Climbing the Hill

Posted on Sun Aug 9th, 2026 @ 12:28 by Matteo Beneventi & Phoebe Hunter

Chapter: Gobsmacked
Location: Matt's House
2285 words - 4.6 OF Standard Post Measure

Phoebe giggled to herself as she looked around the bedroom and saw the post it note on the bedside cabinet that she always left when she came over to elevate Matt’s fears that she would suddenly forget who he was and what she was doing there. She had never for a split second forgotten about him but she knew that he worried and explained his worry to her the first night they had stumbled in to the room. She shook her head and headed back down the stairs from putting away her clothes for the weekend.

“Do you keep all my post it notes?” She asked laughing a little knowing they only had an hour or so before he went to work. She was meant to have come over straight after work but there had been an incident in her final class for the day and several students needed support.

"All the ones I can find."

Standing barefoot and shirtless in the kitchen had become such an integral part of Matt's evening routine that it didn't even occur to him to make adjustments now he had company. If he had taken the time to reflect on that, he might have realised how much it suggested a fundamental shift in his obessively self-protective expectations but, as it happened, he was too focused on trying not to burn the pan of bacon he was working on whilst risking third-degree burns by daring to fry anything when he wasn't adequately covered up.

His hair, still damp from the shower, had already started to curl in the heat.

Phoebe leaned against the doorway observing the man who was handsome as anything to her but also taking his life in his own hands by standing there frying bacon. “Whatever for?” She asked staying there just to watch him work for a few moments without having to do anything other than observe her boyfriend.

There were a few different ways to answer that. Some of the ones that were harder to really explain touched on things Matt never really liked to talk about for too long. The sensation of non-existence, the exhaustion of having to reexplain things that most people took for granted. Forgotten conversations, abandoned plans and the slippery slope of trying to forge any kind of meaningful connection with people who could turn around the next day and have you arrested for trespassing, or worse. And because there was only an hour until he had to leave for work, and because these kind of conversations never seemed to improve the mood anyway, he didn't mention those reasons. Instead, he offered a familiar half-smile and hunched a shoulder. "They never feel like mine to toss out."

“Ah you are just collecting my rubbish.” She teased him as she walked over and wrapped an arm around him and lay her head against his bare back resisting the urge to start something that neither of them could continue. “Well you have my permission to chuck them out or I’ll start remembering to toss them.” She pressed a kiss to his back and stepped back to let him finish what he was doing.

It was a little late to confess to an odd sense of attachment and, if Matt was honest, his practical side was already starting to think he'd lost several marbles for even wanting to filed away a bunch of scribbled notes. What they represented meant more than the notes themselves, after all, though a few of them were worded in such a way as to challenge some old ways of thinking. What Phoebe chose to tell herself about him was almost as significant, it turned out, as what she opted to tell him to his face.

The companionable silence that followed was eventually interrupted by the frenetic pop of the toaster. It was a second-hand relic he'd dug out of the back of the cupboard, (the house had been sold with a few odds and ends that gave the impression it had been vacated in a hurry), and had a habit of flinging the toast every which way. Threats to purchase him a new one had so far fallen on deaf ears; a fire hazard it may be but the blasted thing had character. It didn't feel any more right sending it to the scrap heap than it did Phoebe's notes.

"There's still curry in the fridge if you'd prefer." By now, Matt's tendency to eat breakfast at all hours was only tempered by a begruding understanding that Phoebe would probably prefer not to. He cooked, when he knew she was going to be around.

Phoebe smiled at the silence that settled on them now. It was lovely and certainly not what used to happen with Robert. The silence towards the end had been deafening as Phoebe had not really wanted to end things as she loved him but their paths were different. “I am good with this. I will get the toast. Just butter?” She wondered as she set about getting the butter and a knife to start on the bread.

She was going to use his being at the pub to catch up on her marking before she watched EastEnders and Top of the Pops. “Do you want me to drive you to the pub or pick you up?” She wondered quietly.

A glance out the window took note of the weather. "I can take the bike."

This was not in any way a sacrifice, Matt was infinitely more comfortable traveling that way than as a passenger even if he had conceded that Phoebe was not a completely terrible driver. The hesitation was more, as always, centred around the need to leave her alone at all. It was difficult to argue that she wasn't safe, or at least that Phoebe wasn't capable of keeping herself such if the need arose, but it was also impossible to deny that recent events hadn't exposed just how vulnerable they all were under the right kind of pressure. Trying to settle back into 'life as normal' was easier said than done but there wasn't much else for it; money didn't grow on trees.

"Well that means I will certainly be finished with my marking by the time you get back." She stated. She might be sound asleep on the sofa but she would have finished marking year 7 and year 10's projects and hopefully finished her plans for the field trip. She glanced over at the man and winked as she brought over the toast.

It earned her a crooked smile and a huff of laughter and, several seconds later, a plate of bacon and eggs. "Short shift tonight," he reminded her, having agreed to go in on what was meant to be a night off. It had up-ended their plans a little but in a town like New Cresthill, Matt recognised the kindness of his employers and the risk they exposed themselves to being such vocal supporters. They'd even started taking a tentative interest in his powers and how best to be supportive, which had honestly left the man at a loss for words. His mutation did not create a situation where trust flourished and Matt knew they had no reason to trust him other than they simply wanted to. Filling in some of the shifts they were struggling to cover seemed the least he could do.

“So you will be back by about ten ish?” Phoebe wondered, sitting down. She had missed breakfast trying to solve the shower issue in her room, so breakfast for dinner was for one a welcome meal. “Thank you for making. I missed breakfast, and lunch was a quick affair as I wanted a walk to stretch my legs.” She had wanted to check on William as she had not seen him much recently, but she had not caught him.

"About then, give or take." Setting down both plates, Matt then grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and took up the only other chair on his very small kitchen table. "What time are you due back in the morning?" Coming home hadn't been an easy decision; with everything that had happened, Matt had felt the urgency of being closer to hand but once things had reached a point where he felt in the way and not really able to offer anything productive, he'd been persuaded by Phoebe's obvious need to get away once in a while. It wasn't perfect but when had that ever been on the cards anyway.

"Thank you. I have not eaten properly much today." She admitted looking finally, like she was relaxing. "Oh, mid-afternoon." She assured happily as she ate a piece of the bacon and sighed happily. She was not expected back until afternoon meal thankfully as her weekend duty was late afternoon.

"How are things up there anyway?"

It was a question that always eventuated, tucked in behind the mundane back-and-forth because Matt was nothing if not dedicated to pretending he didn't spend most of his time worried. This time, it arrived in between mouthfuls, passed off as a casual check-in with just a hint of the underlying tension coming from the fact that he watched her face like a hawk as he waited for Phoebe's response.

Phoebe glanced over at the man as he raised the question he was burning to ask. “Getting better. The students are barely affected anymore other than the occasional grumpy moment that they never got to use their ability to tackle the bad guys.” She said smiling. “And I am sleeping better.” But that was because she was not longer plagued by visions constantly.

A slow nod became the only response for a moment, an accepting silence that Matt was particularly good at providing. Part of it stemmed from a desire not to be overly demanding but a good portion of it was just learned reservation. There'd been far too many years without anyone to confide in, speaking his thoughts out loud was taking some getting used to.

"Probably a bit much to expect them to be over it," he eventually mused, a gentle challenge that didn't so much call out Phoebe for believing the impossible as it showed Matt knew she was just trying to staunch his concern for his brother. "Still, a lot of them have already been dealing with persecution for most of their lives, it'll mean something that they haven't had to move on and try to rebuild again."

"I'll die on the hill so that they never have to do that again," Phoebe said firmly. She was privileged enough that she passed for human, but that did not mean she was unknown; she was registered under MI-13. She just hated the thought that the kids would not have a better life than that; it should not matter. "Sorry... I just... I hope it does mean something to them all as I do not want that for anyone."

Over the next mouthful of beans, Matt's gaze held steady; fathoms deep and difficult to interpret until he chose to give voice to his thoughts. These days, at least, he was a little more forthcoming, even if being present was something that required a lot more intentional practise than he'd ever considered necessary before. "If I had a choice," he eventually said, his tone quiet, "I'd just as soon nobody died on any hill." It was an understated protest, not so much demanding as simply stating a preference. If the last few months had taught them anything, dying wasn't a farfetched possibility. Matt didn't even know how to begin asking how Cameron was dealing with life on the other side of death.

The woman grimaced at the way he held her gaze and then spoke. “Sometimes I have to climb that hill.” She said quietly and touched his hand to soften her words. It was the hard truth of how her world worked now, she had chosen this fight through connections and a need for a new role in the world.

"You can climb it," Matt countered, playful and yet quietly resolute as was his tendency. He hadn't developed the capacity to be demanding, there had never been any need when he could drift into obscurity and maintain control without anyone even realising he held the strings. He was stubborn, however, in the gentle, uncompromising way that a mountain sat within the landscape and determined the horizon. He gave her hand a squeeze. "Just no dying on it."

"I shall try my best." She laughed and touched his hand softly. She was not planning to go anywhere, but things sometimes were out of her control. "But until then I shall do the dishes, clean the kitchen and mark some Year 8 history homework."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," Matt laughed quietly, his eyes swiveling towards the clock on the wall. Several wolfed mouthfuls later and he rose, holding the last of his breakfast in one hand as he dumped the empty plate into the sink and stooped to steal a kiss on the way to grab his helmet and jacket. "I'll call you before I leave work," he promised, a habit he had fallen into as much to reassure himself as to keep Phoebe up-to-date with his movements. She hadn't failed to recognise him yet but time spent apart always held the possibility. "There's beer in the fridge if you need it," he called back on the way towards the back door.

If Matt's recollection of his own high school essays was anything to go by, he probably should have mentioned the whiskey in the top cupboard too.