Archive of Our Own ^beta

The soft cold moonlight reaches its dainty fingers through the windows of the apartment, caressing your cheeks as you sleep soundly in a warm bed draped in soft blankets, your head nestled in the pile of pillows Steven so adamantly argues you need. Despite the warmth, the comfort, the safety you feel in this apartment smelling of old books, abandoned cups of tea, and woody cologne, the other side of the bed lies cold, empty. Your hand wanders over, searching for another body only to be met with air. Your brow creases as your body slowly brings itself back out of its peaceful slumber.

Just as your eyes open, the jingle of keys and the creak of the front door reaches your ears. You push your heavy body up to sit, your blurry vision moving to the yellow light penetrating your serene haven, a shadow standing in the doorway. You grab your glasses from the nightstand and put them on, the world coming into focus.

Red. Red, black, blue, yellow. The shadow in the doorway slowly steps into the apartment, a rich metallic scent accosting your senses entering with it. You hop up from the bed just as they slump down to their knees, deep breaths racking through them. You hurry over and shut the door behind them, your bare feet slipping on the slickened hardwood, stained red. The lock clicks closed right before you get down next to your boyfriends’ shaky form. You reach out to grab their face, their warm, sticky face which tilts up, illuminated by a hint of moonlight; blue and red mix in a sickly dance of pain and violence across the plains of their face.

“Oh, love,” you breathe out, your eyes scanning over them. “Are you- w-what happened?”

Their lips quirk into a small smirk, one hand reaching up to wrap around your wrist. “We’re fine, mi cielo, just a little banged up… and tired.”

Jake grabs your chin with his other hand to try and stop the way your eyes are nervously flitting over every inch of him, trying to find the injuries. Your throat feels tight, your stomach hot with bile at the smell and sight of them. “Where are you hurt?”

He smiles, his heart swelling at how you worry over him. “Anything major has already been healed by the suit. I’ve just got a couple bruises. It looks worse than it is. Cálmate.”

You take a couple deep breaths before leaning forward to rest your forehead against Jake’s. Your anxiety hasn’t been treating you too well recently and this is not helping. Your thoughts are running circles around you, wondering how this happened, if the suit really fixed everything it needed to, if the people they fought are gonna come back to get them or if they can’t, how you’re going to help-

“Hey.” Jake can tell what’s going on and holds your wrist a little tighter, his other hand moving from your chin to your cheek, his voice low and soothing. “Breathe in and out, amor. Breathe with me.”

Your fingers tremble as you follow along for a couple minutes, using the same technique you use when the boys are overwhelmed. It takes some time for the thoughts and breaths to settle once again.

“There we go.”

You huff out a small laugh. “I should be taking care of you.”

“Mm, who’s the one who told me ‘we take care of each other?’” He bumps his nose against yours.

“Don’t throw my words back at me when you’re covered in blood,” you tell him with a tiny smile.

That smile alone makes Jake feel comfortable enough to lean back and look at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking about behind those dark eyes of his. You stand up and offer him a hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty gross.” He takes your hand and stands up with you. “My clothes are sticking to me,” he says and you notice how he shifts uncomfortably, hating the feeling of it.

“Then we’ll get you out of them.” You offer a sweet smile and lead him over to the bathroom, flicking on the cool light that blinds you both for a moment.

Jake pulls off his jacket and shirt quickly, wanting the constricting fabric off of him. You untie his shoes and unbuckle his belt for him to make the process of undressing easier and faster for him before turning to start the shower, trying to get the temperature right.

A soft sigh comes from behind you, one of relief, relief that the insulting filthy garments are finally all gone and Jake is left only in his own skin. He flexes his hands a couple times and looks in the mirror, assessing the damage. Just some bruising on his right eye, blooming red and yellow while greens and blues spread over his right side. He lifts his right arm to see a friction burn reaching halfway up his forearm from his elbow from when Marc slid across the pavement. Blood cakes most of his body from his earlier injuries, and the damage he and Marc caused.

You turn back to him to see him staring deep into the mirror. “Talking?” you ask.

“No,” he answers, “just looking.”

“Well, the shower’s ready.”

He perks up a little at that and tears himself from the reflection. “Gracias, mi cielo.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before pulling open the curtain. “Will you join me?”

You can’t resist the sweet way he’s looking at you. It’s so rare that Jake ever looks so soft, so gentle. Of course he’s sweet, he’s romantic, but soft is something reserved for only certain nights, so it’s no surprise when you find yourself undressing and stepping in with him.

“Careful, cariño.”

“What?” you ask as he takes the glasses from your nose, folds them up, and tosses them gently to the sink. “Oh.”

“You’re forgetful when you’re sleepy.” He steps back under the spray.

You pick up the washcloth and wet it. “I mean, it is like the middle of the night.” You grab his face gently and start to wipe the dried blood away.

“Mm, sorry for waking you.” His voice gets muffled by the rag. He doesn’t actually sound sorry, not like Marc or Steven would be. He knows you would rather be awake taking care of them than sleeping. It’s not like he’s keeping you here.

You rinse the rag and get some more soap before starting to quietly wash the rest of him. It’s comfortable. It’s right. Jake relaxes beneath your touch, and it’s like every muscle in his body releases a shared tension, like his natural apprehension physically manifested and is finally resting. It took quite awhile for Jake to get to this point, this point where he trusts you to do things like this. It took just about as much arguing on your end for him to let you take care of him as it did for him to get you to let him do the same. The both of you are extremely stubborn and independent people, perfect for one another.

He watches you and it’s like his brain shuts off, content to just listen to and feel the shower spray and feel you getting rid of the grime on his skin. He flexes his hands before bringing them together in front of him, squeezing them together to keep them busy until a voice pokes at the back of his mind.

’You okay?’ Marc asks.

“Yeah,” he responds, pointing to his head when you look up at him before getting back to lovingly cleaning him. “Nuestro amor is helping.” The more he relaxes the more tired he sounds.

’Thanks for having my back earlier.’

Jake only hums in response, pressing his hands together more.

’Want me to take over? Let you rest?’

“Can ya?” He leans down and lifts your chin for you to look at him. “Cariño, Marc’s gonna front. I’m tired.”

“Ok, baby. Whatever you need.” You smile softly. “Goodnight.”

“Buenos noches, mi cielo.”

You stand and give him a soft kiss before their eyes seem to glaze over. You rub their arms as they disassociate and rest in the middle space for a bit. They blink quickly and their eyes seem to focus more as Marc looks at you. He slumps forward, burying his face into your neck immediately and wrapping his arms around your body.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

“Hi. So, what happened?” You’re well aware that Marc is more likely to explain their nights out than Jake is, Steven being the best candidate of the three. Marc’s been trying to be more open with you as he knows that’s one of the biggest reasons his marriage with Layla went sour. He’s been doing good… mostly.

“Went on patrol, saw some jewelry thieves, started getting my ass kicked, Jake stepped in to help.”

“Sounds like quite a night.” You rub his back as you hold him close.

“Mhm.”

“Want me to wash your hair?”

He somehow leans even further into you as if trying to mold into you. “Pretty please?”

You chuckle and slowly move him further into the shower spray to wet his dark curls. You know how much Marc loves having his hair washed, having it played with, even if he does try and gel it back on a regular basis which makes that a bit more difficult. You have to remove him from his hiding place in your neck for just a moment to get all of his hair wet. He lets out the slightest huff as you do, pouting. “So needy tonight, Spector,” you tease.

“Fuck off,” he murmurs into your shoulder, sighing as you start to massage shampoo into his curls. “Don’t act like you’re not constantly clinging onto me, babydoll.”

“So, I’m rubbing off on you?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just fucking exhausted from beating up bad guys.”

“And getting beat up by bad guys.”

“That too.” He smiles softly.

You rinse his hair again before applying their conditioner, knowing Jake would throw a fit if they forgot it. He’s the whole reason they’re not using 5 in 1 and you are grateful.

“There,” you kiss his temple, “all done.”

“Mm, not done.”

You look at him with your head cocked, a silent question.

“It’s your turn, baby.” His mouth twitches into that half-smile he has when he’s sleepy.

“It’s not my hair day,” you counter.

“Well, I can still wash the rest of you. Come on. Just as a thank you?”

You sigh, a smile tugging at your own lips. “Okay.”

Marc leans in and kisses you sweetly under the warm water, reaching out of the shower to grab a clean cloth and start cleaning you. His hands on you are reverent, loving, and gentle. You can’t help but think of the blood they were covered in only moments ago, the violence they cause, and how those same hard calloused hands treat you, like something to be worshipped. No longer focused on cleaning them up, your tiredness catches up to you, your blinks getting longer, your vision getting more hazy.

Marc squeezes your thigh. “Hey, wake up, sweetheart.”

You quickly come back to the land of the living where Marc is coming back up to eye level.

He chuckles. “Come on. We both need sleep.”

He shuts off the water and you both step out of the shower and towel off before heading into the bedroom and grabbing some new pajamas to change into.

Marc flops down onto the bed in just his boxers, the pale moonlight glinting off the Star of David around his neck. You crawl in after him, careful of his bruising as you rest your head on his chest, just where he likes you. He wraps his arms around you and buries his face into the top of your head. You hike one leg over his and let out a breath, sinking into him.

“Steven says goodnight,” Marc mumbles.

“G’night, Steven. G’night, Marc.”

“Night, babydoll.”

The two of you drift off, your apartment comfortable and warm once more, the other side of the bed full, and the night slowly seeping in through the windows to lull you to sleep.