return_to_nola

Oliver had a headache. Wasn't that cute? He and Sam were sharing afflictions now!

After brushing his teeth—because he probably smelled like a lot of wine right now—he took the bottle of Advil out of the medicine cabinet, shaking a couple into his palm. As he swallowed them down with faucet water (he wasn't fancy), he mentally went over the current situation.

1. He was Quicksilver, a superhero.

2. In this universe, he was a fictional character.

3. He also had a twin sister, a version of whom also lived in New Orleans.

4. This Wanda wasn't his Wanda and the differences were sort of killing him, even as the similarities were comforting him in a way he could barely understand.

5. There was a Jean Grey in town too, which he'd just found out over coffee shop e-journal (what), and she was also from another universe.

6. Through it all, he was still Oliver Lindqvist. Who was going to go into his boyfriend's room now, finally, and make sure he was alive, if he was even there at all. God, how was he going to explain this to Sam?

Oliver took a deep, steadying breath before he crossed the apartment and quietly opened Sam's bedroom door. At first sight of Sam, he could feel himself warm with affection, but then immediately went tense. Because for the first time in all the months they'd known each other, Oliver recognized him.

"Are you freaking kidding me," he muttered.

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"Of course." Oliver could have anything he wanted.

Oliver toed off his shoes and crawled onto the bed without taking off the rest of his clothes or even pulling the blankets over himself. He turned on his side and curled toward Sam, eyes still open. "Tell me more of your plans and I'll tell you if they're idiotic. That's my job, right?"

Sam pulled the blankets over Oliver himself, perching on the bed beside him. "Yours, or Havok's, or Wolverine's." He missed them both. "We need to figure out a way to find others. I need to find ruby quartz in case we suddenly get our powers back; I don't really want to destroy a city. I dreamed about the Phoenix so I want to talk to Jean about that, in case that's something else we need to worry about. We need to make lists of potential known foes who would do this and we need to run down their usual haunts. But we need to get everyone's story, everyone who is like us. What they were doing when it happened. Find the common thread."

Was ruby quartz even a real thing in this universe? Oliver didn't have the heart to ask, so he just shifted to be closer to Sam. "I was getting coffee on the way home and I saw Wanda sitting there. I just recognized her instantly, and then I knew about me too."

Without thinking, Sam started stroking Oliver's hair. "Is she okay?" How selfish that he hadn't yet asked!

Oliver could feel himself relaxing under Sam's touch, turning toward it. "I don't know. She's never been through anything like this before, and it's a lot. Her Pietro is dead too, and here I am."

Sam and Oliver, it seemed, at least had the advantage of experiencing things like this over and over again. "I'm glad she was the first person you knew." Everyone knew how close the Maximoff twins were.

"I'm sorry it couldn't be someone meaningful for you." He felt guilty, actually, having to wake Scott up at all.

"You are meaningful to me." Oliver had the person who meant the most as Pietro; Sam had the person who meant the most as Sam. "If you weren't from our world, I don't know what I would have done."

"Are you trying to feed my ego?" If so, it was appreciated. Oliver closed his eyes and pressed close to Sam. "You would have stayed strong and figured things out anyway. That's what you do. Or so I'm told."

"Only Oliver's," Sam replied. "Quicksilver's is healthy enough." He wasn't sure how long they could treat Scott and Pietro as two different people. No wonder it felt, on some level, like he had known Oliver for forever. "Hey, Oliver?"

"Mm?" He didn't open his eyes.

Sam should let him sleep. Instead of replying, he got back into bed, wrapped his arms around Oliver, held him close.

Oliver went into Sam's arms easily, grateful to sink into his warm arms. "My Sam." And then, because he needed to try it out, "My Scott."

He felt the same feelings, hearing both names. Wasn't that weird? "How did that feel?"

"A little weird," Oliver confessed, hating that it was true. "But not enough to stop."

"I hope you don't stop."

"Never." He slipped a hand under the back of Sam's shirt—not to start anything, but just to touch more of him. Sam had a broad, strong back, but it was untouched by the scars most heroes tended to have. "I love you, Scott Summers."

And then abruptly, he started to laugh.

Sam couldn't feel too offended when he'd laughed at the very concept of Scott Summers earlier, right, with the blocked eyes? "Hey!"

"No, not—" But Oliver couldn't answer for a minute, laughing against Sam's chest, his shoulders shaking. When he could finally speak again, he raised his head and said, "Your fucking name. Sam Scott, Scott Sammers—excuse me, Summers. Could it be any more obvious?"

After a moment, Sam also chuckled. Of course his name was still basically his name. "That's so embarrassing."

"What's your nickname, 'Skim?'" Oliver's eyes were shining, though, and he looked more alive than he had all day.

"Oh my god." But now Sam was laughing too; this was the most Oliver he'd sounded in a while.

And it felt so good to laugh together, just for a minute, to somehow forget about how awful this all was while mocking it at the same time. Eventually Oliver settled back down again, though, nuzzling Sam's chest. "I love you, Sam Scotters."

"I love you too, Oliver Maximoff." It wasn't as fun, but it was true.

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