i. Victor likes testing his limits. It became a habit on the island, whenever the other Runaways were still ‘released,’ or when New Moore universe fuckery left his sense of self-preservation low. Routine self-experimentation; How long he could go without sleep or food or water, that kind of thing. Vriska had told him it was masochistic, but what science isn't?
When he came home he fell out of the routine, mostly because after the Diamond, Victor couldn't mention breaking down without Pym breaking down with him. No one in Mexico would give him an opportunity. So that was a perk to being a part of the Avengers; as long as he assembled when he was called, he could run as many ability tests as he could stomach. Lining himself against the edges of a what human necessities his artificial body didn’t need, what he could rebuild without an R&D department. There was no one around to notice, no troll kids to set an example for, no babysitters to risk disappointing. Victor could strain against whatever construction flaws Marianella and Ultron might’ve overlooked in the planning stage, simultaneously happy for the little connection it still gave him to his mom, and the petulant distance it put between him and his father.
He didn’t immediately connect the dots that having a roommate might interfere with this hobby.
“Jesus!” Nathan yelps, springing back from the prone figure over the couch, keys clattering to the floor.
Victor grimaces at his flatmate, face half immobilized by the cushions he collapsed on. “It’s fine.”
“It doesn't fucking look fine,” Nathan hisses, his hands quickly at his sides in case Victor noticed his initial grab at his own chest (he did). Victor wonders if Nathan’s regenerative heart can actually skip a beat. He wonders why cracked ribs aren’t even enough to stop gay thoughts.
“In a couple hours it’ll be fine,” the cyborg assures him, but it’s hard to placate someone who’s just walked in on a half gutted automaton roommate, especially when they’ve only turned in one month’s rent so far. “Sorry, I just got back. I was gonna get to my room but,” Victor breaks off into a coughing fit, desperately hoping the couch around him will absorb the shock to his still shattered ribs. Even with an active self-repair factor, internal breaks will take significantly longer to heal than flesh injuries- which was the theory he thought up to test after falling four stories earlier that day. Banner offered to take him to the hospital, since it had been the other guy’s fault Victor was knocked through the window, but he’s a scientist, so he understood an alternative approach. Probably, Victor hadn’t really run any of these theories past anyone else before- especially not a genius like Doctor Banner.
He squints at the Irishman hovering over him, whose own eyes are darting nervously around the room. There hadn’t really been anyone else before now.
“Go to the hospital,” Nathan orders, but it’s not very convincing; it’s too early in his Avengers tenure for him to know if hospitals even cover robot injuries. His command wavers, though he’s quick to add with the usual immortal confidence, “You sound like shit.” Like a throat raw with blood was proof of anything.
“It’s fine.”
Nathan throws his hands in the air, stalking away and telling the cyborg to stop fucking saying that already. Victor closes his eyes slowly, and listens to Nathan’s heavy footsteps pace through the apartment, out of earshot. It matches his own heartbeat, or he’s tired enough to confuse the two, feeling himself slip back to sleep.
“Here,” his voice cuts into Victor’s doze, and all of a sudden Nathan’s hand is at his mouth. Victor twists away in such a blind panic his front tooth nearly chips the edge of the glass. He doesn’t like the feeling of Nathan’s hands on his skin, however chaste and accidental, it chips at something else inside him that Victor does like, that he really doesn’t want to revisit, least of all with mashed up insides.
“What the hell are you doing,” Victor demands, but only ekes out the “wha” before white spots cover his vision and his ribs snap with agony. He hurriedly curls into the farthest point on the couch from Nathan with his handful of pills and water.
“Christ, sorry, I thought you’d wanna take something for the pain-”
“I already did,” he spits between the creaking of his bones- would it have killed Ultron to line them with metal?? “Dios. It’s fine, just- back off-”
When Victor wakes up, his ribs have wound together enough that he could turn on his side, face tucked into the crux of his elbow. Recent tests show shattered bones fix slower than cuts, but quicker than bruises, so even if his bones feel sturdier, Victor is slow to easing up, testing the remaining extent of his injuries. Yep, chest still feels like he caught the pavement with it, probably best to keep moving to a minimum. He’s dealt with residual bruising before, that’ll fix itself within the next 24 hours. He wonders how Ultron expected him to write off this kind of stuff. Would he come up as an Inhuman? Probably not worth trying to find a method to dad’s madness, testing or not.
He squints through the now dark apartment, trying to read the clock. It’s late enough Nathan is asleep, or Victor’s cagey and uncooperative attitude chased him out.
Victor’s nose brushes against the edge of the thick comforter that’s been draped over him. Nathan must’ve dragged it off his bed. He sits up and lets his eyes adjust, absently thumbing the edge of the blanket. It’s been long enough since he had a best friend that he can’t remember if this sort of kindness is normal, or just another thing he’ll look too deep into. He’s not sure he wants to run tests on that.
five times victor regretted letting nathan move in
Victor likes testing his limits. It became a habit on the island, whenever the other Runaways were still ‘released,’ or when New Moore universe fuckery left his sense of self-preservation low. Routine self-experimentation; How long he could go without sleep or food or water, that kind of thing. Vriska had told him it was masochistic, but what science isn't?
When he came home he fell out of the routine, mostly because after the Diamond, Victor couldn't mention breaking down without Pym breaking down with him. No one in Mexico would give him an opportunity. So that was a perk to being a part of the Avengers; as long as he assembled when he was called, he could run as many ability tests as he could stomach. Lining himself against the edges of a what human necessities his artificial body didn’t need, what he could rebuild without an R&D department. There was no one around to notice, no troll kids to set an example for, no babysitters to risk disappointing. Victor could strain against whatever construction flaws Marianella and Ultron might’ve overlooked in the planning stage, simultaneously happy for the little connection it still gave him to his mom, and the petulant distance it put between him and his father.
He didn’t immediately connect the dots that having a roommate might interfere with this hobby.
“Jesus!” Nathan yelps, springing back from the prone figure over the couch, keys clattering to the floor.
Victor grimaces at his flatmate, face half immobilized by the cushions he collapsed on. “It’s fine.”
“It doesn't fucking look fine,” Nathan hisses, his hands quickly at his sides in case Victor noticed his initial grab at his own chest (he did). Victor wonders if Nathan’s regenerative heart can actually skip a beat. He wonders why cracked ribs aren’t even enough to stop gay thoughts.
“In a couple hours it’ll be fine,” the cyborg assures him, but it’s hard to placate someone who’s just walked in on a half gutted automaton roommate, especially when they’ve only turned in one month’s rent so far. “Sorry, I just got back. I was gonna get to my room but,” Victor breaks off into a coughing fit, desperately hoping the couch around him will absorb the shock to his still shattered ribs. Even with an active self-repair factor, internal breaks will take significantly longer to heal than flesh injuries- which was the theory he thought up to test after falling four stories earlier that day. Banner offered to take him to the hospital, since it had been the other guy’s fault Victor was knocked through the window, but he’s a scientist, so he understood an alternative approach. Probably, Victor hadn’t really run any of these theories past anyone else before- especially not a genius like Doctor Banner.
He squints at the Irishman hovering over him, whose own eyes are darting nervously around the room. There hadn’t really been anyone else before now.
“Go to the hospital,” Nathan orders, but it’s not very convincing; it’s too early in his Avengers tenure for him to know if hospitals even cover robot injuries. His command wavers, though he’s quick to add with the usual immortal confidence, “You sound like shit.” Like a throat raw with blood was proof of anything.
“It’s fine.”
Nathan throws his hands in the air, stalking away and telling the cyborg to stop fucking saying that already. Victor closes his eyes slowly, and listens to Nathan’s heavy footsteps pace through the apartment, out of earshot. It matches his own heartbeat, or he’s tired enough to confuse the two, feeling himself slip back to sleep.
“Here,” his voice cuts into Victor’s doze, and all of a sudden Nathan’s hand is at his mouth. Victor twists away in such a blind panic his front tooth nearly chips the edge of the glass. He doesn’t like the feeling of Nathan’s hands on his skin, however chaste and accidental, it chips at something else inside him that Victor does like, that he really doesn’t want to revisit, least of all with mashed up insides.
“What the hell are you doing,” Victor demands, but only ekes out the “wha” before white spots cover his vision and his ribs snap with agony. He hurriedly curls into the farthest point on the couch from Nathan with his handful of pills and water.
“Christ, sorry, I thought you’d wanna take something for the pain-”
“I already did,” he spits between the creaking of his bones- would it have killed Ultron to line them with metal?? “Dios. It’s fine, just- back off-”
When Victor wakes up, his ribs have wound together enough that he could turn on his side, face tucked into the crux of his elbow. Recent tests show shattered bones fix slower than cuts, but quicker than bruises, so even if his bones feel sturdier, Victor is slow to easing up, testing the remaining extent of his injuries. Yep, chest still feels like he caught the pavement with it, probably best to keep moving to a minimum. He’s dealt with residual bruising before, that’ll fix itself within the next 24 hours. He wonders how Ultron expected him to write off this kind of stuff. Would he come up as an Inhuman? Probably not worth trying to find a method to dad’s madness, testing or not.
He squints through the now dark apartment, trying to read the clock. It’s late enough Nathan is asleep, or Victor’s cagey and uncooperative attitude chased him out.
Victor’s nose brushes against the edge of the thick comforter that’s been draped over him. Nathan must’ve dragged it off his bed. He sits up and lets his eyes adjust, absently thumbing the edge of the blanket. It’s been long enough since he had a best friend that he can’t remember if this sort of kindness is normal, or just another thing he’ll look too deep into. He’s not sure he wants to run tests on that.