Doctored Chance #NaNoWriMo2019

11|Identity

If I were the type of writer that provided happy-go-lucky montages of highlights and important moments, I would write something about Viola Mae's shock at finding six million dollars in her bank after the processing of Tobias's will, and I would write something about how Tobias felt on being bought a pair of fitting pants, and how Teddy blushed when Tobias giggled at his jokes before he said them as his predictive powers recovered with his health. Alas, I am not that kind of writer, so you will simply have to imagine those moments as happy and positive in the lives of our two heroes and their favorite pilot as a week went by.

I would much prefer to write about something more important than fleeting happiness and "cute" relationships. For instance: real estate.

On Wednesday morning, the latest newspaper arrived at the doorstep, and after the delivery boy had skipped off, Tobias snaked his arm—and just his arm—out the door to snatch it and bring it back inside. He shut the door and vaulted himself to the lounge, where he settled into an armchair and shook out the paper.

Tobias enjoyed reading and if he had been permitted to, would have read all the offerings that the paper had, except for the obituaries, which he suspected would be depressing. That would make sense, in the same way one might avoid visiting a graveyard on a sightseeing trip, or in the same way that I avoid visiting my mother while researching at the stunning library in her town.

Among a multitude of other "in" superheroes and supervillains, Mr. Might, Vine Voodoo, and the memory of Chance took up many pages, but Viola Mae grabbed those concerning team Defiance on her way out of the house, before Tobias could find them himself. He opened his mouth to protest, but cut himself short.

"I've disconnected everything and locked all the important cords in a box that only I have the key to," she said, handing the paper back to him. She tore up the pages and stuffed the ruins into the pocket of her blazer.

"Excessive," he mumbled. He stood up to embrace her, leaning on his crutch as he slung his good arm around. It was his chest that hurt the most, covered in unevenly blotched second- and third-degree burns. The second-degree ones hurt like the dickens, and he was grateful that eventually, they would heal. In the meantime, he kept those tender spots away from any contact. "I'm sorry that you have to do this. I promise I will get out of your hair soon." He offered an awkward close-lipped Duchenne smile. "You look nice. I'm so used to seeing you in sweatpants and men's shirts."

Viola Mae punched his shoulder, just hard enough to bring out a wince. "Yeah, yeah. Don't you go getting into any trouble while we're gone, okay? If you need anything, you know where the landline is, and I left my number next to it. We'll be back early evening. Sit tight. No T.V."

Tobias snickered and waved his hand. "I've got it, Viola Mae. No T.V. No reading about myself, no news about Benjamin and Poppy. I'll be fine here alone. And for the record, you and Teddy can return to working whenever. I don't mean to hold anyone back." He twirled his finger towards the floor. "Now, turn around and I'll fix your hair."

"Why, is it broken?"

"Haha," Tobias drawled, planting his hands on his hips.

Viola Mae turned around, rolling her eyes, and let the man pull back her hair. She passed him a hair tie. "So, how's it going without the painkillers?"

"Well enough. The third- and fourth- and fifth-degree damages, though they look the worst, don't hurt—or not much, anyways. It's the second-degree burns, which are all up the middle line, back and front, and a little bit on my hand. But, they keep me alert. My powers have never been stronger. Yesterday, I sat down and focused, and I could read an entire hour into the future. The possible futures, that is. It all becomes more uncertain the farther I look." He delicately arranged the hair that always hung in her face into three parts and began to plait it. In the past, braiding had been simple, even enjoyable, but with shaky hands, it took tremendous effort to keep each loop even and neat. Sweat beaded on his sunken brow.