somethingwithturquoise | MHA #4; Saturday Morning [07/06].

Summer found herself slipping out of sleep and desperate to cling onto it a little bit longer. With a little protesting sound, she shifted a little, curling into the body of her husband wrapped around her and tried to get at least five more minutes. After all, at any moment, one of the kids would probably start some chaos downstairs or, even worse, come busting in, and she would once again have to get on Luke's case about--

--wait a second. Summer, still refusing to open her eyes, frowned a little. She wasn't at home, she was at the Fandom reunion this weekend. And her husband was distinctly not here with her, it had been a whole big blow-up argument because it happened to fall on the same weekend as his big writer's retreat in Montana. So, if she was back on the island and he was in Montana, then...

"Oh. Mygod."

Summer Anderson was now fully, completely, terribly awake.

"Fuck," she whispered, while her brain chorused with a subsequent series of increasingly more panicked fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfucks. Followed by a groan, because, jesus christ, Summer, really? Fucking really? Couldn't even wait until the second day to cheat on your husband, huh? You just had to hit that shit right out the gate?

Whatever. She was soooo sure that Luke was doing a ton of 'writing' at his little 'retreat,' too. Ugh.

Either way, Summer needed to deal with this while not still mired in the bed of her infidelity. A subtle glance over her shoulder revealed who she had apparently slept with last night (oh, god, really, Summer? If you were going to hook up with an ex, it couldn't have been the super-genius gazillionaire, huh??), and realized that it was now even more imperative than ever to try and slip out of here unnoticed. Get dressed. Get some coffee. Maybe pretend like none of this had ever happened.

Carefully as she could, she wriggled her way out of Stark's arms and out of the bed and started to pick around for some clothes, with a few moments of staring at what else had been scattered around the room, because, okay, wow, some of this shit she hadn't done in years, good for her on that, at least...

[[ for the ex-boyfriend, omg. ]]

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"2044," Summer reported, and let out a huge sigh of relief as she nodded and started putting together what was going on here. "Okay. Okay! This is good, then! This is very good! Fandom is clearly doing some time travel bullshit right now, it happens, no big deal, and that means that all...."

Her eyes roamed around the room, which kind of looked like maybe The Drawer had gained sentience and puked up most, if not all, of its contents.

"...this with 2024 Summer, who you are dating, and not me, 2044 Summer, who you are definitely not. So yay. Awesome! Sanctity of my marriage saved! Love that for me. And, you know, my spouse and children."

She looked at Stark, though, and felt that old, familiar pang of guilt and gave him a little wrinkle of her nose and a mostly sympathetic sort of smile.

"Sorry for not being 2024 Summer," she offered. "But, hey, if it's any consolation, it looks like you guys had a fucking bomb ass time last night? Really, uh, really felling great, right?"

Ugh, how was this actually more awkward now than when she thought she'd cheated??

Stark didn't think was good at all, actually.

"...children?" he asked, very softly.

His chest ached in a way he couldn't quite name right now.

"And yes, last night was...you were, no. Not you. Nevermind. Not you. You're not her you're you. I should go. It's your apartment even if it isn't yours and I don't belong. I'll go. I'm...I'm sorry."

"Oh, come on, Stark!" said Summer, rolling her eyes and being instantly reminded about how it was shit like this that ultimately led, in part, to their eventual breakup in the first place. "Why do you always have to be like...that? If anything, if it really is 2024 right now, then I am, cat-te-gorically, the anomaly that doesn't belong. But, I mean, whatever, right? It's a Fandom thing, ride it out for the weekend and then, guess what? You'll probably get that young, naïve 2024 Summer who still isn't sick of all this shit yet, and you can, I don't know, live happily ever after, or whatever. Besides, I was already leaving anyway."

He flinched. He couldn't help it.

"But where are you going to go?" Stark asked. "This is your place, or it used to be yours, and I have my own upstairs and you can stay down here with Pancakes, she's probably hungry, and I'll go because it isn't my place. After I put pants on."

Which he was scrambling to do under the covers and doing a terrible job at in his haste to get away.

"I..." he started to say, then decided that apologizing was definitely not the right course of action.

"I've never had to react to someone being a much older version of themselves and horrified to see me in her bed and telling me that things have changed so much before! But leaving seems correct. Even if you're leaving as well. And..."

He threw the covers back then, tugging his pants up the last bit as he planted his feet on the ground. "She's not naïve."

Summer just sort of looked at Stark for a good, long moment, most of which was her wondering if she really wanted to keep inflicting this much psychic damage on the poor guy and ultimately deciding that she was (probably? maybe? She'd never really been sure on how old Stark actually was) the older person in the room and should act like it.

But that bitter, petty, very post-breakup part of her couldn't at least getting in at least something more.

"Look, 24-year-old me might've found that white knighting shit cute, Stark," she said, "but I assure you, it isn't."

She gestured toward the door. "But alright, then. Go. I'll stick around to feed the 2020s version of my cat so she doesn't starve to death, and then I'm going to go do what I came here to do, and that's, like, reunion stuff."

Stark wasn't sure how old he was either. Nobody was.

"I'm not trying to white knight I don't even know what that is."

He could figure it out.

"I just... that's not a word I'd ever use. But I'm sorry. If that's what I was doing. I'll... I'm going. I... hope your evening goes well."

His was going to be lonely.

And he was definitely leaving without his shirt OR shoes from last night as he headed for the day.

MHA #4; Saturday Morning [07/06].

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