#always learning growin in this house
You are a supervillain who has just captured your rival’s child. Rather than being afraid, they’re begging you to let them stay.
the first clue is that her name is bella hawk.
she blushes a deep pink, the handcuffs around her wrist jingling. “instead of bella swan,” she apologizes. staring at the table between the two of you, she mumbles - “it’s their idea of a joke.” she folds her hands and then unfolds her hands. “it changes a lot because of witpo - uh, witness… protection.” the pink in her cheeks creeps up into her ears. she has a pretty set of matched space-themed earrings, and she refuses to look up at you.
“you’re older than i expected,” you say. she might actually be your age, which is awkward. you pretend to be shuffling papers around, but your secretary, who is a gem, has already organized your whole schedule and your whole life. you don’t actually have anything to, like, do - well, except this.
“you’re younger,” she blurts. then she clicks her teeth closed. “sorry. i don’t mean that in a bad way. i - uh. I just didn’t expect…” she clears her throat.
you sit down in your high-backed white chair. you hate this stupid thing, it swivels unevenly and if you don’t pay enough attention, you end up slowly spinning to the right over the course of your day. it’s humiliating. you take out a pen and put at the top of your planner - investigate gaming chairs? “i want to say, bella. i’m sure my staff has been gentle to you - if they haven’t, please let me know - but you will not come to harm here. i’m mostly keeping you to … bargain.”
actually, you hadn’t meant to capture her. that’s a different story, and that particular intrepid henchman has been sent to the “no-no naughty room” where he is going through some anti-bias training on why nice men don’t kidnap nice women who aren’t involved. (“we’re evil,” you’d said, disappointed, “not assholes.”)
and now you had to, like, dosomething with her. in the three hours since her capture, you’d just had her sitting in your office, where she had access to water and little tea sandwiches. you’d been pacing the halls trying to figure out how to even write a “whoopsie! kidnapped your daughter!” ransom note (“i mean,” you’d said to him, setting up the projector for your specially-made movie titled thank you for your enthusiasm but please take it down a notch, “this is a woman-owned enterprise, dude.” he’d just been overexcited. it was kind of cute).
“everyone has been good,” she says. her voice squeaks a little. “you’ve been - i mean, it’s actually been kind of,” she shifts a little. “Nice, i guess.”
“good,” you smile at her, and mean it, even though she’s been staring at her thumbs the whole time, worrying her torn cuticles. “i’m in the process of starting negotiations with your parents” (you haven’t even written the note) “but we should have you back home within a few days.” at the frown on her face, you add - “maybe even hours.”
she finally lifts her chin. her eyes are dark like a moonless night, full of glittery, deep intelligence. you are immediately struck by her small, keen face, her dark hair. “please don’t,” she says. she clears her throat again. “don’t - let them take me back.”
okay, that’s unexpected. you continue to shuffle papers stupidly before putting one finger up to the crease you can feel forming between your eyebrows. “run that - sorry. run that by me again?”
she hadn’t asked don’t talk to them. she hadn’t asked don’t do this to them. she had said -
“please,” she repeats. now her voice sounds firm, determined. “i - i won’t make a fuss. i’ll… please.”
“ah, I see,” you relax a little. “you’re asking me to let you go.” that makes sense. in the three hours you have kept her in this office, you’ve been studying up on basic kidnapping techniques. bartering and begging is common amongst -
she shakes her head violently, her short hair making a halo with the motion. “please don’t do that, either.” she bites her full bottom lip. “i’m sorry. I don’t - i don’t have anything to offer. but please don’t send me back to them.”
she looks at you and you look at her and those big eyes, full of pleading. shit - the two of you are definitely around the same age. this is what you get for inheriting a supervillain job from your parents.
you stand up, because you have no idea what else you are supposed to do. and also, if you keep looking at her - nevermind. you go and stare out the window to your carefully-tended garden-like balcony. the forest around your lair drops out into the twilight beyond, gorgeous under the large and rising waxing moon. the town where you house your staff is starting to turn on their lights, glimmering.
the sight of the world you have made is calming. but like, the rest of this situation is rapidly becoming way too much for a wednesday.
“tell me more.” you manage to even sound authoritarian as you do. you shift so you can watch her reflection in the glass without being too obvious about it.
“um…” she shifts again. you should really get her a better chair. “i, uh. i know a lot about you. they, um - they talk about you a lot. how - uh.” she looks back down to those thumbs, and starts nibbling on her cuticles. “i know about your parents and - how they died.”
ouch. you close your eyes.
she holds the silence for a moment. “i’m sorry about - that.”
“not your fault,” you say automatically, the way you have said a million times to a million people. but and also-
“it’s my dad’s fault, though.” she sighs. “he shouldn’t have… done that.”
it’s your turn to be silent. they weren’t always nice people, after all. your mother was a toxic egomaniac and your father - well, all that’s for your therapist. love is strange - it’s been five years and you still miss the ways they were your parents, even though your childhood was full of laser guns and death rays.
“it’s just - like, before you, things were different. but you took over and, um… it’s different now. i know, i, uh, grew up at the same time this was happening. i guess i grew up kind of like - or like, around the time you did and - i remember. and … you stand for - different things. you target billionaires, corrupt politicians, monopolies… you’re… like the only one who is taking actual action. everyone else just… makes a post on tumblr.”
“you do know i’ve blown up cars and houses, right? like, entire buildings?” you throw a smile over your shoulder, and make eye contact with her. the pink comes back to her face instantly, and you have to look away. your brain feels a little spinny.
“i’m - i’m just saying i know what you stand for. you don’t hurt innocents - you do hurt people, i know that, but you…” she trails off.
you have unclogged your brain enough to return to your chair. why do you feel so restless around her? (oh yeah. you kidnapped her by accident. so that’s a factor). “bella, i appreciate that you and i obviously have quite the childhood. in another life, i’d even suggest we be friends. i believe ours is a unique position - children like us should stick together. however, i’m afraid i’ve kidnapped you inthis life. so while i do love that you’ve done your research on me, i’m afraid i -”
“hekills people,” she says, slamming her hands down on the table. she flinches at the noise she makes. “sorry, i didn’t mean to get -” she holds her breath for a moment, before slowly releasing it. “sorry. i didn’t mean to get angry.” something is rolling off her body - power? oh god, this shit better not be genetic, for both your sakes. “my father, my mother - they kill people. every time they have some epic battle, they throw cars or they fire a gun or they pull down a building.”
“again, i do very much kill people,” you say, but you have to struggle to keep yourself from smiling. “i think we just have different -”
“they’re not good to me!” she closes her eyes. “i’m - they lock me in little apartments for what they say is my safety, and they tell me they love me, but -” when she opens her eyes again, something in them is shining with rage and sorrow, “but it’s nothing. my whole childhood, i was locked in a fucking cage or i was being toted around like a display toy and i didn’t even get to keep my fuckingname at any point and i couldn’t have any friends because anyone could be a spy and they -” she takes a deep breath, “they’re neverhome! they don’t know me! every time i mess up or do anything or speak out of turn they just tell me how i’m causing other people to die because i’m taking up their time and any time i need anything they talk about how they could be saving lives and i just - they’re not - they’re not kind.”
tears lick at her eyelashes. without meaning to, you reach across the table and hold her hand. she stares at it for a second, and then holds your hand back.
“it’s the hypocrisy,” she murmurs. “nobody else knows who they are. how mean they can be. how they don’t flinch about the collateral damage. how they treat me like - a pet they didn’t want. and i can’t,” she sighs, and the sound is so broken it also breaks you, “i can’t talk to anyone about it, because i do believe that the world needs heroes. i just don’t know why it has to be my parents. why they are this symbol of … hope.”
“i’m…” you find yourself ready to say that stupid platitude i’m sorry. although, part of this actually would be your fault. “this sounds hard,” you say instead. you hand her a tissue.
she takes the tissue with her free hand, the other still grasping yours. “do you know how many times we’ve celebrated a holiday? celebrated my birthday?”
you shake your head. you squeeze her hand before releasing for a moment, hunting through your keyring for the one to open the handcuffs.
“six,” she says bitterly. she holds out her wrists for a better angle. “six all together. four birthdays, one christmas, and one halloween.” she closes her eyes as the handcuffs slide off. “sorry. fuck. god. i didn’t mean to get upset. i know other people had way, way worse lives, and i know i -”
you stand up and walk to the other side of the table, sitting on it so you are across from her. you take her hands again, gently pulling her to her feet. “hey,” you say gently, catching her gaze. “emotional neglect and emotional abuse is still traumatic, even if it is not physical.” you take a deep breath. “i mean - i’m eviland i know that.”
she laughs a little, nodding, and ducks her chin to wipe her eyes on her shoulder, sniffing. “sorry,” she says again. “i didn’t mean to -”
“hey,” you repeat. you reach up to her face, slowly, like you might spook her. god, her eyes are so pretty. “you have nothing to apologize for, okay? if you don’t want to go back, you don’t have to go back.”
she nods again, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “really?”
“come here,” you say. you hop off the table, and are surprised to find that she’s about a foot taller than you are. she lets you lead her over to the window. you hit the switch, and the window slides to the side, revealing your balcony. the warm summer air catches the twilight stars, and you both step out. you’ve attached twinkle lights to the bannister (you are, after all, still a young adult), wrapped them around the thick potted plants and the swinging bench. it’s pretty and calm.
she gasps a little and immediately goes for the railing, staring out at the forest’s gentle noise. the birds and the laughter of the nearby town. the lights of houses flickering on.
you go stand next to her, smiling. “it’s safe here. this whole place is surrounded by a neon-generated - ah, it doesn’t matter, i’ll say forcefield, even though it makes my techies annoyed. but i let a lot of my people live here, for free. a lot of us are running from things. you can stay there as long as you like, and we’ll get you all the documents you need to start a new life. whatever job, whatever house, whatever… works for ya.” at the look of surprise on her face, you wink. “technically i’d be kidnapping you even better if i send you off where they can never find you.”
she takes your hands. “but what if -” she looks up at you, and those cheeks are so pink, “what if i want to stay?”
