Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I think you’re due for a haircut.”

Adrian’s tired, half-lidded eyes look over at you from across the desk, disheveled curls clinging to his sweat-glazed forehead.

Summer has graced Evergreen in verdant hues of greens and blues, and birdsong fills the air until the silvery moon rises. Despite the sweltering heat, it’s all very lovely.

It’s also the perfect time to be surrounded in the current company, you think. You can’t remember the last time you loved something to the point of tears and your chest radiates in a blissful ache as you realize how much you truly don’t want the season to bid you farewell.

You’d been in a vulnerable place when Waller hand picked you for ARGUS — you were a shell of a human being seeking purpose and she knew exactly how to manipulate that ; molding you into the unfeeling and restrained soldier she needed to carry out her unlawful acts. Never, in all her years, did she believe your involvement in Task Force X would lead to her demise and her own daughter’s betrayal.

The small branch now dedicated itself to protecting alien lifeforms from the clutches of the state, and you found that to be quite fitting.

It was amazing, really — the things you were capable of when graced with the lovingness of a new family.

It’s mid-July now and you only have so much time left, but a memory you will always cherish exists permanently in the forefront of your heart and clouds your thoughts.

The sun had met the lake in an almost blinding way to an observer, and you can still feel the heat on your skin. John hesitantly shuffles his way into the water while Christopher, only knee deep in, loudly recalls an article he found online about small freshwater parasites that were apparently prone to swimming up unsuspecting lake goers’ urethras while Leota rolls her eyes, laughing in disbelief. The thought sends an uncomfortable chill up your spine.

Adrian is wading in a bit deeper, torso hugged entirely by the lake. “Wait, seriously?” his eyes widening in alert, “That doesn’t sound right. Why would the fish want to be inside my penis?”

Chris, in all seriousness, turns to him. “Dude, they’re real and they’re called penis fish. Look it up if you don’t believe me!”

“Can we please not talk about this right now?” John cuts in, tone riddled in anxiety.

“So, what? they’re like the genital version of the butterflies then?” You call from the shore, uncharacteristically humorous.

Dew drops of water still cling to your skin as you lay on the shore alongside Emilia, sun-drying atop beach towels. You’d gotten much closer to her than you ever imagined, her cold exterior thawing the longer all of you remained a constant part of her life. You two were very alike — reluctantly convincing yourselves that you were better off alone for your sake and everyone else's, and that you hadn’t any need for new company.

You both chuckle at the conversation being held a few feet away, and the way that John groans disgustedly at your comment. Your eyes meet as you two share a soft glance that says, ‘It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.’ If it were perfect, it wouldn't have been yours to begin with. You liked what you had just as it was.

The gentle sounds of waves kissing against mossy rocks and the soft whistles from birds above are melodic throughout the rest of the afternoon.

You’ll never forget the way your bare and sun-kissed skin felt when you changed into fresh clothes after spending daylight enveloped by soft waves, and you also seem to never forget
the vivid image of fireworks alighting the starry-black twilight on the fourth of July. Leota has her fingers intertwined with her wife’s as they delight in the light show on the hood of her car, while John and Emilia try their very hardest to convince Christopher and Adrian not to set off their own firecrackers so close to team headquarters, but their efforts are futile.

“Aren’t fireworks illegal in Washington?” John objects, pointing at Adrian, “I thought your whole thing was being against illegal activities, you big hypocrite.”

“Well I have some exceptions,” Adrian counters, pointing a sparkler at John, “Like these sick ass fireworks or removing the tags off of pillows.”

“Removing the tags off of pillows?” Emilia repeats in disbelief as she crosses her arms, “That can’t be a real law.”

At some point during the celebration, you and Adrian sat together atop the video store building together, smiling up as your feet swung over the edge leisurely. Your soft gaze eventually settled upon him, his head tilted heavenward. There was a lot you wished to say to him, though the words never seemed to find you. You could blame Waller and what she put you through, or you could blame it on the way he made your heart beat nervously against your chest in a way you thought no one ever could. You decided to go with both.

The hot dog Adrian had been eating now lay dormant in his right hand, far too distracted by the lights above to pay it any attention.

“Adrian?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve got mustard on your…” you motion towards the corner of your own mouth, “Here, I’ve got it.” Your thumb gently swipes the bright yellow stain from his skin, then you press a kiss to the side of his cheek that housed his small birthmark. He grins at you — slowly, then widely — before pressing his lips sweet against yours.

Maybe you didn’t need to say anything. Maybe he already knew.

Christopher’s eagle spreads its majestic wings and glides overhead amongst the fiery backdrop, and you can’t help but shake your head, giggling at the ironically patriotic image.
The final firework of the night — one belonging Chris and Adrian that was never supposed to set off in the first place— ascends into darkness and you sigh, contentedly.

Weekends like those were ones you only witnessed on screen or in between the pages of books — now that you finally have it, you want to exist in it forevermore.

Adrian had long removed his vigilante suit and now sports a plain white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, honeyed spears of light from the window gently kissing his freckle-stained forearms. His fingers run through his overgrown curls, eyebrows knitted together. “I am?”

“I…I saw you moving it out of your face a lot earlier,” you speak hesitantly, worried you had overstepped, “I like it, though. just thought it was bothering you was all.”

Adrian studies you for a moment, gaze tender. He could set all the elder trees in the forest ablaze with what you ignited within him, and while he doesn’t entirely understand it, he welcomes it wholeheartedly. “You really like it?”

He, too, wants to remain swept up in the way that summer makes everything feel warm and hopeful. It’s enough to pause his incessant worrying about you, just for now, as he fends off the idea of anything ever happening to you under his watch. Just being with him put you in far more trouble than you ever deserved from him, and being in your line of work only heightened the risk of tragedy.

He reaches for your hand — the one scarred with the remnants of project butterfly etched upon your flesh — and presses a kiss to the back of it.

Adrian constantly overwaters his plants because he cares too much and buries their heavily loved and withered bodies in his backyard. This will not be your fate under his touch, and he knows this to be true because he wouldn't be able to live with himself if someone he cared about died because of him. He knows that no one else would let anything happen to you, either — you would all continue to take care of one another just as you always did.

Your heart flutters in your ribcage like a bird begging to be set free as you bashfully return his soft gaze , nodding. “Yeah, I do.”

Everything between you two feels as new as the spring day where you shared your first kiss, and at times you still find yourself unsure of how to express your adoration. You’d spent years forcibly unlearning it — acting on it now at times almost felt as if it were a sin.

You make your way over to his end of the desk, abandoning your computer work. You kiss his jaw and he wants to cry. Only the calloused and bloodied knuckles of adversaries have touched the area to the point where he almost forgot what loving human touch felt like for the longest time. Loving, understanding human touch.

By the time autumn sweeps through Evergreen and turns everything into warm reds and golds, your workload piles up and the days start to feel shorter. Whistling winds send a swirl of leaves that dance amongst your front yard in an autumnal mosaic, and you watch them flutter by as you sit on the porch with Adrian.

Berries of rich pinks and dark purples lay between you two in a plastic carton as you watch the sunset together. You had used your day off to travel twenty minutes outside of Evergreen towards a darling little farmer’s market ; where you returned with a fall harvest cheese board for Leota and her wife, mulled ciders that Emilia and Christopher might enjoy, and all-natural beard balm for John. You weren't entirely sure about the last one, though Adrian insisted it was the perfect gift.

He huffs, and there’s a rosiness to his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have bought the hens like I wanted. I mean, twenty bucks a bird? That’s a steal. Not to mention we’d be getting free eggs out of it.”

You bring a berry up to your mouth, shaking your head. “Twenty bucks is just too much for one bird,” you scrunch your nose, “and chickens scare me, anyway.”

Adrian turns to you, a bemused expression on his face. “Chickens scare you?” he emphasizes, “I mean, I guess I understand since they used to be dinosaurs and all.”

You meet his eyes, a small grin appearing on your lips as your eyes narrow playfully. “I feel like you're patronizing me, sweet boy.”

In response, he kisses your temple softly, pulling you closer towards him as the sun begins to fully set. “I’m not! I won’t let the big bad chickens get you, I promise.”
The sun blooms against the clouds in radiant hues of sweet scarlet and marigold, before bidding the earth farewell.

Tomorrow you’ll see your friends, and they’ll chase away the listlessness that accompanies your seasonal melancholy with warm laughter and closeness.

You're starting to think that maybe the crisp season isn't so bad after all — there’s an ethereal calmness about it. About everything.