detective nadia zerrouki. (andarta) wrote in theinvincibles, @ 2015-09-29 18:18:00 |
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Cynthia Caine, steely and unflappable, wasn't often wrong-footed. Even when surprised, she made it look like everything that happened was part of her plan: it was a talent reserved only for her and most fictional supervillains. However, here in the quiet Chicago townhouse that she shared with her wife Olivia, she was free to be someone other than Agent Superbitch for a while. She rolled her eyes, quirking her lip upwards as though utterly disgusted. "I got a letter through from the clinic about our 'alternative insemination', by the way," she said too casually, her hair catching the afternoon sun brightly. She wore it long at home, reserving her high ponytail for work hours, and nodded at the envelope in front of them. "Is it too late to admit I'm having second thoughts?" The question had been weighing heavily on Cynthia for some time. She'd committed to this, of course - she'd nailed her colours to the mast this time, and that was that. Whatever happened, they'd just have to get through it together: Cynthia loved her wife, and if that meant doing some things she'd rather not do for the sake of their marriage, then she was just going to hold her head up and do it. She reached for the envelope, her hand steady but her heart sinking: she already knew that what was inside would not be what she wanted, would destroy her utterly. Still, she forged ahead. "I think," she said softly, "that it was Colonel Mustard, in the Billiard Room, with the Revolver." Cynthia knew it wasn't: she had the revolver in her hand, but they'd been playing for ages and her butt was going numb. This had to end. Opening the envelope, she closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. "Damn. I'm out! You win." She sat back, stretching to try and bring the feeling back into her limbs. "So yeah," said Cynthia. "This letter from the clinic. We need to make another appointment. Olivia cackled, slamming her cards onto the table with the most victorious grin on her face. "KNEW IT. You can't defeat me, I am the Queen of Clue and you are merely my padawan, we know this-" she took the moment to point at her wife, leaning forward at such speed and force that she smacked her knee against the table- "-we know this!" The throbbing pain set in and with a hiss she stopped her victory cry to rub the offending limb. She listened, head snapping back upwards, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. "Uh? Another one?" The blonde woman's hands dropped to her thighs as she crossed her arms in a seemingly very uncomfortable position. Olivia Caine sometimes just made things difficult for herself. "How many of these things do we need to go through to get a damn baby?" “As many as it takes,” Cynthia replied with a determined set of her jaw. In truth, she was as annoyed as anyone: the idea of a child hadn’t been one she was massively keen on when they’d started out down the path, but with each new disappointment and failed attempt Cynthia found that she was more upset than she’d expected to be. Children were horrible, everybody knew that: they were sticky, and loud, and you couldn’t have a proper conversation with them until they were about nineteen. By all expectations, Cynthia should have hated the idea of being around them, and yet...her need to see this through surprised her more than anyone. She stood up from the table, the iron-footed chair scraping against their burnished wood floor noisily. It didn’t take Cynthia long to reach the dresser where she’d discarded the letter from the clinic, and her brow crinkled as she read it again. “Can you believe it?” she asked, with a note of disdain that Evelyn Glennie would’ve been able to pick up on. She practically threw the letter at Olivia. “Look how this starts! Look! Dear Clytemnestra… Fucking Clytemnestra! They should give us something on the house just for that. I told them never to call me that, after the last time. Didn’t I tell them? I told them!” It was like a dam had burst: a dam holding back all of the rage and fears Cynthia had been suppressing. She wasn’t bothered by their use of her real name, not really. She was bothered by a lot of things, but not that: bothered by her job, by APEX’s seeming power and reach, by her brother’s vulnerability, by her father showing up more and more in the newspapers now that the Republicans were raising their heads above the parapets. Cynthia was bothered by hundreds of things that she kept squashed down hard at work, all the better to maintain her ice bitch image - but here at home, she could finally rage. She was crying a little now: stupid hot tears that didn’t even make it all the way down her face. “I don’t give a damn about Clue! It should be fucking...me and you! In the conservatory, with the kid we deserve! That’s the only guess I care about!” She sagged a little, the first fire of rage dimming slightly, and slumped against the wall. “God, maybe we’re going about this all wrong.” Olivia had never been bothered by Cynthia's icy exterior, nor the iceberg that could rival its real-life cousins that could sink ocean liners underneath. That became clear when she followed the redhead around during training like an eager puppy no matter what deterrents were thrown at her. Truth be told, their relationship should have been a disaster, her wife's attitude contrasting sharply with her own easy going nature. It was only in their struggles that it all seemed to make sense. After Cynthia had taken her bottles of wine when Stonewall was killed and now, as her wife cried in frustration about something that Olivia had wanted so badly. "Hey, hey! Babe!" She was up on her feet quicker than a blink, darting forwards towards the other woman. "Babe, no, don't cry." She tugged at her wife's arms, pulling her into her own as if to attempt to shield her from the sudden onslaught of emotion. Even the Clue references weren't enough to stop that sinking feeling in her stomach. Olivia was putting her through this, Olivia alone in her mind. She'd wanted children so badly and still did. But various circumstances had meant she wasn't a suitable candidate for carrying a baby and seeing the pain Cynthia went through after yet another cycle caused an unfamiliar feeling of hurt, one she couldn't place. She just didn't know what they were doing wrong. "It's okay. We have the money. We can try again. It's just been bad luck so far, it happens." She murmured, trying to keep some semblance of a comforting smile on her face as she affectionately wiped her tears away with one hand. Cynthia pulled away slightly, wincing at the force of Olivia's embrace. Her ribs were still bruised from Erin Choi's punches, her nerves still raw and her face still carrying the lingering marks of punches. It had been worth it at the time to see Lima lose control, but Alfa had begun to regret it slightly in the aftermath. The injuries hurt, and she wasn't sure they were worth making Lima look as bad as it had. Foxtrot certainly hadn't taken the bait, but maybe it had been enough just to plant the seed. "I wonder," the redhead replied. "Maybe it's nature telling me not to have kids. I mean, we know the numbers. My brother? There's a good chance that..." Cynthia tailed off. They both knew what she meant: her brother, an unabashed metahuman called Dream Nimbus (who had embraced his ridiculous name as eagerly as Cynthia had shed Rainbow Waterfall) meant that the genetics were skewed in favor of another meta in the family tree. That thought caused Cynthia more worry than anything else. "I know we have the money," Cynthia said softly, "but I'm not sure we have the time. Or the fortune. Maybe this next one should be our last try?" Olivia shook her head with such force that it hurt seconds after she’d moved. “It’s not nature. Nature doesn’t work like that.” She spoke quickly, blurting it out. “Nature doesn’t work like that and you know that because if it’s going to happen, it will happen and maybe so far the timing just hasn’t been right. We want this baby. No matter what happens.” She thought of Lindsay’s brothers. Three of them. The maths didn’t look good. Olivia backed away a little, arms dangling uselessly at her sides. It was frustrating to be so uncertain but it manifested in a strange kind of sadness. Not giving up became tiring. “If it’s hurting you, we’ll stop. There are other ways. We can...pursue other options.” The words tasted bureaucratic and the blonde woman tried her hardest not to wrinkle her nose, but hiding the emotions on her face had never been her strong point. The pain and shock when she received the email about Paul. The look of fury at both Erin and her wife when they fought. Her attempts to conceal a secret mission that she still continued to hide from her wife, a mission that could potentially become very, very dangerous. She ducked her head to one side as she turned again to hide her expression. For just a moment, Cynthia had her chance. She could've taken the opportunity presented to her and backed out. She could have put the whole baby thing on ice, looked into something less fraught with danger and completely, irrevocably broken her wife's heart in the process. It wasn't even a chance, not really: the dark voice inside her head that would've convinced to act in her own selfish interests was almost instantly smothered by her love for Olivia. She thought of the vows she'd taken, years ago. The promises of affection, honesty and never spoiling the ending of a show before the other had a chance to watch it. The sure and certain affirmation that all of Olivia's worries and burdens, her hopes and dreams, her aspirations and goals - all of those things were now Cynthia's as well. "No, listen." She ran her fingers through her hair, forcing a smile that became less forced as the seconds ticked by. "We'll try again. I want what you want. I want this. I want us to become...us, you know? A little boy. A little girl. And you know...if it turns out that our baby has a little extra talent or something? We'll deal with that. You know, I mean...some of them are okay, right?" Cynthia smiled vacantly, her brow furrowing as she tried to think of a metahuman she didn't loathe with every fibre of her being. "Like that guy at the bar. He seems okay." Wait, wasn't that his whole thing? "And uh...the volcano girl, I guess?" Olivia, hands folded across her torso, nodded, forcing her own smile for a second. The smile became more genuine as Cynthia tried, the cogs of the redhead's brain almost audibly ticking. And Olivia snorted with laughter, a laugh that was almost a cry but there all the same. "Volcano girl and bartender. Right. Right." She harboured just enough tact not to mention her cousins, Cynthia's brother. Shaking her head, she turned to head into the kitchen. "I'm going to open another bottle." The blonde woman walked and then paused, just by the door, one hand on the frame. She turned her head. "Once more. And then... Okay, maybe it isn't meant to be. But we tried. And then maybe we look into other options." She said softly, before ducking into the kitchen. Maybe when we figure out what's going on, she thought, remembering Paul, then Chas' refusal to bring his daughter to work, the riots, the broken down convoy of escaped prisoners. Hestia and Ares, and the investigations. And she didn't turn her head again as she closed the door behind her, because if she did then Cynthia would know everything and realise exactly how selfish Olivia was being. |