GOLDEN AGE | ON HIATUS

XII | NARCISSA

"Wait. Let me do it," Sasha said suddenly, and Narcissa realised that she'd been staring the whole time. "You're shaking. It's not good."

She looked down at her hands, which indeed were shaking, more than she'd ever seen them before. A memory surfaces of years gone by, slipping through empty tunnels led by nothing but her racing heart. Clenching her fists, she sighed.

"Do it."

Sasha began to sing, barely louder than a breath. Narcissa didn't understand the words, but something was happening, because Finn started moving, eyes flickering open. Taking a shuddering breath, he smiled up at the ceiling.

"I was waiting for that."

"What?" Sasha asked softly, as if speaking to an unstable child.

Finn sat up, and Narcissa stifled a gasp. The wound in his chest had been replaced with shiny gold, real metal, and he seemed unfazed. Her weakness had been for nothing, goddamnit.

"You two to kiss," he nodded at Wildfire, who turned away, sparks flying from his skin. "Woo! Do you know what this means?"

"What?" Narcissa asked, still bitter about her worry.

"That I missed it because I was getting stabbed. So, Narcissa. What happened?"

"Do you really want to ask that after you literally just woke up after being gravely injured?"

He flashed her the signature golden boy grin. "Yeah." The lack of hesitation in his words made her want to bang her head against the wall.

"So when we went crazy, they did, too. Only they started making out, and we didn't."

Finn punched the air in victory. "Knew it! Ok, to answer your question - I have no idea. It was after I messed up the Agents - Franny and Keegan. Nice people, too."

Of course he knew their names. More people to greet with a smile, Narcissa thought scornfully, but let him speak.

"Go on."

She was becoming more and more annoyed. It was almost as if he was trying to keep them here for longer. Unless...

"This creepy little puff of smoke, typical supervillain stuff, whirled out-"

"Finn."

"What?"

"Stand up."

"I-"

"Stand up," Narcissa demanded, and he did, ever-so-slowly, looking her dead in the eye. In the dim light, his eyes were like the night sky in paintings - impenetrable black, ebbs of stars. They were so close that their foreheads almost touched, or would've, had Finn not been nearly a head taller. Either way, now was not the time to linger on it.

She kicked him in the groin. Lightly. But for her, lightly was what most people would consider oh-fuck territory. He fell, thrashing, to the floor like a fish out of water, or a dead fly. Like, when they twitched. It wasn't a nice sight, but him trying to keep them there wasn't very nice either.