Chapter Text
You have been found guilty. And so then you will be sentenced…You are exiled…
A sharp chirping cut through the darkness of slumber, causing him to almost fall out of bed as he startled awake. What…bed? In an instant he went from surprise to defensive. The room looked unfamiliar, the place smelled off. There were sounds from beyond the door-someone else was here…wherever here was. Moving swiftly, silently, he pressed an ear to the door, listening more intently. The chirping was most likely a coffee maker, and judging by the foot steps there was only one person out there. He cracked his claws, readying to burst out there and get some answers about all of this. Just as he was reaching for the knob, a phone went off over on the nightstand. The steps outside the door moved now, so he tried to go for the phone, but in the hasty scramble, missed the pile of jeans discarded on the floor. The fall did little to actually hurt him, but he still hissed none the less, and still managed to reach the phone to silence it. A beat later there came a knock at the door.
“Aye, you awake in there or what?” a female voice he couldn’t quite place right now came through the door, “I gotta get going.”
He waited, listening. After a moment the girl (?) outside the room left and another handful of minutes later the faint sound of a front door locking. Still, he gave it a few more moments, just waiting to see if anything else was around. Feeling the…house (?) was empty now, he rose back to his feet; phone still in hand, he headed back to the door.
The house was of a moderate size. Two bedrooms, a spare room, two baths, kitchen, laundry, very domestic…very off putting. Even a peak out a window revealed a literal (faded and chipped) white picket fence by a mailbox. The street was empty, but also unfamiliar. There weren’t photographs on the walls, at least none depicting people; he’d never been big on the idea of “family portraits” littering the place, but most folks were and the lack of any wasn’t helpful right now to establish his bearings. He couldn’t even seem to find any pieces of mail, after a first pass; there was nothing in the place saying where he was.
He was about an hour into making a more thorough pass, pulling apart the dressers and closet in the master bedroom where he’d woken up in, when the cell phone went off again. He wouldn’t have answered it, under most (and especially these) circumstances he wouldn’t, but the ring tone was familiar, and the name on the call screen-
“Clarice??!”
“Hey, you’re awake,” the familiar warm laugh came over the phone, both relieving and putting him more on guard, “Belle said you hadn’t gotten up by the time she left for school.”
“Belle-what? What’s going on? Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to my art class, it’s Tuesday…dad, are you ok?”
He sat, back against the bed, on the floor, running a hand through his hair, trying not to growl too much in frustration at that.
“Dad? You still there?” she was starting to get worried by the silence on the phone.
“I…yeah, yeah I’m here,” he huffed/sighed, “Just…my head…”
“Do you want me to come over? I can skip my class.”
“No,” he snapped with a snarl, and then slumped back again, “No, I’m…its fine.”
“You know you can ask for help,” her words were measured carefully, but she didn’t seem to be phased by his snap, “The Pack is strength.”
“I know,” he couldn’t help a slight smirk, “It’s really good to hear from you pup, feels like forever since we talked last.”
She chuckled on her, and the sound of an elevator was heard in the background. “Well, once you guys are all moved in, Kyle and I’ll start Sunday dinners again, I promise.”
“Sure pup,” he still had no idea what she was referencing, but just hearing the familiar voice was helping him focus, helping him stay calm.
“I gotta go,” she said a bit hesitantly as another elevator sound echoed in the background on her end. “You sure you’re ok?”
“I’m sure pup.”
He knew by the tone of her voice she wasn’t really convinced. “I’ll check in later after class. I could still swing by during lunch.”
"You do you pup. You know where to find me,” even if he didn’t.
The rest of the morning he continued going through the house contents, but now also took the time to put thing back too. The master bedroom, apparently his, didn’t offer up much in details about the other occupant. The bed was an Alaskan king, there were two sets of dressers, two sets of everything in the closet, and obviously someone shared this space with him. Meanwhile, the smaller bedroom looked like a teenager’s room; that begged the question though who too, if Clarice was at…college? That was also tripping him up, especially since it didn’t look like the Enclave they’d lived in for 9 months several years ago, so where were they that non-conventional appearance mutants could be out and about.
Another thing that had him tripped up was what he found in the bathroom medicine cabinet. He sat at the kitchen able, staring down at the items; a prescription bottle for psychotropics made out in his name and a used positive pregnancy test. The first instinct was that 1+1=2; someone had drugged him to play house and it was just now wearing off because he was knocked up and had stopped taking these pills. Who would do that though? Who had enough power to even manage this? And…how could they rope Clare into it? That is…if that had really been her on the phone…
The front door opened and footsteps came in before it closed again. He tensed, listening, waiting, and trying to catch a hint of identifiable scent. The footsteps moved through the house, heading towards the bedrooms, no words though. A few moments later after finding nothing, they moved now in the kitchen’s direction, his direction.
“There you are.”
Stepping into the kitchen was…Omega Red? And not in the technical armor?? For some reason, Victor felt himself relax at that realization, and not the spring-attack that that should have triggered in him.
“Clarice called me,’ the Russian continued talking like this was perfectly normal, “Said you sounded disorientated,” he tried to move closer to him, “You seemed fine when we left this morning…”
Victor flinched back, but didn’t jump away; it was only now that he realized that the other scent all over the master bedroom belonged to this man.
“Victor?” he asked carefully, gaze falling upon the items on the table now.
“What’s going on here,” he growled a little, “Start talking russkie.”
He sighed at that, shoulders sagging. “Dah, was afraid this was coming. Tea while we start?”
He wanted to answer no, demand an explanation immediately, and yet… “Rather have coffee.”
The Russian shot a slightly disapproving look for that, but still started making coffee instead. All the while he explained what was going on…or at least what this scenario was set up to be. They were a couple and had only just recently moved here (thus the lack of photography). They’d moved here with their daughter, Bellona…well, his daughter (somehow, Red…Arkady didn’t explain how). Clarice and Kyle were living off campus about 45 minutes away.
“And these?” Victor shook the pill bottle.
“To help with your memory problems.” When a scowl answered that lackluster answer, Arkady continued, “Your healing factor has been encouraging your brain to heal over mental pathways. Those are supplements to discourage that.”
“And this,” now the pregnancy test.
“We are having a baby.”
He snorted at that. “We, uh-hu.”
Arkady rolled his eyes at that, giving off the vibe that this had been a previous conversation already. “The pills weren’t safe for the baby. Had hoped your impaired healing factor wouldn’t try to heal your brain, but it seems it didn’t. The doctor said they’d look into an alternative if it came to it.”
“Doctor?” eyebrow cocked at that as he put his coffee cup back down.
“McCoy.”
He snorted at that again, but went back to drinking.
“How are you doing?”
“How do you think,’ he growled, “Either I’ve forgotten a chunk of my life, or this is all a con to control me or get in my head. Either way, today sucks.”
Arkady nodded, looking down into his cup. That, for some reason, caused a pang in his chest.
“What about,” he coughed a bit, stumbling over his words, “How…are you Re-Arkady?”
He smiled ruefully at the attempt, “I will be fine.”
“Why’m I not buying that?”
Arkady chuckled a little at that, the sadness still there but ebbing off. “You never do.”
Victor shifted in his seat, feeling both more at ease and yet still wary and on edge. Much like the conversation with his pup (supposedly) earlier, the familiarity of this conversation made him feel more comfortable, but unlike talking to Clare, he wasn’t fully convinced of this interpersonal connection. And yet, his senses assured him that his presence, his scent, was comforting, was safe.
“Alright,” he finally said.
Arkady raised a brow at that.
“I’m willing to roll with this, for now,” he pushed the pills to the center of the table, “Not using these though, pregnant or not," it was almost weird how easy that was to say aloud, "I do want to do another test though, gotta see it for myself and all that.”
The Russian nodded. "That’s fair. Whatever you need Victor.”