Disclaimer: I do not own Second Son

Rating: T

Pairing: Delgenetch

Words: 3106

Warning: language

Happy 2019 everyone! Hope the new year brings you all the best! I've been writing this chapter on-off in like 3-minute intervals between classes since November. If it seems a bit choppy, that's why.

Powers and Food Don't Mix

Part III: Neon Should Have Been a No-No

April showers bring May flowers, so the saying went.

Fetch wanted to punch whoever came up with that stupid line, because it was May and God seemed to have decided to flood all of Seattle with rain all this month so far. The streets constantly had an inch or two of water rushing down them, there were worms everywhere on the sidewalks, and the mosquitoes seemed to be achieving plague-levels more suited for the Bible. Just the thought of the mess that was outside made the mosquito bites on her body itch with an intense fervor. As she scratched her freckled legs, folded just under her on the couch, she looked out the window at the downpour outside. As much as she wanted to go outside, breathe some fresh air, and speed over buildings with a neon trail behind her, she knew she really shouldn't be out if she didn't have to. The neon inside her wanted a release, and she could only draw but so many neon doodles in the air.

Despite that, she pitied anyone who had to be out right now in this clusterfuck called weather.

Which meant she pitied Delsin and Eugene.

The three had run out of most of the food in their fridge and some of the various medications that they needed. Their non-perishable food had only lasted them but so long—plus, all of them had begun to complain about eating ramen and canned chicken like eight days in a row—and they had forgotten to call for refills for their meds before the storm had started—several long nights smothering DUP uprisings throughout the city left their minds very preoccupied.

Adulting was hard, dammit.

Before the suggestion of rock-paper-scissors could have popped up about who would be the poor bastard to brave the weather, Eugene of all people had volunteered himself, much to Fetch and Delsin's surprise. He had said explained to them, through an embarrassed stutter and hands fiddling with his hoodie sleeves, that he had been working with his therapist with his social anxiety and he wanted to try shopping out in public. 'The weather will keep most people inside, so the pharmacy shouldn't have many people at all,' he had said.

And, as proud of her anxiety-ridden boyfriend as she was, she had immediately protested it, claiming that he'd probably drown as soon as he stepped out of the apartment.

She was met with a, 'W-Well, that's why I'm bringing Delsin with me, of course.'

'Wait, I am?'

'Of course you are.'

And so here she was. On the couch. By herself. Thank goodness the power hadn't gone out, otherwise she might just launch herself out the window just to achieve some sort of relief from the boredom that was plaguing her. Before she could entertain that train of thought any further, the rumbling in her stomach reminded her that her body actually needed food and couldn't survive off of monotony and rain.

She shuffled to the kitchen, her fuzzy socks allowing an even glide against the tiled floor, and peeked into the fridge. The pitiful show of food that they have left were a few eggs, a little bit of milk, and half a stick of butter. Oh, and some various condiments. Her lips pursed of their own accord and she had to refrain from glaring at the butter like it offended her.

What the hell am I going to make with this?

Fetch took a moment to think before peering over her shoulder, scouting the area is if someone was spying on here. She knew she was the only one here, but she just couldn't risk it…With a jut of her hip, she swung her body into a smooth glide across the kitchen to the pantry, stopping with a jazzy twirl. If Delsin or Eugene caught her moving like she was in a musical, she would never hear the end of it. But hey, what the hell. A quick check of the pantry was a sad result just like the fridge, nothing much except for a box of pancake mix, about two packs of ramen, and more canned chicken. At this point, all the canned chicken was going to make her scream.

I can probably do pancakes, she thought as she snatched the box from the cupboard. There's just enough for all of us, and pancakes are one of Gene's faves. I wanna make him something nice after that cake-angel debacle. She laughed to herself. Even if it was months ago, I think he'll like this.

That in mind, she set a skillet on the stove to heat as she began mixing the ingredients in their one, yes one, mixing bowl. Once the pancake mix was to a pretty good consistency, she flicked some butter in the pan to get it slick and then poured some of the batter in the pan. Immediately, the warm scent of butter and breakfast cake wafted into the kitchen.

A feeling of nostalgic warmth curled inside of her.

For a moment, she was reminded of lazy Sunday mornings when Brent had looked after her when they were younger, much younger. When their parents had been off doing—well, she actually couldn't remember now—stuff, Brent had always looked after her. Sunday mornings had meant sleeping in and fun pajamas, hers being a floppy shirt and pants of matching cat patterns while Brent's had been simple black fleece pants combined with some band shirt. Some mornings had seen the rise and fall of the two separate Great Walker Armies, one general's weapon of choice being pancake flour while the other's trump card being eggs. Other mornings had been quiet, tame. 'Come here and let my get you, you little punk!' Brent would heckle at her as she ducked behind a counter. 'You and that hair of yours makes you look like a punk!' she would aim right back. As fun as the food fights had been, Fetch's favorite had always been the quiet mornings—the lull, the easy state of just being, where nothing else mattered. The last day she had spent in that house had started with one of those lazy Sunday mornings…

The rising steam tickling her nose brought her attention to the pancake she needed to flip.

Her wrist-flick to turn the pancake was quick. Her sigh, much less so.

The warmth that the memory brought her was an old, threadbare blanket of her childhood, but the warmth that radiated around her here in this kitchen was a fresh thick quilt pulled straight from the dryer. Encompassing, cozy, and here.

One pancake out of the heat and batter in.

Here was this kitchen, here, where she lived with Delsin and Eugene. Here was good and now and rain and pancakes. Most importantly, here meant that she was safe.

Two more pancakes done. More batter into the pan.

If she had the ability to zip into the past and tell her younger self that this is what her life would be like, there was a certainty that her younger self would not have believed her. Life with no Brent? Not possible. Living with people that didn't care she had…abilities? Well, she thought her parents wouldn't mind and look where that landed her and Brent. Living with two men who loved her and would do anything for her? That would not have even been a possibility in her mind. Being happy without constantly thinking about what was going to happen to her? Younger Abigail would not have been able to come up with an answer.

Pancake out, batter in. Flip, wait. Pancake out, more batter in.

Fetch thought hard about where she was in her life today. Thought about her boyfriends, about Delsin and Eugene. My boys, she thought as her lips crooned into a smile. Those two were such idiots sometimes, as most guys were, but she wouldn't trade them for anything. Delsin with his stupidly handsome face and nice hair and good heart and love for his tribe and family and amazing art skills, and Eugene with his adorable dorkiness and his constant battle with his anxiety and his particular knowledge of video games and his cute everything. My boys.

More pancakes into the plate to join their buttery buddies.

Rain beat against the windows like an army of furious drummers. Delsin and Eugene should have been back by now—the fact that they weren't was beginning to make her worry.

Not that she would admit it.

Just as she was debating on calling them, a loud thump against the door made her startle and almost drop the plate of finished pancakes she was holding. The plate was deposited on the table, and without conscious thought, a small charge of hot neon collected in the palm of her hand.

"Delsin, hurry! The bags are about to slip out of my hands!"

Another thump and a jangle of keys, then a swear. "Wait, wait, aaaand okay!" The lock clicked. "Finally got the right one."

Fetch let out a relieved sigh, slumping against the counter. The neon in her palm dissipated into pink and purple vapors. Hearing the two voices she was intimately familiar with was like a balm that eased the sudden tension that had collected in her arms and shoulders. With the three of them being high-profile conduits, they could never be too careful with how the DUP just wouldn't disappear. Too many close calls…

First came in Delsin—it took all of Fetch's will not to burst out laughing—looking like he drowned in a river. His beanie was so weighed down with water than he had to keep adjusting his eyebrows so the bottom of it would stop falling in his eyes. Bending over to set down the groceries, his rain jacket appeared to vomit the water that was left on it on the floor. His jeans were no better, looking like a second skin. (Not that she was complaining.)

Next was Eugene, not looking better in any way, shape, or form. The poor water-logged angel looked so uncomfortable that Fetch just wanted to give him a hug. He looked only marginally better after setting down the groceries he was carrying. Despite that, from the way he was wincing every time he took his step—and from the distinct squish she kept hearing—Fetch was sure that he had his own personal pond in each of his boots.

"Sorry about the mess, Fetch," Eugene looked sheepish as he wrenched off his rain boots with only minor difficulty. "It's, ahh, such a disaster out there, you know? And we just wanted to, uh, just hurry up and get home."

Any other day, she would be cross at them for all the water all over the floor, but given the utter mess that was outside, it wasn't a big deal. At least it's not mud, she thought.

"No biggie," she said as she grabbed the groceries to start putting them away. "It's biblical outside, Genie, so I'd be more surprised if you two didn't come home looking like two Aquamen." (1)

Delsin took this as an opportunity to add, "I don't know, Fetch," he grinned as he poked Eugene's bicep, "our angel's been getting pretty fit here. These arms of steel weren't here last time we checked."

The blush she caught on her skinny boyfriend's face before he ducked his head, along with his shy giggle, made her smile. After being with her and Delsin for so long, Eugene had expressed a desire to work on his body. Although still quite thin, light jogging and some basic exercises a few times a week had begun improving his body tone. Being compared to such a fit superhero made the gamer acknowledge his own hard work and progress.

"Y-You guys are too much," was all he could say.

Fetch hummed, throwing a pointed glance to the kitchen. "Weeell, I guess if I'm just too much, then I probably shouldn't share these pancakes I made, should I?"

As soon as the word 'pancakes' was uttered, a blonde head snapped to attention as its owner shuffled in placed like an excited kid. "Wait, wait, wait!" He cleared his throat, trying not to look as excited as he felt. "I mean, you don't, you know, have to just take them a-all for yourself. Yeah, we, uh, D-Delsin! Delsin and I are, are more than willing to share. Right, Delsin?"

"Oh yeah, more than willing," he humored Eugene. Only way to get their introvert this excited was videogames and good food. The option for right now was good food.

She snorted. "Go get dried off, you two. We can clean up the water after we eat."

With that, her two boys scurried off faster than she thought was necessary, but hey, food made almost anyone get their asses in gear. Once she heard the rattle of the shower pipes kick themselves alive, she meandered back into the kitchen to the buttery stack of goodness. The more she stared at the food, the more she thought it needed something. Just something. The restlessness that had been present for a while made a comeback, neon practically squirming underneath her skin to get out—and that's when she realized what it needed.

A quick look over her shoulder and she channeled her energy into her fingertips. If anyone else were present, they would have probably warned her against what she was about to do, especially considering the evidence of the last two incidents. But, hell, she wasn't just anyone. Unlike Tweedledee and Tweedledum with their energy all over the place, she was a sniper. She was precise, exact, and could do exactly what she needed to do.

No more, no less.

The release of energy from her fingertips felt wonderful, even if it wasn't as much as her body needed. What she needed was a long circuit around the city, zipping around buildings and highways, but it was satisfactory. A curve here, a streak there. A little more heat in this spot, and a little less in another spot. Before she knew it, the image she had in her head was translated on the stack of pancakes, smiling back at her and shimmering with a pleasant blue and purple.

"Alright," she took in her work. "That's that. Just gotta wait for the boys." A glance down at her batter-flecked clothes told her she had to do something else, however. "Right after I get outta these leggings and shirt."

After going to the bedroom, she shucked her dirtied clothes in the hamper in the corner—it bounced off the mound peeking erupting from the rim and fell to the floor—before moving to the closet. Nice blouse, nicer blouse, hoodie that was too warm for now, Eugene's ratty hoodie, Delsin's favorite white hoodie, three of Delsin's flannel shirts, several of Eugene's comic t-shirts, and—there it was. It took a bit, but she finally found her cozy t-shirt among all the Delsin's and Eugene's things. Surprisingly, all that was in the closet other than hoodies were only a few shirts and pants.

Damn, they really needed to do laundry…

Luck was on her side today as she was able to find a (only slightly wrinkly) pair of shorts that had been smushed in the corner of one of the dresser drawers. Once pulled on, she gave the drawer, and its companions, a long look. A lone, strangled sock wanted freedom from the drawer it was peeking out of. Yeah, she thought, I think we really need to clean and organize in here.

"Hey, uh, Fetch?" She heard Delsin call from the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

There was a hesitant pause before, "What's up with these pancakes?"

Fetch's frowned in confusion, pulling her new clean shirt over her head as she exited the bedroom. Delsin's voice sounded more perplexed than it did interested. Rounding the corner, she could see him and Eugene at the table staring at the glowing stack in front of them.

"I like your doodle, i-it's really cute," Eugene gave her a shy compliment. "But did you, um, did you add food dye or something to the pancakes?"

It was this question that made her look more closely at the pancakes she made. The first thing she noticed was the neon doodle she made of Delsin and Eugene, Del in the purple and Gene in the blue. The perplexing observation, on the other hand, was the fact that the pancakes had turned an odd swirl of her signature pink, purples, and blues. They looked tie-dyed with food coloring.

Well, that wasn't normal.

"…I swear it wasn't like that when I made them," she muttered. She glanced at the fork in Eugene's hand before plucking from his person, ignoring his 'hey!'. "Time to see if they're still edible," she remarked a little too casually as she popped a piece in her mouth. Delsin and Eugene's protesting cries were just a hair too late.

If she died from being poisoned by her own neon, then she was going to haunt these two out of pure spite.

It was a tense moment in the room as her boyfriends stared at her with wide eyes, searching for the littlest detail that she might be dying. Such wonderful guys, she snickered to herself. If I keel over, least I know they got me.

"So, hey," she announced with the necessity of a severe cold, "I'm not dead. Food's not gonna kill you, so you should eat." Their breaths of relief shouldn't have been this amusing.

After nabbing a new fork from the drawer for Eugene, Delsin slumped on the table. His own fork was pointed at her in warning. "Christ, Fetch! I swear, you're going to kill us one of these days. If it's not from stress, it's going to be from something else, God." He did take a moment to lean over and kiss her, which she appreciated. "But, anyway, thanks again."

Mouth full of pancake, Eugene couldn't help himself. "But how did you not make the food b-blow up or something?" (She was fluent in Full Mouth-ese.) Desperation for an answer shouldn't have been this funny.

She laughed before kissing his temple as his mouth was too syrupy at the moment. "Guess I just got that skill, ya know?" The neon decorating really should have been a big no-no, because it gave her all the more reason to brag about how much better she was at using her powers with food.

The side effect of the food turning colors depending on the neon, however, was not left unteased.

Published: 1/5/19

(1) Jason Momoa's portrayal of Aquaman. If you don't know, look him up because he's very Beefy.

A/N: Thank you to GoliathPyroson and LordTicky for the reviews last chapter. A special thanks to LordTicky for the idea of having Fetch as the only one of the trio to not totally mess up the food. Also, thanks to everyone who was favorited and followed this story. One more chapter to go, everyone!