Chapter Text
The road to recovery was quite bleak. Matthew had no idea how long he had been in this cold hospital room, as there was no clock. He tried keeping time by counting meals, but those seemed more frequent than his gut was telling him was normal. Lately he had been playing with his powers, trying to regain them as he recovered. He snapped his fingers every so often. Sparks scattered from his fingers. He was disappointed when fire didn't follow. This sucked. He couldn't even talk to his demon hipster chicks. Matthew, so used to conversing with them, was deeply missing their chatter. Was this what being normal was like?
He thought about the new power he had come across. That light he was emitting had nearly been his end. The sooner he learned to control it, the better. After all, when he discovered his fire powers, he accidentally started a fire in his middle school. That moment had a bittersweet outcome, since he was getting bullied previously. After that incident, everyone left him alone, which Matthew appreciated. Yet, that time was lonely, so, so lonely. Then came Ramona.
He had no idea why she kissed him when they first met, but she brought color into his life. He would have done anything for her then, and it was still true now. However, she had left him just as quickly as she appeared, and he felt empty ever since. It hurt him deeply how he was the only evil ex that never truly got Ramona's love, not even for a second. He usually avoided thinking about it, but the thoughts felt overwhelming when he had nothing to distract himself.
Seeing her on the screens in Gideon's lair, chumming it up with Scott, rubbed him the wrong way. Did she really think Matthew was worse than an unemployed bass player who was two-timing her with a high schooler? Well, Matthew was currently unemployed as well, and Ramona didn't know that last part, but still. He had cool powers and way cooler hair than Scott. What was so undesirable about him? What made Ramona discard him without a second thought? Why wasn't he good enough?
Gideon entered the room, grimacing at the bright light Matthew was emitting, face buried in his hands. Gideon almost regretted giving him the glow. He didn't realize it would be so strong. In hindsight, maybe giving that ability to an emotionally unstable pirate incel was not the best choice. Gideon couldn't possibly predict which ex would be first to question his authority, so he couldn't blame himself for that. He coughs to get Matthew's attention, and that seems to do the trick, snapping his target back to reality, and the glow dissipates.
Matthew swallows the painful lump in his throat, doing his best to shove his pain deep inside. Gideon observed that for someone who wanted to be a Broadway actor, he was horrible at hiding his feelings. "Good morning. I brought breakfast," was Gideon's cold greeting. Matthew was surprised at hearing Gideon's voice again, as he hadn't spoken a word ever since he signed the NDA, despite Matthew's best efforts. Morning. That's some kind of information, at least, and maybe the last he'd get for a while. "Oh. Um." Matthew's voice wavered as he tried to keep himself stable. "It's French toast." That got Matthew's attention. Finally, something different, delicious even. "It's about time." Matthew scoffed, trying to hide his excitement. Gideon saw right through him, as this was by design. He knew the same flavorless meal for well over a week does things to a man's mind. "The doctors gave me the ok. Finally you've received the privilege of flavor." Gideon said cheerfully.
The truth was, Matthew always had that option, but he didn't need to know that. Yes, there was a stricter diet to reduce unnecessary pain, but there still could have been variety. This was part of the process, breaking him down to build him up to Gideon's best interest. With the excuse of traumatic injury, there was no resistance to this conditioning. Matthew didn't have a choice. He didn't know better. How could he? Gideon was pleased with just how effective this was. This was an art form of his, and he took pride in it, learning more and more as he practiced with each of his girlfriends. These new ideas and techniques would be well utilized in getting Ramona back under control later.
"How have you been feeling physically?" Gideon, as usual, was cutting the French toast into small pieces. There was no way Gideon was going to give Matthew potential weapons, and even less chance that he was going to talk feelings with him. "I'm feeling better so far.". Matthew's enthusiasm about the new food was hardly disguised at this point. He gratefully bites the forkful presented to him. The moist, fresh burst of strawberries and the pudding-like bread soaked in syrup was euphoric. This might even be his new favorite food. He had no idea that such a simple thing could make him feel so alive.
A few bites come to pass before Matthew asks a question, "So how much longer do I have to be here?". Gideon pauses, the clinking of utensils coming to an abrupt halt. "That's not really your concern. Do you have somewhere to be?" Of course, he knew the answer to that. He just wanted to watch Matthew struggle. Sensing danger of the French toast being potentially revoked, Matthew nervously backtracks. "No, no. Of course not. I'm just restless. There's nothing to do here. I'm kind of losing my mind." He rambles.
Gideon puts on a well-rehearsed look of sympathy. "Oh, I bet. I just want you to get better, is all. No need to rush the process." Matthew accepts another bite as he says this and feels Matthew's delighted hum against the fork. This was really pleasant for Gideon. Maybe all he had to do was stab Ramona too for these kinds of results. But alas, she was always a runner, it seemed.
"Isn't this weird to you?" Matthew chimed in, derailing Gideon's train of thought, "Like, why are you always feeding me? You're a CEO. Aren't you too, I don't know, busy for this?" Gideon didn't stop this time. Matthew wonders if he was waiting for this question. When their eyes met, he noticed Gideon's had something stirring inside them. Was it determination? Desire? Matthew wasn't sure, but he felt unusually warm looking back into them. Gideon smiles softly. "I like to take good care of my things."
Matthew had no idea what that meant. It was jarring to him. Should he be offended or flattered? Yet, as Gideon tucked him in once more and walked to the door, he couldn't find it in him to ask for clarity. "Try to get some rest. I'll arrange to bring in some entertainment for you." Were Gideon's last words that morning. The conversation swam in circles in Matthew's mind. It was going to haunt him for a while.
Gideon stretched after a long day of boring meetings. There was nothing new or interesting about them, just assorted people and organizations asking for funding or public support. In fact, if you asked him, he wouldn't be able to tell you what each meeting was actually asking for or whether he said yes. It was just bland to him, like usual. People really lacked creativity these days, but it was the price for power and the privileges that followed.
He stepped into his elevator and pressed a small, hidden button far from the usual ones. He stepped out into the 'tab room,' as he liked to call it. Walking along the path, he realized that Matthew's boots had left muddy footprints nearby. Gideon grimaced at this. "Did he really have to deliver a handwritten letter in a snowstorm?" He grumbled. Ignoring it for now, he took a seat in the middle of the room, facing the extensive wall of screens.
Pushing a button on the arm of his chair, the wall started popping up with videos of Ramona from many different angles. Some, of course, were completely unnecessary or perverted, but Gideon didn't want to be given the slip again. After all, she belonged to him, and nothing was over until he said so. She seemed to be at Scott's funeral earlier. Going through the day's footage, Gideon couldn't help but smile when Scott's high school girlfriend was dramatically denouncing Ramona. The kid's got spunk. Envy wasn't far behind, quick to jump on the chance to make something about her. So high maintenance, but still so sexy. It's too bad Todd wasn't really appreciating her.
After reviewing the footage, he glanced at one screen in the corner. That one was live footage of Matthew's hospital room.
Matthew was sitting cross-legged with his eyes shut and his wrists resting on his knees. Was he... meditating? Gideon had never considered Matthew the spiritual type, or at least mindful enough to be able to keep his body still. Maybe this was the origin of his "mystical" powers? Gideon kept watching, curious to see how long it'd last. Minutes passed, becoming ten, then twenty. Impressive, but boring to watch. His watch beeped, letting him know it was time for Matthew's next meal. He walked back toward the elevator, making a note to let one of his janitors know to clean the footprints.
If only Gideon had stuck around a little longer. Maybe then he'd see Matthew slowly rubbing himself down from his chest, to his shoulder, and finally to his fingertips. He snaps his fingers again, and this time, there it was. His fire returns.