"Know you don't, babe," he says, turning to watch Marcus watch him. There's real affection in his eyes, there has to be. That's real care and consideration. Love, maybe. He wants to wrap himself up in it, to life up to the opinion of him that Marcus seems to have. He wants to be good to him.

Once he's got his shinguards off, he pulls off his pants, and the protective cup underneath them. With that now strewn over the floor, Midnighter is left only in boxer-briefs and the expansive array of band-aids he's been spackled with. The boxers, of course, have the Superman insignia over the crotch.

He lets himself lay back on the bed, his legs dangling off the side, letting out a tired huff. A smile plays over his face, sharp but genuine. "So you're looking after me, now?"