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Leviathan paced behind his desk, only partially absorbing the news feeds on the screen. Anna-no, the Auditor, it was important he keep some distance-had begun to sift through data to formulate a plan regarding the Draft and had sent him a report to review. She insisted on moving more slowly this time, and while Leviathan found the waiting infuriating, he knew now she was correct. A more conservative approach, one without the risk of him being unable to deal the final blow, was better.
It was necessary.
He muttered to himself and flexed his fingers. He had spent a month hating her for denying him his vengeance, and hating himself for being unable to obtain it alone. Supercollider had won, in a way. Leviathan had been given no chance to look the man in the eyes as he begged, to crush him under his own power, to have vengeance.
But whose fault was that? Only his own.
His hubris had been his downfall, an Icarus so desperate to escape the ceaseless, driving rage inside him that he flew too close to the sun.
And now, who was he? Who was Leviathan without his nemesis? Who was he without his rage and thirst for vengeance and blood? So his mind had redirected it, once the well of powerless grief had run dry.
He realized what he had done to the Auditor. She had risked everything to save him. Given her physical fragility, her prior injuries, and lack of access to his best technology, she had risked far more than he had when extracting her from the Vet. When he spoke to Keller, the old man told him that Anna had been steadfast in her course, an arrow flying towards a bullseye. She had done everything for Leviathan even once she knew what he was. She had been thrilled at the discovery of his true appearance, to hear Keller tell it, as it told her that Leviathan was alive.
And he had refused to even let her near him. The look of betrayal and silent tears when he had flinched from her touch played behind his apertures at night.
As a result, he had rebuilt her office first. Made it grand and imposing, but still comfortable and practical. It was a testament to who and what she was: his right hand, his advisor, his... something else. But regardless, his. He wished it to be a gesture of contrition written in stone and steel. A technological Taj Mahal for the one person he thought, perhaps one day, he could admit he may trust with more than his schemes.
But he could still not speak to her, not then. He struggled to even see her name on in writing, having to forward emails to others to sort. He blamed her still.
Eventually, he began to blame himself.
He sat for long periods with Shannon in her enclosure while he healed from the confinement. Leviathan felt most comfortable with his iguana, a fellow creature of scales and claws. He no longer remembered what he had looked like before the experiments, and did not wish to be reminded. While he had come to enjoy the power his augmentations gave him, he remained ashamed of the truth of his appearance. It was yet another thing taken from him by them. So he enjoyed Shannon's company, where his skin was only natural.
He began to listen in on An-the Auditor’s conversations. She must know he could, and because of this, Leviathan did not consider it an invasion of her privacy. She was perfectly capable of disabling the listening devices in her office if she wished to. He was able to contact her directly via neural implants; they were already somewhere beyond a typical work relationship, from what he understood of other villains’ procedures.
Leviathan also knew that it was not typical to threaten to raze Dovecote to the ground and salt the earth to save a member of the team, no matter how highly ranked (that he had only been able to destroy the accompanying medical facility had been a... disappointment). Those villains, however, did not have Anna. The Auditor. They did not have the Auditor. They could not fathom her value. They could not fathom the grievous insult it had been to him to harm her. He had gambled much on her, and had seen rich returns.
She also did not fear him. In fact, she seemed to enjoy his company.
She seemed to enjoy his touch. That was...unique. Valuable.
Her conversation with Vesper had been illuminating. Leviathan saw how her body reacted to him; he had even more enhanced vision than she did. He often thought of how she had grabbed his wrist when he held her neck. The flush of her skin, the rise of her heart rate, the dilation of her remaining organic pupil, could all have indicated multiple things, but her hand on his wrist meant only one.
However, Leviathan had assumed her affection would become, at best, platonic once she became aware of his true appearance. That his grief and rage, his true self in every meaning of the term, would drive a wedge between them.
It appeared it had not. He...had not anticipated that.
The day after she spoke to Vesper, Leviathan decided it was time he spoke to her about his plans to destroy the Draft and Superheroic Affairs. It would take time, yes, but best to begin as soon as possible, while they were still reeling from the loss of Supercollider and the escape of the villains in Dovecote.
He would, however, allow the Auditor to set the pace. He owed her that, he thought, since his own haste had led to his failure before.
And if Leviathan were honest, he was unsure if he could have escaped without her help. It would have been very difficult, and were he starved long enough, extremely improbable. He was not good at honesty, however, particularly towards himself. So he merely told himself he had a chance to consider how beautiful a slow decline would have been, how elegant. That was what had truly swayed him, he told himself.
When the Auditor came in, she had told him he looked well, all things considered. Leviathan struggled to bite back the bitter laugh.
“That is kind, for someone who knows what they are looking at.”
“I've always known who I was looking at,” was her answer. It had startled him. It had confused him. It had astounded him as he saw that nothing, not a single bit of biometric data, said she was lying.
He had come as close to apology as he could. Anna had tried to interrupt, but he knew if he stopped he would not start again. It was too difficult after so long without the need to show contrition to anyone or anything, save perhaps Shannon when he was gone for long periods. But an apology to her came in the form of treats and improvements to her enclosure.
Bitterly, he realized he had attempted the same for Anna, hadn't he? Perhaps the Draft truly had broken him all those years ago. Or had he been broken before that? Incapable of normal human attachments? Had the Draft merely brought the outside into congruence with the inside? Or had it come to pass in the opposite manner?
When he revealed his plans to destroy the monsters behind the machinations that created all heroes, all villains (and thus, in its way, him) to her, he saw her frustration and exasperation under her skin. He saw the rage. But he also saw the barely perceptible relaxation in his presence. He saw the gentle, tiny lean of her body towards his.
He felt the closeness of her hand as she answered him.
“I'll run the numbers.”
Leviathan stood for a moment, watching her, and then the screen.
He allowed his hand to move slightly to brush hers. Attrition of his walls, grain by grain. It would have to be enough.
The way warmth flooded her body and the muscles of her jaw relaxed, he believed it might be.