Running isn’t something Cara’s ever had to really work at. It’s something she’s always done, whether it’s been a smaller component of a sports practice, a late night where she can’t sleep and is desperate for an outlet, or part of a bigger task at hand, like a 10K with friends. Running isn’t the thing that gets her. It was the reaching; the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it agility that it takes to keep up with Teddy Soriano that, in the end, did her in. Or so she thinks.
They’d been jousting, trading trash talk on an empty lot about forty-five minutes outside the city, until they’d hit the gas.. Metaphorically speaking.
Cara and Teddy, two formidable athletes in their own rights, playing host to Carol Danvers and Pietro Maximoff; two superheroes capable of breaking the sound barrier seemed like a pretty evenly matched duel. A recipe for disaster was what it really was, but in certain company, there was a certain degree of secrecy and safety that was assured. Spoonful of sugar, and all that. This low-pressure exercise in control was necessary, they’d very earnestly agreed. The road to hell, however, is also paved with good intentions.
It could’ve been minutes or hours; there wasn’t any real gauge for how long they’d been moving, mostly because when one moved outside the general constraints of time and space, certain rules didn’t apply. The simple rules of tag though, those reigned supreme. The object of the exercise was simple: Catch me. It was as much for her as it was for him; sprinting around in streaks of gold and silver, trying to best one another and push a boundary that’d been in place for close to five months. Waiting hadn’t gotten anyone anywhere.
Velocity did.
When he’d sped up, she’d furrowed her brows and dug her toes into the ground, leaping like a gazelle to tag his arm. Success. Pop. Adrenaline shot down her legs when she’d taken off in the opposite direction, hurdling a construction cone, and yelling out softly when she’d felt a tug on the back of her shirt a few seconds later. Tag. Her quick turn needed work, and they went over it: exchanging swipes and trade secrets whenever a body-plane (his or hers) wasn’t as aerodynamic as it could’ve been.
This drilling went on for a while longer, until the directional switches got smoother, and the hurdling of various obstacles’d started to feel a bit more natural. They’d hardly broken a sweat, so the challenge -- by their own choosing -- had escalated. Now, it was about cartography as much as it was outright speed. When she reached for Teddy on the next pass, navigating, twisting, and pulling at his shirt by the neck.. Something went very wrong.
Cara had felt it before she’d seen it; a palpitation and pressure in her palm that’d started off as a small itch in the half-second before it’d happened. Before her fingers could hook themselves into Teddy’s shirt, something registered in her ears, not dissimilar to how she’d imagine an explosion underwater, and pure force rippled from somewhere deep in her chest, surging toward her palm. Not unlike a blast-cannon, there was light, so much light and noise that her vision went black as quickly as the chaos had happened.
After a harrowing few seconds of nothing, Cara came to. No signs of a concussion.
Horrified, with scraped palms and a bloody lip, she pushed herself back to her feet, jogging over to where her friend had collapsed in a heap. Breathing, not visibly injured further than the shock to his system, she crouched and then sank to her knees, extending a terrified, trembling set of fingers toward him. Her family. With that reminder, she slingshotted her own hand back to her body: she'd done enough harm with it for one day, hadn't she?
Teddy was out cold, or looked like he was, and Cara winced, reaching forward once more when she heard a soft groan coming from his prone form. Oh god. Oh god, what did you do? The thought came hard and fast -- almost eclipsing the small noise he'd made when the pads of her fingertips had barely touched down on his temple. Oh god, what did you do?
He made another noise before reaching for his back. No. Every ounce of blood in her body dropped to her feet at the tiny plea for relief. This was the worst possible outcome. She'd done this to him, and Cara hadn't noticed the soft, and shaking no she'd started repeating until she saw Teddy's face split open, and..
"Gotcha, cheater."
Oh, for fuck’s sake..
Teddy Soriano was entirely fine, and had rightfully earned every second of the Marvel-worthy reaming he'd received on the way home.
They’d been jousting, trading trash talk on an empty lot about forty-five minutes outside the city, until they’d hit the gas.. Metaphorically speaking.
Cara and Teddy, two formidable athletes in their own rights, playing host to Carol Danvers and Pietro Maximoff; two superheroes capable of breaking the sound barrier seemed like a pretty evenly matched duel. A recipe for disaster was what it really was, but in certain company, there was a certain degree of secrecy and safety that was assured. Spoonful of sugar, and all that. This low-pressure exercise in control was necessary, they’d very earnestly agreed. The road to hell, however, is also paved with good intentions.
It could’ve been minutes or hours; there wasn’t any real gauge for how long they’d been moving, mostly because when one moved outside the general constraints of time and space, certain rules didn’t apply. The simple rules of tag though, those reigned supreme. The object of the exercise was simple: Catch me. It was as much for her as it was for him; sprinting around in streaks of gold and silver, trying to best one another and push a boundary that’d been in place for close to five months. Waiting hadn’t gotten anyone anywhere.
Velocity did.
When he’d sped up, she’d furrowed her brows and dug her toes into the ground, leaping like a gazelle to tag his arm. Success. Pop. Adrenaline shot down her legs when she’d taken off in the opposite direction, hurdling a construction cone, and yelling out softly when she’d felt a tug on the back of her shirt a few seconds later. Tag. Her quick turn needed work, and they went over it: exchanging swipes and trade secrets whenever a body-plane (his or hers) wasn’t as aerodynamic as it could’ve been.
This drilling went on for a while longer, until the directional switches got smoother, and the hurdling of various obstacles’d started to feel a bit more natural. They’d hardly broken a sweat, so the challenge -- by their own choosing -- had escalated. Now, it was about cartography as much as it was outright speed. When she reached for Teddy on the next pass, navigating, twisting, and pulling at his shirt by the neck.. Something went very wrong.
Cara had felt it before she’d seen it; a palpitation and pressure in her palm that’d started off as a small itch in the half-second before it’d happened. Before her fingers could hook themselves into Teddy’s shirt, something registered in her ears, not dissimilar to how she’d imagine an explosion underwater, and pure force rippled from somewhere deep in her chest, surging toward her palm. Not unlike a blast-cannon, there was light, so much light and noise that her vision went black as quickly as the chaos had happened.
After a harrowing few seconds of nothing, Cara came to. No signs of a concussion.
Horrified, with scraped palms and a bloody lip, she pushed herself back to her feet, jogging over to where her friend had collapsed in a heap. Breathing, not visibly injured further than the shock to his system, she crouched and then sank to her knees, extending a terrified, trembling set of fingers toward him. Her family. With that reminder, she slingshotted her own hand back to her body: she'd done enough harm with it for one day, hadn't she?
Teddy was out cold, or looked like he was, and Cara winced, reaching forward once more when she heard a soft groan coming from his prone form. Oh god. Oh god, what did you do? The thought came hard and fast -- almost eclipsing the small noise he'd made when the pads of her fingertips had barely touched down on his temple. Oh god, what did you do?
He made another noise before reaching for his back. No. Every ounce of blood in her body dropped to her feet at the tiny plea for relief. This was the worst possible outcome. She'd done this to him, and Cara hadn't noticed the soft, and shaking no she'd started repeating until she saw Teddy's face split open, and..
"Gotcha, cheater."
Oh, for fuck’s sake..
Teddy Soriano was entirely fine, and had rightfully earned every second of the Marvel-worthy reaming he'd received on the way home.