Padlock had to attentively focus to keep himself from shivering, although he let his heart go completely. He could hear its thrumming beats in his ears, almost drowning out Phantom’s words. A flash of heat washed over him and he stayed as still as he could, the other man’s hand leaving a tingling trail as it moved.
Still, Padlock had the urge to scoff, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s a fool’s notion to believe I have any sort of information on me,” Pad murmured, completely ignoring Phantom’s remark. “Assuming that’s what you’re looking for.”
Val set his head on Padlock's shoulder, letting his head rest against the hard plastic of his helmet. "Well here's to hoping." He slid his hands up, noting the scars he could feel beneath the thin fabric of Padlock's shirt. Poor thing. His lips dropped into a pout. "I can't exactly take you at your word, you know." Both his hands slid beneath the jacket, shucking it off Padlock's shoulders. "And anyways, I don't want you having any advantage on our little chase."
It was probably too much to slid his hands beneath Padlock's shirt so he didn't, just kept running his hands up and down the man's sides. "Are you going to take your helmet off now, or do I only get to see that pretty face once I catch you?"
Padlock’s heart raced too fast for his own good, and in a futile attempt to keep it at bay, he looked out past Phantom, to the window behind. The only light came from the moon, the window pane casting a shadow on the two.
Pad bit his lip, taking a deep shaky breath as he resisted his body’s pleas to lean into the man’s hands. He kept himself still again, locking his jaw.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to catch me,” he breathed, letting his words linger before he stepped even farther forward and to the side, leaning on Phantom slightly as he passed, not breaking his gaze.
“And… after you do that?” he asked, opening the window. “Then we’ll see, won’t we?”
With that, he slung his legs over the side of the building, glancing from Phantom to the busy street about four stories below.
He gave one last look back, flicking up only a slim portion of his vizor, so the man was only able to see his piercing blue eyes. They shone with playfulness as Padlock grinned.
And then he jumped.
Val sighed quietly as Padlock pulled away, following him over to the window. "You're a real tease, you know that?" He leaned up against the wall, watching. Something anxious stirred in his belly as he watched Padlock settled but he pushed it down. Padlock was smart. He didn't act irrationally. He didn't make bad decisions.
Of course, that didn't keep him from yelping as the man hurled himself down onto the street below. He pushed his head out the window, searching for any sign that he'd actually hit the ground. Was anyone screaming? Was there blood? It was too hard to tell so he faded, barely mustering the concentration he needed to sink through the floors. He got stuck in one for a few minutes, too panicky to get through until he forced himself to recenter.
This wasn't Sherlock. Nobody was going to hurl themself off a building willy nilly, Padlock had to have a plan.
And, a plan was exactly what Padlock had. The only issue was that he had to time it right.
As he launched himself from the window, he snapped his head to his left, immediately reaching out a hand and biting down on the collar of his jacket to brace for the whiplash.
It had been the same tactic he used to get into the building in the first place. A small rope tied to one of the rungs on the fire escape. He latched onto it with both hands, his shoulders buckling as the sudden weight sent him swinging. His hands slid down, rope burning holes into his palms. Although, due to the sheer amount of adrenaline, the pain was numbed.
As the swinging slowed, Padlock descended, not even bothering to go about it carefully. About ten feet from the ground, he dropped completely, kicking up dust as he hit the pavement running. He continued to weave throughout the back alleys of the city, but a nagging thought kept him from going as fast as he could.
It wasn’t that he wanted to be caught. Right?
Val hit the ground running but he was too shaky to be very effective. Padlock wouldn't just… jump. He wasn't dumb, he had a goal. That was the mantra he repeated as he tore through the crowd, searching desperately for any sign of that stupid white helmet. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't stupid. The sun hit something, round and white and close enough to make his heart pause in his chest, just for a second, as he tore off behind it.
He faded eventually, bolting straight through buildings until he caught sight of the same shirt, slacks, helmet combo that Padlock always wore and he went dizzy with relief. His attention had never narrowed like this before, never thinned to a single desperate point, but he was thanking god for it as he followed the person who had to be padlock.
"You're too slow, darling!" His voice was breathless, but he needed to say it. Needed to get the reaction that would prove his idiot of a nemesis hadn't just hurled himself into oblivion.
“Says the man behind me!” Padlock called back, a smile flickering across his face. So Phantom wasn’t as big of an idiot as he thought.
Padlock continued to weave through the streets, going further and further away from the main road in the city. Although it was relatively busy at this time of night, Padlock knew his way very well around the back roads and alleys.
Suddenly, he slipped out of view, down a different path. As quickly as he could, Pad dropped to the ground, unlatching a grate and slipping below the streets. He fiddled with the grate, sliding it back above him, then running the lengths of the tunnel.
Valentine had no clue where they were going, this wasn't exactly one of his usual haunts, but he figured he had the definite advantage. He didn't need to worry about obstructions, about running around buildings, about ducking through the crowds of people. Still, the playing field was more even than he'd like it to be. Padlock probably had the advantage if he was being honest with himself. He knew this place too well for Valentine to really catch up.
He groaned when the man ducked out of view again, leaving him with no leads and nowhere to go. He sprinted forward a little ways, paused, looked around, nothing. Nothing, and he'd been this close. He kicked at one of the grates on the ground, quickly unfading, but he grinned when it moved. "Gotcha!"
In no time he was underground, invisible, and back on Padlock's trail, unable to keep the giddy smile off his face.
Solomon quickened his pace to its full potential, smiling himself. It wasn’t long before he reached his place in question.
It was a small room just veering off the side of the tunnel. A door that lead to an old abandoned maintenance room. It had a few extremely old-looking monitors and wires across the ceiling, a certain cyberpunk aesthetic that Pad hadn’t even tried to achieve, but succeeded nonetheless. It was extremely small, with a makeshift bed in one corner, and a desk filled with computers and papers in the other. Although, none of it was important. Padlock made sure of it. All of his valuables were elsewhere.
He quickly moved a box aside from beneath the desk, opening an extremely small latch beneath it and descending yet again. He pulled the box back over the shut grate, smirking to himself, considering from the other side it looked untouched.
He began down another ladder, the tunnel growing extremely dark and cold.
Val paused as he dashed into the room, momentarily stricken by the sight. It was so cool, he had to look around. Just for a few seconds, then he could keep chasing. He picked through the desk first, lost interest, started messing with the monitors. It wasn't what he'd expected Padlock's secret lair to look like, but then again it wasn't like there was anything useful in here.
"Real cool place you've got!" he called out, before he remembered that Padlock was probably long gone. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Stupid. Now he'd never figured out what the guy looked like because he's gone and gotten his attention snagged on a place that wasn't even a real lair. "Didn't think you'd go in for the whole cyberpunk thing, but that's pretty cool. It… um… it fits you, I guess."
Solomon stopped for a brief moment, hands clasping the rusted railing. The ached extremely bad, blood trailing down the creases in his hands. The rope really had done a number, his palms looking incredibly patchy and gruesome. They stung like hell, but he couldn’t let that hinder him now. If he let go… well… it would be a long way down.
He gave a diminutive smile at the man’s words. Although they were muffled, he could hear the affirmative murmurs and compliments. In truth, that “lair” was technically Solo’s room. His real lair was at the bottom of this ladder, down another tunnel, curving through a set of stairs, until you finally reached an iron door needing an ID in order to enter. Solomon guessed it would be another half-mile from where he was.
Although he didn’t move, just rested there on the ladder panting like a dog. Part of him rose with the joy and success of escaping, while the other part wanted to just… go slowly up the ladder, back into the room, and…
He shook the thought aside. For now, he’d just let Phantom make the next move.
Valentine wandered around the room for a few more minutes, sighing a bit and collapsing onto the bed. "It's not as fancy as I thought it'd be." His voice was loud enough that Padlock might be able to hear it, if he was sticking around for some reason. Which… he wouldn't be, but Val liked to pretend. "But I guess villainy really doesn't pay, huh?" He laughed quietly. "I dunno, are you even a villain? It's not like you hurt people, not all that often anyways."
The guys he worked for weren't quite so picky choosy, but it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? The government wanted to help people, they wanted to take care of their citizens. "And you're nice to me too, even if you never take off that stupid helmet. Y'know, I think I've had friends who were meaner to me than you are? Isn't that crazy?"
Certainly, Solomon replied in his head. He smiled at the way Phantom talked so freely. It was refreshing, considering their old encounters used to last a only few moments before Padlock was up and running again. However, it was a long time before Pad had gotten any actual leads that needed to be taken back and retained. It was unfortunate for him, but lucky that he had nothing to protect, so he could actually linger around Phantom as long as he wanted.
He crawled up the bars silently, just so he could hear better. He took a free hand, removing his helmet just so the words wouldn’t be so muffled. After all, he really didn’t care, just wanted to be as stubborn as he could. His black hair was pushed up and over, out of his eyes for once in his life. He gave a small smile, desperately trying to ignore the burning pain in his hands.
"And… god, I dunno why I'm even talking, it's not like there's anything around to help me." He sighed, rolling over onto his stomach. "But I guess it helps me focus. Easier to keep the train of thought rolling if you can talk through it, in my head it gets all…" He paused for a second, thinking. "I dunno, it gets all tangled up and then something else gets in there and everything explodes apart." It was worse as a kid, but even now he had trouble keeping focused. Even sitting still for long enough to chatter was starting to make him antsy so he started moving again, returning to the desk.
"God, you've got way too many boxes in here, you know that? Completely ridiculous, especially since this isn't even a real lair." He pushed one of the boxes aside, reaching for the one behind it, and… was that a latch? "I don't even know how you managed to get out of here, you're probably tucked into one of the desk drawers or something." He felt around, grinning as he managed to open the door a crack.
(Just so you know, I'm going to be off for a few hours so I can call my friends!)
Solomon’s breath caught in his throat and he dropped his helmet in a faulty attempt to regain his balance. It fell through the air, taking a moment before Solo heard a deafening crack. It was broken, no doubt, and now Phantom was shoving side boxes. This was not ideal, by any stretch.
Luckily, Solo had prepared more than this. He was that clever, at least.
He took a small rope from his belt, tying it loosely around one of the bars, but just tight enough that it could hold him. The second the latch opened slightly, Solo was already gone, scaling down into the shadows with just a hint of his blue eyes still visible. His hands left trails of blood on the rope, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from letting out a whimper.
He finally hit the bottom, seeing his helmet in shards. The vizor was terribly shattered, all of his hard work on the infrared material gone.
Damnit, he yelled internally. That was then followed by a stream of seemingly worse profanities.
He shook his head, beginning to sprint a few yards down the tunnel before taking off his jacket. As he ran, he took off his shirt as well, tearing pieces of fabric from it and carelessly wrapping it around his hands. Perhaps that would help the bleeding, but he wasn’t that faithful, considering the rope he just used had torn the palms up even worse.
He kept running, leaving all his helmet, jacket, and ripped up shirt behind.
(That’s alright! Take all the time you need)
Valentine lit up as he heard the crack of something hitting the ground, tossing the hatch open just fast enough to catch the pitter patter of feet running across the ground. To say he was thrilled would be an understatement. He was down the later as fast as humanly possible, hopping down the last few rungs and sprinting after Padlock.
Normally his opponent might stand a chance, but it was a straight shot from here to the place where the tunnels started to branch out and he wasn't slowing down to rip his shirt or curse his bad luck. No, he was practically a machine, focused for once as he raced after the figure in front of him. The helmet less, jacket less, shirtless figure—that couldn't be right.
His steps faltered as his mind flicked back to what he'd seen at the bottom of the latter—torn clothes and a shattered helmet. Had Padlock fallen? Did something happen? Abrupt panic sliced through him and he picked up the pace as much as he could, only letting out a sigh of relief as he bowled into Padlock in a poorly thought out tackle that sent both of them sprawling.
When he finally managed to gather himself he had the upper hand, Padlock's shoulders pinned beneath his hands and torso pinned where he was sitting on it. His very bare torso. "What happened to you?" His eyes flicked up to Padlock's face as he spoke and damn, the man was gorgeous. Normally he'd add a slew of follow up questions but he was too busy leaning in to get a better look at the man beneath him. "And… are you even Padlock? Because if you're not, this is gonna be real hard to explain."
Padlock was too busy huffing and puffing to even register the footsteps behind him, let alone turn around and find out who it was. Though, who else could it be? The crash of the helmet was bound to get anyone’s attention.
Suddenly, a brute force tackled him down, he rolled for a moment, before being pinned beneath a figure. He narrowed his eyes, still trying desperately to keep his hands from bleeding, to little avail. He could feel the sanguine fluid seep between his fingers, the cloth doing nothing to help.
Now stationed like this, Solo was forced to look himself over. The various scars dotting his body, as well as the way his muscles strained at every breath he gasped for.
“Yes I’m Padlock,” he breathed irritatedly, still attempting to register what was happening. It was insanely dark, but he could faintly make out Phantom above him. His heart beat continued to speed up, yet he blamed it on the running. “And you are?”
With the last sentence, his voice seeped with sarcastic humor.
"You know who I am, now come here." Val scooted back in his lap, tugging up on his shoulders until he was sitting up and his face was close enough for him to see in the gloom. "Let me get a good look at you." It was too dark to make out anything specific, much to his annoyance, but the things he caught—piercing blue eyes, rustled hair—made him hungry for more.
He leaned in so close their faces were almost touching, eyes running over each of Padlock's features. The urge to touch was strong but he held back for now, content just to look. Once the allure was gone and he could hold a picture of Padlock in his head he leaned away, setting his hands on the villain's chest. "Why'd you strip? Not that I'm not enjoying the view or anything, but it doesn't seem like it helped very much with your escape attempt. And what was that wet stuff on the ladder? Did you sweat all over it or something?"
Solo just stared at the man, his eyes narrowed and face stoic but heart beat still going ballistic. He cocked his head at the man’s questions, his breathing finally slowing down into more of a usual normal state.
He winced as the man rested his hands on his chest, biting his tongue from the uncomfortable feeling of his fingers grazing over the relatively new scar on his left side. Due to the minuscule chisel embedded in it, it was always moderately sensitive.
As if it answered all questions, Pad held up both of his hands, the blood soaked fabrics looking like they were originally dyed red to begin with. Unfortunately, they had really started off white.
His hair was pushed up and out of his face, the strands crusted over with blood like hair gel. That’s what he would get for ‘fixing’ it with hands like these.
“Rope burn,” he muttered plainly. “I had to cover them with something, and shirt was the best candidate. Easier to rip than a jacket. As for the ladder, I would assume it’s blood, but it’s too dark to really tell I guess.”
Valentine picked up on the discomfort with a hum and shifted quietly until his fingers weren't pressing against any scars. "You poor thing," he murmured, taking one of Padlock's hands in his and squinting down at his palm. He'd gotten relatively adept at patching himself up in these last few years, though he didn't have to deal with nearly as many injuries as he had in the early days.
He cradled Padlock's hand in his, touch exceedingly gentle as he unwrapped the blood soaked shirt scraps to get a better look at the wound. It really wasn't pretty. "You should let me patch you up." He was understating it. There was no way Padlock could bandage himself up properly with his hands like that, if he even had the proper supplies down here at all.
"You probably got all scuffed up in the fall too, didn't you?" His hands drifted across Padlock's skin, feeling for any cuts or scrapes. It was hard to avoid the scars, but he dodged the ones he remembered feeling back in the office building. "Let me take you back to my place, I promise I'll take really good care of you. And I won't… I won't try to keep you there or anything! You're free to go after, I just don't want you getting some weird sewer infection and dying."
Padlock had to keep himself from laughing. So Phantom actually did think he fell. Didn’t he know better than to assume Pad was stupid?
Though he paused for a moment at the hero’s next proposal. It would be nice to get patched up, but it’s not like the 30 year old first aid kit he had laying around in his room was entirely useless. He could totally patch himself up, no sweat. That’s what he had done to all of his other scars.
Still, he found himself wanting to oblige. It’s not like it would be entirely terrible. The cops would show, sure, but that had never been even the slightest of an issue. Plus, it would be nice to keep an eye on Phantom, seeing as he now knew the relative whereabouts of his information storage. Now that was an issue.
“Fine,” he finally said, eyes still narrowed. It was nice to know that Phantom didn’t want him dead. At least he was safe in that aspect. As for the police, on the other hand, he was sure his sentence would involve some sort of… death, and probation would be taken as a joke.
Didn’t matter, though. He could slip the pen, easily. It just didn’t make sense as to why Phantom didn’t want him dead by normal means— just to turn him over to the officers so they could do it themselves.
There didn't seem to be any scrapes or scratches except a few that were probably from when Val had tackled him, which he was very relieved by. It didn't look like Padlock had any big bruises either, and he wasn't wincing or clutching at anything, which meant that besides his hands he was a picture of good health. Valentine slipped out of his lap with a smile and then set about helping Padlock to his feet.
"Thank you," he murmured, turning his smile on the man beside him. It was barely light enough to see it, but he hoped Padlock would get the message. "I think you'll like my apartment, apparently it's very fashionable. Not exactly your aesthetic, I don't think, but I hope you'll be able to appreciate it. Only thing wrong with it is that there's a bunch of ads on the window outside." His ads. He wasn't self conscious or anything, but something about seeing his face blown up and plastered onto some billboard made his skin crawl.
Calling the cops was the last thing on his mind as he towed Padlock back to the ladder. Sure, he'd probably do it eventually, but that would be after Padlock was patched up and wearing more and maybe given some tea to drink? Did he still have any tea, or had he used it up the last time his agent came over? "Oh! Do you like tea?"
Padlock followed the man back, picking up his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder on the way. He couldn’t help himself but question the niceties. Phantom acted like they were some old friends, just going back after a casual night out. Like they used to go out, have a few drinks, without one chasing after the other.
He couldn’t say he didn’t sort of like it.
He winced as he grabbed hold of the ladder, but grit his teeth and pushed through the pain as they ascended. By the time they crested the top, the fabric wraps had gotten even more beat up and ripped. That’s what a rusty ladder would do to a previously torn light shirt, he guessed.
Then, the question. Did he like tea? Padlock didn’t really even know. He had been solely surviving on bottled water and whatever else he could get from the streets. That included a somehow dangerously full box of expired energy drinks. No wonder Pad was always so fidgety.
“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. “I haven’t had it in a very long time, though.”
