|ɑgɛɳt ɱѳɓiuร (jetskiing) wrote in avengers_logs,|
@ 2021-12-03 18:31:00
|Entry tags:||-complete, mobius, sharon carter|
WHO: Mobius & Sharon
WHAT: A Christmas tree, decorating, making some confessions and trying to be adults about feeling feelings
WHERE: Sharon's apartment
WHEN: IDK Friday night?
|Well, it wasn’t exactly one of those trees that reached from the floor to the ceiling (with a squirrels nest hidden inside - very straight from nature) or anything, but Mobius thought that the beauty he and Sharon found at a lot, paid an exorbitant amount for, and then lugged back up to her Tower apartment was still pretty damn special. He’d managed to untangle a strand of lights and wind it around the tree, from the base to the very starlit tippy top - now they were surrounded by boxes of ornaments and some tinsel, debating how to make this tree even more aesthetically appealing; he didn’t know much about decorating trees, to be honest. So hopefully they’d figure it out.|
Not like the TVA ever celebrated Christmas, or any holidays at all - not in their own pocket world, operating outside of the world. The furniture, the architecture, it was all brutalist and gritty - nothing cheery like the sugar castles you’d find in the hotel lobby of Union Square spots here in San Francisco, or the brightness of an ice skating rink. This was the first time he’d be doing something meaningful for Christmas and he intended to enjoy it.
There were cookies (Pillsbury, the ones with reindeer designs and made of pure sugar) baking in the oven, and Mobius was attempting to organize the ornaments by color. “Would you believe I’ve never decorated a tree before?” he asked, rhetorically, because of course she’d believe it. Not like he had much of a life before Loki came into his, turning everything upside down.
Sharon hadn’t decorated a Christmas tree in what felt like years. They didn’t celebrate Christmas in Madripoor--at least, not the same way she had in the States--so she’d never really felt the need. Christmas, much like Halloween, consisted of imported foods purchased at exorbitant prices, movie marathons, and Drinks. Every year she thought about calling her father, and every year she didn’t. Sometimes because she was afraid of getting him in trouble, and sometimes because of the Snap.
But the truth of it was that she didn’t need fancy decorations. She didn’t need big parties with loud Christmas carols, she didn’t need lots of presents under the tree. This year, it felt like she finally had what she needed for Christmas to feel like Christmas again. She had friends. Loved ones. The connections she’d made here felt stronger than those in Madripoor, more… important.
“I… I don’t know,” Sharon said, tugging hooks out of a little cardboard box. They had to purchase everything new this year for the tree. Sharon remembered having hand-me-down ornaments, hand-made things, year after year her parents' collection grew. This year everything was brand new. “Is it that you never have, or that you don’t remember having done it?” She asked, softly.
Those hooks were honestly going to be the death of him - Mobius had bested the tangle of Christmas tree lights, and they looked beautiful and festive now twinkling on the tree. But the little tiny parts of the ornaments, the hooks that you could drop and potentially step on later? Yeah, those didn’t seem like they’d feel good sinking into the soles of bare feet but he’d just try not to go all butterfingers over here when he attached the fuzzy ornament balls to them.
He glanced up at Sharon’s words, from where he sat on the floor opening boxes and arranging decorations. “The second, probably,” his mouth twisted into a wry little smile. He’d been thinking a lot about sorting through the muck and mire of his deeply buried memories - it made him realize that he had to actually do something about them, if he wanted to grow and change. Make a decision either way. “I’m glad to make new memories now though. This’ll be a good one.”
There was a lot of glitter - nothing that landed on the floors, but dustings on various ornaments and some that were clearly handmade. Mobius had picked up a box from one of the Christmas markets, knowing Sharon was going to decorate her tree, but the ornaments in that box were kind of hideous? One was even moose poop. Okay, that one was actually kind of funny. “Can I talk to you about something?” he asked then, fingers definitely fumbling with the hooks like he swore not to do and - shit.
There should probably be shoes for a while. Or, at least those slippers with thick soles? Not that Sharon often went around her house with her shoes on. Socks or barefoot was the way to be if you were a Powerbroker alone in your apartment. (Socks mostly during the winter months. As Sharon was affected by the cold--almost always in long pants and long sleeves, sweaters and jeans.)
After tapping a quick kiss against his cheek, she slipped down beside him on the floor. “I’m glad, too. We should get you a special ornament…” She leaned against his shoulder, looking down at whatever the heck that was in his hands. “...Baby Mobius’s First Christmas.” She teased, grinning.
Her chin left his shoulder and she reached for the next ornament in the box. There were hooks and baubles and tinsel littered all over. It was going to take some work to get this all cleaned up. She was thinking of that and not what he might be asking about. Something serious? “Hmm?”
Baby Mobius’s First Christmas. He snorted a laugh, turning his head to catch Sharon for a return kiss before she moved away - his lips landed somewhere in her hair, someplace in all the golden blonde. What did he want to talk about though? It was sort of hard to form the words - he’d been thinking of it since the feast, really. About what he wanted going forward, what he was seeking out, and how to bring that all up to Sharon. They were sort of casually dating, he guessed, because they both also dated other people - and even after they sorted it out (provided she agreed about sorting things out?) he still would be fine if she wanted to keep dating other people.
But as for what he wanted - he felt as if he needed to tell her how he felt. How he hoped to put all his focus into the connection they shared because what had started out as casual had sort of evolved into something that stretched throughout his whole body; it had no length or depth. It was simply absolute. There was nothing casual about that.
“Just - about us?” he started, still fidgeting with one of the ornaments. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot.”
Sharon's heartbeat skipped at his words. ... thinking about us… Surely this wasn't the end of… whatevertheywere. He probably wouldn't have picked up a Christmas tree and baked cookies with her if he was planning on ending things between them--those weren't the actions of a man on the cusp of a… a breakup? (Was it really a breakup of they weren't together?) But if it wasn't the end, then what was it?
"Oh?" Sharon asked, trying not to sound nervous. She was, though. She turned to look at him, lifting a hand to turn his collar, straightening it out for him. "What about us?"
“I love you,” Mobius just came out and said it. He’d never been in love before and yet he knew it anyway - love was a many-splendored thing. It was also stomach-twisting and wore on thoughts heavy as stones in the mud. Consuming and silly and unreasonable and fuck, he just loved that too. Loved love and how much of a whirlwind it was.
That kind of contentment, what your partner represented to you, felt as warm as spring breaking through the winter - that’s what she was to him.
“I really do and - if you want to go steady with me, I’d be all for that...” And did he just say go steady? Now it was like they needed one milkshake with two straws or something. Or to stop and neck on the way to the sock hop. “But if you want to date other people at the same time I’m fine with that too. I just - want to work on this with you.”
He took her hand from where she’d fixed his collar, squeezing it gently. “What I want for you is whatever you want for yourself.” That was what love was, right?
Holy crap. Sharon blinked at him for a moment, pretty sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. But the look in his eyes, the gentleness of his tone, the little turn of his lips… it was undeniable. He loved her. And she… well. She couldn’t deny that she had very strong feelings for him, too. But she wasn’t about to admit it. Sharon had just been alone for so long--had been without love in her life for so long--she’d forgotten what it felt like. People didn’t get close to people like her. It was dangerous. Messy. ...Lonely.
Then he said go steady, and that seemed to shock Sharon back into the present. A deep blush crossed her cheeks. It seemed like the kind of thing that Steve Rogers might have said to her. She raised an eyebrow at him, though her heart was still thundering. He was asking her to go steady. He wanted her. Like, for real. Not just having fun, not just in the meantime, not just while they were figuring things out on their own. It made her heart swell in her chest.
She leaned forward, took his face with both of her hands, and kissed him. It wasn’t a raucous thing, all tongues and teeth, but an emotional, passionate, loving kiss. Then she rested her forehead against his. “Thank you for loving me. I… I care so deeply for you, Mobius. It’s… frankly, it’s a little terrifying. But I like it. I like you.”
Mobius breathed in through that boxer’s nose, feeling dizzy when Sharon kissed him. He placed his hands over hers, thumbs stroking skin and - was this a good response? A bad one? Granted, he didn’t know how people were supposed to respond here. She didn’t say she loved him too (she liked him? What? The same way you liked cantaloupe, or a certain National Lampoon movie?) but he supposed he wasn’t really expecting her to. People felt these things at different moments; it didn’t have to match up exactly.
“Should I give you some time?” he asked, right as the alarm he’d set on his phone went off - it was indicating the cookies were done, and he should take them out of the oven before they burned. “I mean, more time than this - “
In the time it took for him to scramble up, grab a pot holder, and take out the baking sheet. You probably couldn’t figure out if you loved someone in the span of getting up and removing cookies from the oven.
While Sharon did love him, she just wasn't ready. She didn't realize it, didn't know what it meant, and for a billion reasons was fighting against it. She thought he could do so much better, that she didn't deserve it, that it was only going to end up hurting them both. And yet she kept coming back to him. Couldn't stay away. away, even if she wanted to. A part of her needed him in a way that she wasn’t conscious of--not yet, anyway. She’d get there. She just needed some time.
The alarm went off and interrupted a really beautiful moment. But the last thing in the world Sharon wanted (okay, maybe second last) was to burn the cookies. She nodded, releasing the sides of his face so they could both climb to their feet and pad into the kitchen. The walk was only about twelve paces, and the whole way she was trying to figure out what to say in response. Everything in her head was silly or stupid or didn’t adequately represent how she felt.
Once in the kitchen, Sharon let Mobius pull the cookies out of the oven, watching him as he moved around her space. It felt natural. Normal. Watching him in her kitchen was like putting on snow boots or unloading groceries. It felt right. Easy.
“I need a little time,” she finally said, once the cookies were out and the oven turned off. “I don’t--nothing has to change, I just need to figure out…” what I want. It sounded selfish in her head.
Mobius was tempted to stuff one of the cookies into his mouth, but they weren’t even close to cool and a burned tongue just didn’t sound fun. But it would give him something to do with his hands, which were fidgeting a little. He was nervous - however, he also didn’t want to make Sharon feel like she’d done something wrong. She hadn’t.
“It’s okay,” he assured, reaching up to touch her face - right as he realized he still had the oven mitt on. He slid it off and tossed it onto the counter, then stroked his fingers along her cheek. “I’ll give you time. I want to give you the space - mental space? I guess? - to come to your own conclusions. I’m not pressuring you either way.”
He wasn’t really the demanding, possessive type - besides, he understood that these types of feelings could be a little terrifying. They sort of were for him too.
Sharon leaned in a little, but was startled when the oven mitt came flying up toward her face. ...of course, it was simply attached to Mobius’s hand, which made her feel silly for being surprised. Her cheeks went pink. And then he was touching her face, and she leaned in to rest her forehead against his for just a moment. Just a few breaths, close to him, hands snaking up over his chest and wrapping around the back of his neck.
He might not have been possessive, but she was his, anyway. She just didn’t realize it yet.
“What do you want?” Sharon finally asked.
Mobius slipped his arms around her waist, hands splaying on her back. They’d both been banged up a little during the Dark Elf skirmish at the feast - but were just fine now, nothing that needed the medical attention a gunshot or stab wound might; they didn’t leave blood behind in the hallowed halls of Asgardia. He was grateful for that, and endlessly grateful to be back here. Until shit hit the fan again.
“I want you,” he admitted, kissing her forehead before resting his cheek in her hair - he rested his chin there, at the top of her head, and breathed in the scent of freshly baked cookies and pine from the tree they’d hauled back here. And Sharon too. She always smelled pleasant - her perfume, whatever it was. It was also on his pillowcases, his sheets - he’d recognize it anywhere. “I don’t really - think I want to date anyone else.” He and Tony were always casual, everything was open and Mobius knew he wasn’t the only person Tony was sleeping with - and while Mobius really liked him, getting attached there was liable to turn out badly.
He just was at a point in his life, as he was on the cusp of trying to remember who he once had been, where he wanted something that he could invest in. Put work in, for the future - whatever that would be. He couldn’t ask that of someone who wasn’t at a place in their own life where they would actually be able to give him what he wanted - which was fine. People needed different things.
Sharon didn't have anyone who cared so much if she got injured back in Madripoor. No one to stitch her up, curl by her side, tend to her wounds… No one that she should do those things for in return. Now that she did, she was starting to understand why he was so adamant about her backing away from danger-- away from those Powerbroker activities that could lead to trouble. And she almost wanted to make a similar rule for him. (Not that he went looking for danger.)
Funny how perfect it felt to cuddle in against his neck, her face pressed into his skin. He felt good, smelled good, even tasted good. The scary part was that she could see herself with him for the rest of her life. After a deep breath in, she nodded. "Okay."
There were a lot of things Mobius had discovered about himself during this whole dating thing. One, he was open to the idea of sharing - it didn’t bother him if Sharon wanted to date other people at the same time as him, that would be up to her; he felt secure enough in their relationship no matter what. That hadn’t changed. His own priorities had changed a little, however - he still was open to sharing as a general rule, but at this current time he wanted to focus on just this one connection. Mobius imagined that changes happened throughout a person’s life anyway. They weren’t stagnant in their relationships.
And if what he suspected was true, that he aged weirdly thanks to the TVA and being brainwashed and meant to do the same work for literally forever, he would have a long life ahead of him.
“You wanna finish with your tree?” he asked, stroking his hands down along Sharon’s waist. “It looks like a Christmas bomb exploded in your living room.” That was said with a chuckle. And, well, he’d told her how he felt - and said he’d give her time, so that’s what he was going to do. They didn’t need to decide anything right now.
Sharon wasn’t opposed to sharing, either. She had a lot of things going on in her life--Madripoor, Powerbroker, San Francisco, SHIELD, her art gallery?--so the idea of something else serious taking a front burner was a little overwhelming. Still, growing up she always imagined herself with a white picket fence, dogs, kids, the whole nine yards. She wondered if that dream was out of her reach forever.
“There are worse bombs that could explode in my living room,” Sharon said with a little smirk on her lips. She pulled back a bit and leaned up to steal a quick kiss. “But I think the tree deserves a little more of our attention. Then we can eat all the cookies.”
Drawing away from him, the smirk spread. “We have to figure out what Christmas movie we’re going to watch. There are only a few that I’m going to veto right off the bat.”
“Which few?” Mobius asked, moving the cookies from the baking sheet to a plate. They were still nice and warm and he might have sneaked one, just to give it a taste test - sure, there was no way to really mess these up considering they were pre-made and you just sliced the dough and baked it, but. You never could tell. “I’ll put on whatever you want to watch. I don’t really have any favorites or ones I prefer over the others.”
That was why making choices about his future and actually building that future was at the forefront of his mind now - because he just didn’t have any traditions. Didn’t know what he liked or didn’t like. Couldn’t pick his favorite Christmas movie, and so forth. Plus other life decisions. Did he want to get married someday (after seeing what happened with Loki and Valkyrie - uh, no, the idea of marriage seemed terrifying)? Did he want children (maybe)? What memories would he want to make that would become a part of his being? Things to think about.
“There are a few I’m just not interested in. A Christmas Story is definitely overplayed. I’ve seen it hundreds of times, and it’s honestly not my favorite. Die Hard? Sure, it could be considered a Christmas movie, but… eh.” She gave him a little smile, moving through the living room to start cleaning up tinsel and discarded hooks and leftover ornaments. “Nightmare Before Christmas is more of a Halloween movie.”
She tucked the ornament boxes inside one another and turned back to him. “Maybe a funny one? Elf or Home Alone?” Really, she just wanted to cuddle up and watch a show with him.
A Christmas Story was on television every year, wasn’t it? And yet Mobius had never seen it. He’d only seen the drab retro-futuristic designs of the TVA, where he lived and breathed - like the lighting in the Miss Minutes waiting room, that looked like a sea of eyeballs just floating above you (the TVA is always watching). Things such as that he remembered and noticed - but nothing about his own life. His own choices.
He wanted to change that.
“Let’s go with Elf,” he decided, helping pick up the rest of the ornaments - they could finish adorning those bare tree branches later. A cookie and movie break didn’t seem like a bad idea to him. “That’s one I haven’t seen either, so you got a first-timer over here.”
"Excellent choice," Sharon responded with a warm smile. She understood how important choice was to Mobius, and that he'd made one was a good thing. Probably made him feel good. And that was pretty much all Sharon wanted to do here: make him feel good.
Once the floor was mostly clear and the ornaments they hadn't already hung were sitting neatly on the coffee table, Sharon grabbed the remote. "Can you grab snacks and I'll get it set up?" It wouldn't be a romantic, cuddly, Christmas movie viewing without cookies, hot chocolate, and popcorn, now would it?
“I’ve got it,” Mobius promised, and he was on a mission to prepare them hot chocolate and toss a bag of popcorn into the microwave - something buttery and salty, and the hot chocolate was also that Swiss Miss stuff with the freeze-dried marshmallows (the tiny ones, the marbits) but it seemed delicious and novel to him. Lots of this experience was - and he wasn’t about to change it for anything.