You know, zoot suits were a huge thing after the war.”
“Profoundly unpatriotic.” G.I. narrowed his eyes, much less intimidating with a homburg hat than a helmet. “Probably worn by Nazis.”
“I—no. No, G.I., they’re not worn by Nazis.” He hoped that was convincing enough, given how different their suits were. Alex had plenty of fabric, still stylish enough to be tailored, while G.I. was incredibly short cut with the most opulent detail being a crosshatch of eggshell. He had to adjust the coat to hide G.I.’s suspenders, shifting his feet to not scuff his companion’s oxfords. Now, to tie his tie, a rehearsed motion that he could perform with his eyes closed. They should show off a little bit, right? A plain green tie won’t do for someone like him.
There’s that catch in his throat, forcing his mouth shut to not spatter something unseemly all over G.I.’s coat. His fingers got all tingly while he untangled the mess in his head with both hands over G.I.’s heart. When he was done, he smoothed out G.I.’s lapels like nothing happened. When humans consider G.I. a man and not a monster, he’s deemed a decorated soldier, and he had a few decorations to show that stuck to his coat. Medals were too clunky, so there’s a space for ribbons instead, small cuts of thread that make it clear he’s to be respected. Alex thumbed over the squares without realizing just how close he was to the robot, who looked down with confusion.
“I have never seen anyone with their tie like this.”
Alex swallowed, the velvety petals settling in his stomach. “It’s a rose knot. It’s—uh, it’s just something for looking nice. Windsors are a little business-y, aren’t they?”
“Ah.” G.I.’s lenses dilated as he smiled, some realization crossing him that Alex didn’t consider. “And with my white blazer, we match!”
Alex turned on his heel, his hand to his lips as he felt another bud coming up. He hunched over as a tiny blossom popped out, barely glancing at it before he crushed it in his fist. “Let’s get going,” he replied with a nervous laugh.
He flicked the flower away before the robot could see it and quickly led him out the door. They didn’t have a lot of time before the guards would come in to check they haven’t killed each other, after all. When they left the cell, they were quickly led through the prison to where Bride and Weasel waited on the air strip by the plane. She wore a long white gown with a slit in one side, a sweetheart neckline showing off a tourmaline necklace. He’s never seen it before, but she keeps rubbing it with her thumb. She stopped when she saw them, turning and crossing her arms over a burgundy shrug the same color as her heels. “About time.”
“Alex needed to fix my tie.” G.I. gestured to the knot with a proud smile. “We match now.”
“Better than matching with a glorified dog.” Bride glared at Weasel, who got the message to stop nibbling on his hind leg. He had a bejeweled collar, not tourmaline like Bride’s but shining with moonstone inlaid into thick golden metal. “They tried to put him in a suit, if you could believe it.”
“How many people were mauled?” Alex asked, sidestepping Weasel as he stood on two legs and grabbed for his shoulders. He’s not letting the one who bit a chunk out of his arm act friendly, even if he was fighting a tickle in his throat as he inched closer to the robot.
“Three.”
“Sounds right for Weez.” He put his hands in his pockets, the shred of poppy he touched refusing to burn like all evidence should. “So, we’re color coded tonight?”
“To make it easier to find us and harder to hide blood if we try anything. As if looking like a bridal party helps them use their trackers they implanted.” Bride rolled her eyes. “Apparently, we have to stay in pairs, too. Weasel’s my date tonight.”
“Pairs? Date?”
“Well, I doubt you want Weasel to piss on your leg again with your pretty white trousers.” Bride whistled sharply to bring the furry abomination back to her side. “I’m not leaving G.I. with him, either. This is going to be our best chance to get a good drink, so you two better not fuck it up. I’d like more missions where we don’t have a human with a zapper in his hand telling us what to do.”
“Amen, sister.” Alex saluted her mockingly, only for G.I. to do it genuinely, and that earned another wheeze with a desperate clearing of his throat. Bride raised her eyebrow.
“Phosphorus?”
“Alex has allergies,” G.I. supplied, proud to flaunt his new knowledge. “He gets them sometimes.”
“What kind of metahuman still deals with fucking allergies?”
“Shut up, She-Hulk,” Alex snapped, watching the plane behind them finally open up to let them inside.
As he walked past, Bride questioned aloud, “how long has that name been on the backburner?”
“Long enough,” he responded, slinking into the plane’s belly and dropping to the uncomfortable benches. He knew Bride would take the seat next to him to avoid Weasel, but forgot G.I. could take the other side, their knees knocking together. Alex gulped again, the single petal in his pocket feeling like it’ll burn a hole through the fabric. He’ll have to hope the one he threw out in the cell isn’t discovered by the staff. Maybe there’s a flower smuggling thing going on they’ll accuse him of instead of the humiliation of hanahaki.
For a robot.
Bride crossed her legs in a facade of proper etiquette as she leaned into Alex’s personal space. “So. Alex.”
“Not on a first name basis with you.”
“But you are with G.I.?”
“He’s my cellmate. Kind of hard not to be.”
“His legal name is G.I. Robot. Mine is The Bride, Weasel is Weasel. You’re the only one who can have a first name basis.” Bride tapped her finger on her chin. “Do you have a last name?”
“Yes.”
“Phosphorus?”
“No.”
“A middle name? Is it Bill?”
“No!”
“Is it…Alan? Derek?”
“Do I look like a Derek?” She’s mocking him, he can see it on her face, and yet he’s still rising to the challenge. Bride took the free source of entertainment, and he welcomed the distraction from the metal weight on his other side.
Alex can’t rely on other people to keep the constricting vines loose around his heart, though. No amount of needling will fix this issue, not without saying his feelings out loud. He doesn’t even know if G.I. can reciprocate, so he’s not embarrassing himself like that. Dying in prison, alone and unloved, has been his fate since he saw his family in a pool of blood.
He’ll joke about meaningless things, keeping the truth locked away, to not involve the robot in his suicide.