09-29-2009, 11:03 AM
Riot Force Reports
Scar Tissue
(a Dark Reflections story)
by Sofaspud
It hurts so much, seeing the two of them together. Lisa and Terrence, I mean, leading the charge through the caverns underneath parts of the city where the
Council hid. Oh, sure, there were others along. Don't ask me their names, though. Once Lisa had shown up at the staging area, I'd forgotten about
everyone else.
I know I'm acting like a moth circling a flame. Edging closer, drawing back. I tease Terrence, then cower before Lisa's disapproving glance. I
can't stand having her mad at me. Some part of me still loves her. Some part of me always will.
But to her, I'm just... a copy. A clone. A twisted reflection of the original -- her Rhea, the Crazy One, my twin sister by some strange twist of magic
and insanity. But Lisa loves her... had loved me, before we split into two... and I know firsthand the depths of her loyalty.
I'm not going to be able to change Lisa's mind. So I circle.
And I know, someday, I'll drift too close and get burned, just like that moth.
"Good job, everyone," Terrence said, dusting off his massive hands. I knew the gesture well. I knew his hands well. I knew --
Stop it, girl, I chided myself, as I'd been doing all afternoon.
"Well done," Lisa added, stretching to work a kink out of her neck. I watched her pulse jump in her throat and licked my suddenly dry lips.
"Task Force Copper is complete."
"Yeah, great work," I muttered, but my heart wasn't in it and I doubt if anyone else heard me.
We said our goodbyes there, outside the smoking remains of the last secret Council base where Vandal and his minions had been hiding, and the team dissolved.
I watched Terrence and Lisa walk away -- Terrence, the big lunk, turned and gave me a friendly smile, and I felt myself smiling in response -- and when they
reached the end of the block Lisa leaned her head on his shoulder and that was it, that was all I could take.
The whole Task Force, running from one fight to another, I'd behaved. Lisa said 'hands off', so my hands were kept off. I didn't even tease
them -- or at least, not much. But seeing the easy way she rested against him, the way his arm naturally fell around her waist, was too much for me to handle.
I took to the air, tearing the very molecules apart with my gravity field to propel myself up. Away. Anywhere but where I could see them together and
remember what I no longer had.
I slammed into the apartment -- bunker would be a better term, I thought, not for the first time -- that Sword and I were sharing and found it empty.
Good.
Despite my mood I had the presence of mind to disarm the security system before it fried me. Sword values his privacy more than most folks; when I'd come
to live with him, I'd sensed how hesitant he had been about sharing his private space with anyone, much less with me. But even he had to admit
that it was better this way. After that night in Striga, when I'd realized what that devious bastard was up to and he'd admitted it to me --
"Finally," he said. I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Now I can begin your training."
"Don't go easy on me," I warned him.
"I won't."
-- it would have been just plain silly for us to live separately. Sword is many things, but silly is not one of them. And his training methods were...
unique. I'd become better in every respect in just the past few months, I knew. I also knew I still wasn't good enough. For him, or for me.
I made my way down the hall to the bathroom -- plain, spartan, austere, functional -- and spent the next fifteen or so minutes in the shower, letting the
scalding water pound my skin as I tried to regain my composure. Sword would be disappointed, probably; I knew I was. I was supposed to be better than this,
better than her, but here I was pining over them all over again.
"Damn," I muttered into the wall, and shut off the shower. I stepped out and stared flatly at Sword past the barrel of a large pistol aimed
unwaveringly at my forehead.
"Sloppy of you," he commented. The pistol didn't move.
"Pull the trigger and I let go," I replied. "The door shut behind you when you came in; I felt the draft stop. We'll go out together, like
Romeo and Juliet. Except messier."
He followed my glance to see a grenade with the pin already removed hovering placidly in midair in a focused well of gravity, between the door and the wall, in
the corner where the backswing of the door wouldn't bump it and up near the ceiling to avoid notice and maximize shrapnel dispersal.
Just like he'd taught me.
"You held that all through the shower?" he asked, lowering the hammer with a soft click.
"Yeah," I replied. I reached back into the shower and retrieved the pin from the soap ledge. "See?"
"Good," he acknowledged, tucking the weapon away somewhere on his person -- I think. All I can say for certain is it vanished.
"Sword?" I said levelly.
He looked at me. "Yes?"
"Hand me the towel?"
If some perverse corner of my mind had been hoping for a reaction, it was disappointed. He merely nodded and handed me the towel. His eyes dipped down,
taking in my entire body in a swift, smooth motion, down to my toes and back up again... but it was a clinical glance. There was no flicker in his eyes to
indicate ... anything.
I took the towel and began to work on my hair. Sword watched for a moment, then turned and left.
I wasn't shy -- never had been, honestly, and what little modesty I'd kept from childhood had been beaten out of me by the Army. They can talk about
privacy and segregated facilities -- bathrooms -- and that junk all they like, but when you got right down to it, you learned that skin was just skin whether
you were male or female. Barracks life didn't leave room for trivialities like personal modesty.
All the same, it bugged me on some level that Sword hadn't reacted. Was it his iron self-control? Was he gay? Was I just that ugly? Were they starting
to sag?
Stop being such a girl, Rhea, I told myself firmly. Finished with the drying, I stuck the pin back in the grenade, bounced it on my palm a few times,
then tucked it away behind the toilet paper where it belonged. I flipped the towel over my shoulders, gathered my tights from the floor -- wrinkling my nose
at the sweaty feel -- and headed towards my bedroom.
I came back out wearing a Paragon Knights t-shirt that fell halfway down my hips, a pair of stretchy bike shorts, and socks to ward off the chill of the
hardwood floors. I peeked in the kitchen to see that Sword had made himself more comfortable as well, if you counted taking off his armor and boots as getting
comfortable. For him I suppose it was. He was at the stove, and whatever he was cooking was making my mouth water.
I guess I'm lucky. All the men in my life -- that bastard Danny, big teddy-bear Terrence, and now Sword -- have been excellent cooks. Which is a good
thing, because I'm not. I can fix a busted-down Ford with a Leatherman and baling wire -- and what, I thought irreverently, would Lisa and Terr think of
that little tidbit? -- but confronted with a stove and ingredients, I ... don't do so well. Sword had taken over the cooking chores after the first week.
Originally we'd been on a rotation, all nice and organized. And according to him, I needed to learn how to cook, at least, as he put it, "enough to
fake it long enough to get close to your target."
I still can't decide if it was the almost-stew or the Cracker Casserole that changed his mind. In my defense, it seemed reasonable at the time. The
recipe for the casserole called for bread crumbs, which we were out of. Crushed saltine crackers would work instead, right?
Yeah, not so much.
Oh, it was edible -- I'm not a poisonous cook -- but it was saltier than lox. You couldn't taste anything else.
So these days Sword did the cooking, while I handled the cleaning. As usual with Sword, it was multi-layered. Everything, it seemed, could be a training
method, and now that he was actively and openly teaching me, the variety of ways he had to get his point across was startling. I was never sure if he had it
all planned out, or if he was just really damn good at improvising.
I turned away from the kitchen, suddenly realizing that I'd been staring at Sword's back for who knows how long, watching the play of rock-hard muscle
under his thin black undershirt --
Gah.
Okay, girl, it's cleaning time, I told myself firmly. Not that there was much to clean, but it was the principle of the thing, and Sword said I
needed the practice. In my more honest moments with myself I could admit he was right -- he always was, it seemed -- but it didn't make it more fun.
I stood in the middle of the main room -- living room, den, dining room, you-name-it -- and concentrated. Too much, at first; the coffee table rattled and
started to rise, and I hastily backed down on the power I was feeding my gravity field.
I don't know exactly how it works. It's magic. I've been forced to conclude that I may never fully understand it. I can't cast spells --
according to MAGI, anyway, and I get the feeling they're right -- and I don't know exactly how I achieve all the effects that I do. I've got magic
burning in my gut, and I can shape it, is all. Just like the Crazy One, but good luck getting her to admit that.
I scowled and pushed the thoughts away. I'd been reduced to sweeping and dusting by hand too many times before; this time, it would work.
Something was going to go right today, dammit.
I let my field spread out and gave it the tiniest of nudges. Around the room, a thin haze of dust rose into the air, the small particles responding to my
field while the more massive items wobbled but stayed put. Holding my breath, I shaped the field into a sphere, drawing all that dust, hair, and God knows
what else into a small black ping-pong ball in front of my face.
Then I squeezed, hard. A trickle of sweat rose on my forehead as the sphere shrank. I could see the heatwaves rising from the rippling surface as I
compressed the waste material. The ball shrank down to the size and density of a marble, and I released the field, catching the tiny orb in my hand. It was
hot, and I bounced it from hand to hand for a moment as it rapidly cooled, then added it to the jar on the end table, where a half-dozen other small black orbs
rested.
Then I grinned. I was just congratulating myself when Sword's voice reached my ears:
"Not bad."
"Thanks!" I said, whirling to face him. He lounged in the archway, leaning against the frame. I forced myself to meet his eyes, rather than looking
down at the way his chest stretched the cotton taut. Dammit, what was wrong with me tonight?
"Dinner's ready," Sword noted. He vanished back into the kitchen.
"Right," I muttered, and, sighing, followed him.
I'd spent too long around Lisa and Terrence, that much was obvious. If freaking Sword was beginning to turn me on, then it was a problem. And
somehow I got the feeling the usual repertoire of toys in my bedside drawer weren't going to cut it. I was Frustrated with a capital F.
But it wasn't like I could just go out and tackle someone. Nor did I particularly want to. Despite my antics during Jackie's annual (monthly) Get
Naked, Fight Crime day -- back when there was only one of me -- I wasn't like that. Neither of us were, really; as insane as The Other Rhea was, I knew
she and I shared that much at least. I could call her many things, but slut wasn't one of them. We didn't need to love someone, but we had to be at
the very least really good friends with them before it was an option. Just the way I'm wired, I guess.
I shook my head to banish the images Sword's muscled torso had caused to spring up and set about fixing myself a plate. I'd never managed to pry out
of the man where he'd learned to cook so well, but somewhere along the line Sword had picked up a skillset that could have made him head chef at a
restaurant, easy. Tonight it was stuffed chicken breasts, pan-seared and dressed in a fragrant, creamy sauce of some sort, with a side of mushrooms and
peppers, and salad.
"You're spoiling me," I commented as I loaded my plate. An adventurous mushroom made a bid for freedom and without thinking I caught it and
floated it back up to plate level using my field.
"We've got a job tonight," he said by way of reply. I joined him at the table, where he'd laid out a variety of papers and photos. He
wielded knife and fork like pointers, alternately eating with neat, economical motions and pointing out key features of the job. I shook my head and did my
best to pay attention, using my finger to scoop up a trail of sauce as it tried to run down my chin. I licked it clean as I leaned over the photo stack and
craned my neck to see it from the proper angle.
"Is this a paying gig or a favor for the fey?" I asked after seeing the logo on the front of the building.
"Both," Sword replied flatly.
"It better be worth it," I noted. "You're the one who told me that Crey is known for holding grudges."
"We'll need to un-dye your hair," he said out of nowhere a few moments later. I blinked and tried not to choke on the mouthful of salad I was
chewing. When my mouth was clear I raised an eyebrow at him.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"Yes, but I'm waiting for you to make sense."
He frowned minutely. "It should be obvious. You dyed your hair black. We need to revert it to its natural color for this job." Then, after he
sipped at his water: "You should be able to find green tights readily enough, as well."
He said it casually. Too casually for my comfort. I suspected -- knew -- this was another test. The question was, what was the correct answer?
And... did I care?
I set my knife and fork down beside my plate and wiped at my mouth with my napkin while I thought about my response. I looked at Sword carefully. He was
eating with apparent unconcern; he'd made his point and that was all there was to it as far as he was concerned. But I wasn't at all sure if I wanted
to have any part in what I could only assume was a frame job.
"What are the terms of the contract?" I asked quietly. I wasn't sure why I wanted to save my twin the trouble, but if a loophole existed I knew
I had to try for it.
Sword nodded as if expecting the question. "We're to retrieve a set of encrypted files from one of their servers. It's not accessible from
outside networks. Silicon Sabre believes the information in the files is crucial, and as she doesn't have anyone in her organization able to mobilize in
the time left before the data is routinely purged, she turned to Riot Force. Ifrit approached me." He smiled, just a little. "So, yes, we're
getting paid, but at the 'family discount' rate."
"That doesn't explain why you want me to impersonate Emerald."
"So far, you and I have stayed off Crey's radar," he noted, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. "We need to stay that way. Your
evil stepsister, on the other hand, has caused enough trouble with them before that she's already on their 'most wanted' list. Obviously," he
added with a hint of wry humor, "she can survive the fallout." He selected a mushroom from his plate and impaled it on his fork. "That being
the case, it seems prudent to disguise our attack as something else. We're not endangering her any more than she already is just by virtue of what
she's already done, and we're keeping ourselves off the grid."
I sat back. That was more words at one time than I'd heard Sword use... well, probably ever. And it made sense. But there was one aspect he was
forgetting, and it was one that made my skin crawl.
And suddenly I knew what the test was. I knew. And I knew that I couldn't -- I wouldn't -- go through with it. There was no possible way
I'd do it.
"Okay," I heard myself say. "Don't forget the stuffed cat."
It's times like this that I think perhaps the Crazy One has the right of it. Because no way in hell was that my voice that just came out of my mouth.
The tiny smile tugging at Sword's lips, and the hint of pride in his eyes, told me that it was, and almost -- almost! -- made up for the terrifying fear
rolling through my mind at the thought of wearing that thing on my shoulder again.
Ordinarily I'd go to Second Skin... but that got really uncomfortable the last time, when the Crazy One decided to drop in while I was trying something on.
We didn't come to blows, and the store was still standing when we left, but neither of us want that to happen again. Because, well, I can look at myself
objectively in a mirror, but it's somehow creepy seeing another you wearing leather and lace, okay?
Since everyone likes her better, I decided to find another store. Since I'm a self-admitted clotheshorse and have a penchant for... interesting attire,
that wasn't easy. Turns out that the only store that she -- I? we? -- didn't frequent was... Icon.
Yeah, I know. The one-stop shop for hero costumes in the city, and I'd never bothered going there.
But Icon has some advantages. They're open round the clock, and they can handle hair as easily as they do everything else. Serge clucked over my hair --
"Sweetie, really, if you're going to dye it at least use a quality product." -- but in a little over an hour I was the spitting image of the
Crazy One.
As I stood there scowling at myself in the mirror, Serge approached with one of those god-forsaken ShoulderPets -- the Mr. Whiskers model, of course -- and
fastened it to my shoulder. He's used to strange requests and hadn't batted an eye when I asked him the mess the little furball up. The toy looked
like it had survived a Troll Rave... which was probably just about perfect, unless my twin's sewing skills had evolved farther than mine.
I thanked Serge and went back out front, to the regular customer service area. The back rooms were for private fittings and custom orders. There were a lot
of customers in the store today, but I'd come to realize that that was perfectly normal. Icon was a booming business, they just didn't cater to the
same crowd I was used to being part of.
"RHEA!" I had a split-second warning before being enveloped in a bear hug... by arms I instantly recognized. It was Terrence!
My brain screamed that this could not be happening even as my traitorous body responded the way I had wanted to since I first encountered Terrence again. I
squirmed in his grasp and before I realized what was going on I had my legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth locked in a kiss.
He broke it off with a chuckle. "Good to see you too," he said. "Where have you been? You're not answering your phone and your
beacon's off."
I thought frantically as I forced myself to unwind from him. I couldn't tell him that I wasn't the Rhea he thought I was, if I did that it would hurt
and anger Lisa. I didn't want to outright lie, though... Terrence wasn't the most clever man in the world, but he wasn't dumb. He could put two
and two together easily enough. I settled on the old standby and put on the cheerful, chipper expression I'd worn as a mask before that horrible day a
lifetime and not long enough ago.
"Oh, you know, out and about," I said brightly, trying not to flinch. I didn't want to lie to Terrence, or Lisa, I really didn't, but
he'd caught me off guard and now I had to try and brazen it out and hope he never found out the truth, because if he did... Lisa would never speak to me
again. Neither of them would.
I recognized the beginnings of an old-fashioned panic attack and ruthlessly squashed it. Focus!
"Doing a little shopping?" He grinned and lowered his voice. "I liked that costume you brought home last week... are you getting something
like that?"
"What, the Helpless Catgirl outfit?" I inquired. Terr's eyes bugged out.
"You... you got that?" he managed.
"Mmmaaaaybe," I said, and winked at him. This was too easy, it was coming back to me too easy, I had to get out of here before I lost it and became
the Crazy One for real. I gulped down the sudden wave of mixed longing and horror and leaned forward to put a finger on his lips. "I've got a little
bit more shopping to do before... tonight." I trailed the last word out slowly as I moved to embrace him. "You'll be ready, won't you,
Mister Hero, sir?" I breathed the last bit into his ear, inhaling his scent and squeezing my eyes shut. I couldn't let him see how much this hurt.
Terr grinned broadly. "Ohhh yeah, I'll be ready."
"See you later then," I whispered, and bit his ear lightly. What the hell, I was already in trouble if Lisa found out, so I might as well enjoy what
I could. Right?
Right?
I turned away quickly, so Terr wouldn't see the tears in my eyes, and left him grinning in the middle of the Icon store.
At ten minutes to go time, the night was cool and dark, with the wind whistling gently though my hair as I sat on the edge of the roof a block away, and
several stories up, from my target. The evil toy I'd left tucked in my satchel, hidden behind the grille of an air conditioning unit up here on the
otherwise-empty rooftop. I stared out over the city and took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Is there a problem?"
I turned to see Sword standing there, watching me. I wasn't sure how long he'd been there. I was never sure when he was going to pop up like that,
like a ghost out of nowhere. Most people found it hard to sneak up on me, due to my gravity field -- I could feel it around me at all times, like an extension
of my skin. But some folks managed to pass right through it without me noticing. Sword was one of them.
And I still couldn't figure out how.
"Yes," I admitted.
"Can you work past it?"
I nodded. Sword shrugged and began checking his weapons. That was it. No further pressing, no overt concern -- he trusted that I was telling him the truth.
He trusted me.
That means a lot to me. At times I hated him, and at other times I thought of him as a friend, as a mentor, as a teacher, as a partner... but always, since
that first day when he'd kept me out of the Zig, I'd trusted him. Even that night in the desert, on some level I'd still trusted him, even if I
had lashed out at him for leaving me alone in the village with our enemies.
It had taken me a while to realize what that had meant. Sure, it had been a test... but it also meant that Sword trusted me to handle myself. That he
didn't feel the need to loom protectively over my shoulder all the time. It was an amazing feeling. It also scared me -- a lot. Sword doesn't trust
people. If there was one thing, just one sentence, you could use to describe the man, that would be it.
But he trusted me.
Of all people, why in God's name would he trust me? I hadn't yet figured that out.
"It's time," Sword said, breaking into my thoughts. I nodded again and retrieved the toy, affixing it to my shoulder where Emerald always let
the demon ride and trying not to shudder. Sword and I checked each other over quickly -- I tugged his harness tight across the back where it was hard to
reach, he straightened the seams on the back of my tights -- and we stepped together over the edge of the roof, letting ourselves plummet towards the ground so
far below.
Just before we would have become twin obituaries, Sword ignited his boot jets and I bent gravity to my will. We slowed and touched down, cutting off our
respective flight abilities before Sword melted holes into the asphalt or I made the pavement crack from the stress bands. Then Sword vanished with the
short-lived, high-pitched whine of his cloaking field. I took a deep breath, counted to thirty to give him time to get into position...
... then I put Emerald on like a mask and strutted towards the building like I belonged there, giving a friendly wink to the startled guard as I approached.
I -- we -- can be sexy when I put my mind to it. Sure, I'm a tomboy -- I used to play football with the boys before I got too old and they started getting
ideas -- but I enjoy being a girl, thank you, and biology and sheer luck had blessed me with a body that let me make the most of it when I wanted to.
And -- let's face it -- once they realize girls are girls, guys are so easy to mess with.
Well, most of them, anyway.
Lisa had never really been as comfortable with that idea as I was, I suspected. She knew what it meant to dress up and turn on the Walk, but she rarely did,
and wasn't very comfortable with it when she did. And I could understand that... but one does what one must, and often the easiest and most effective way
to get things done is to get big hairy guys to do it for you.
I like guys -- there's nothing quite like being held by big male arms -- but they've got a huge weak spot and any woman knows instinctively how to
attack it. Some of us do it consciously, is all.
All of which flashed through my head in a heartbeat as I reached the secure entranceway and the guard stared at me, gape-mouthed. "T-this is a secure
area,' he managed to stammer.
"I know," I told him, smiling seductively and cocking my head.
"You can't, you can't be here," he continued.
I leaned towards him. "I won't be long." He blinked -- then his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped.
"Took you long enough," I grumbled into thin air. Sword's voice reached me through my earbud a moment later.
"Crey has added neck protection to their armor," he noted. "Had to find a spot to stick him."
I gathered my concentration and cranked up the output. The old adage about riding a bike held true. After a few moments, my hands were surrounded by glowing
green energy.
Just like before. Just like Emerald.
With a little luck, nobody would realize it wasn't the lethal levels I used to pump out. I'd refined my power from after the split. She and I could
do the same things, but the last thing I'd wanted was to be that close a duplicate of her. Bad enough I shared the same body and voice. So
I'd concentrated in other areas.
As long as I didn't use any overt tricks with gravity -- my specialty, and the area where The Crazy One hadn't bothered to go, except for her flight --
the use of radiation and my looks should make it easy enough for Crey to mis-identify me.
I blew the doors off their hinges with a big, flashy blast of radiation and a subtle push from my field, and strode through the wreckage. "Go," I
muttered over the comm. Alarms began to blare. I hurled a green fireball between the guards working the security desk and took to the air, darting down a
side passage and flinging blasts randomly about to keep them stirred up.
I was the distraction. I can be very distracting when I try.
Pretty soon I had the whole building riled up, like an ant nest being poked by a kid with a stick. I'd been attacked more times than I cared to think
about, but my gravity field deflected and absorbed most of it, and by using more twists than a belly dancer I'd made most of their shots miss. It
wasn't likely to last, of course, but Sword didn't need me to stay long, he just needed everyone looking the other way while he pilfered their
databank. I glanced at my watch and zigged when I should have zagged.
The Power Tank punished me for my mistake immediately, bringing both glowing fists down on my back as I flew in front, instead of behind, him. My field
absorbed some of it, but not enough; I bounced off the floor and lost what little concentration I needed to stay aloft. When I stopped rolling and skidding, I
was upside down in a vending machine at the end of the corridor.
"Ow," I observed a bit breathlessly.
The sound of weapons cocking greeted me, like a chorus. I craned my head and saw to either side several full squads, and more besides, filling the hallways.
"Status report," Sword whispered in my ear.
"Just fine," I subvocalized. "Get clear."
I could almost hear him hesitate... but he didn't press. He trusted me. "Moving out," he reported. "Explosives in sixty."
I let myself fall out of the vending machine and lay there on the ground for a moment as the world spun. "You know, boys," I said in a chipper tone,
"if you wanted me on my back you could have asked. Bought me dinner first. Something."
"Freeze!" said the tank, rather belatedly, I thought. "Don't move!"
"No, not freeze, silly," I replied. "You're not a Cryo Tank!"
I squeezed my eyes shut and let all the power I had loose, all at once, in a massive electromagnetic pulse. Then I scrambled woozily to my feet as the hall
went dark except for the sparks of excess energy coalescing from every jagged surface. Around me men twitched and writhed. Everybody in Crey's
employ is simply crawling with electronics and metallic devices... and I'd just delivered enough juice to make them feel like tinfoil in a microwave.
They'd be down for a few seconds, unless they'd been lucky enough to be shielded. I didn't care to stick around to find out. I ran -- actually
ran, instead of flew -- feeling the aching tingle in my gut that told me I'd seriously overdone it this time.
I made it to the entrance and out into open air seconds before parts of the building began to belch smoke and flame as Sword's explosives went off. I
half-ran, half-staggered down the street to the nearest alley, where I collapsed in a heap next to a Dumpster. Crey would have other things to worry about for
a while, and I needed time to recover.
Sword materialized next to me. "You made it."
I nodded, gasping.
"Can you walk?"
"Yeah," I managed. I struggled to my feet with an assist from Sword's left hand -- his right held his rifle at the ready -- and we moved out. I
couldn't keep a silly grin off my lips, as exhausted and beaten and ragged as I was.
He'd trusted me.
Even when you're expecting it, the flare of magic whispering across your skin is like the touch of a lover, making you shiver and tense with anticipation.
Unless, of course, it's your crazy other self. Then, it's more like having the creepy kid groping you -- you know, the one in high school that always
stinks and blinks too much and isn't quite right? Everybody knows one.
I knew Emerald was there the moment she walked in the door. I'm sure she felt it too, but that doesn't help make it more pleasant.
PJ's Grill and 24 Hour Family Restaurant -- just PJ's to us regulars -- was fast becoming a sort of neutral ground. I (we) had been here before the
split; the staff remembered me and assumed, how cute, you must be twins! Which was easier than explaining the truth, at least. But it's not easy to find
a quiet place in this city. And PJ's was nothing if not that. I honestly had no clue how they stayed afloat, considering that I rarely saw more
than half a dozen people in the place at once. But somehow they did, and they had decent coffee and a biscuits-and-gravy platter that we would cheerfully
commit murder for.
Neither of us were willing to give that up... so we didn't. I'd given up Second Skin; Emerald had given up Jello Night at the D. But PJ's was not
on the table. So we both continued to come here, and if one of us happened to be here when the other arrived... we dealt with it. Usually by staying as far
from each other as possible.
Not today, of course. I winced as the magic reflection of myself that was The Crazy One hesitated just inside the door, then headed straight towards me. I
set down my mug and turned to face her.
"Damp it down, will you?" I said as she approached. "I've had a rough night." Which was true. After the escape from Crey Central,
Sword and I had dropped off the package and he'd vanished for points unknown. I should have curled up in a little ball of misery in my bed, but, damn it,
all I'd really felt like doing at that moment was something I couldn't have, and sleep wasn't an option. So after a couple hours of frustrated
contemplation of the ceiling I'd decided if I couldn't have the sensual pleasure I truly wanted I'd make do with another. Food.
Fortunately my metabolism is such that I can do things like that and not have to worry overmuch about it. Being a full-time punching bag for the criminal
class probably has something to do with that, too.
"I'll bet," Emerald spat, drawing my attention back, and I raised an eyebrow. Even I didn't want to have to deal with myself if she
lost control. The barracks and, hell, the lower levels of the Portal Corp. building all attested to what happened when little ol' Rhea lost it. My eyes
flickered to the monkey on her back, and I noted with some relief that she might be a bit pissy, but she wasn't as truly mad as her voice sounded. Mr.
Whiskers wasn't wearing his Angry Eyes. Yet.
"Okay, what is it this time?" I sighed. "Are you butt-hurt that I joined a task force with Lisa and Terr?"
Sometimes I wonder if it's possible for her and I to have a normal conversation. Not that I particularly want to, but I hadn't intended to come across
that bitchy, either. It just slips out that way.
She frowned at me. "No."
Made sense. She didn't have to be jealous of me, she had it all -- arrgh. Stop it, Rhea!
"Then what's the deal?" I waved at the bench on the other side of the table. "Sit down already, and clamp down a bit, will you?
You're making the silverware rattle."
"You said you'd leave Terr alone," she blurted, sliding into the seat.
I raised a finger. "I said I wouldn't pester him seriously. I can still tease him." I looked at her steadily. "And that's
all I've done. No matter how much I want to do more."
She drummed her fingers on the table, glaring at me. "I wasn't at Icon last night."
I winced.
"What are you up to? I... after all that stuff with Danny... you say you remember it too, why are you doing this?" She blinked back tears.
"I don't know what you mean," I told her.
"Oh, please," she snorted, and glanced pointedly at my hair. "How long have you been dressing up like me? And you call me
crazy," she added.
I took a deep breath. "Last night was the first time. And will be the last."
She folded her arms and turned away. "Did you enjoy yourself at least?" she asked bitterly.
I scowled. "Will you please try and make some sense? You think I like pretending to be you?"
"It got you Terr, didn't it? What's next? Lisa too? You're going to take them both from me?"
"Okay, you are nuts," I replied. "What the hell are you talking about? I saw Terr, yeah. I gave him a hug. And it sucks!" I
gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut, promising myself I would not cry, not in front of her. "I hugged him and I gave him a kiss and he
thought I was you and you know as well as I do if Lisa ever finds out, that's it! I won't even have them as friends anymore! But it's been so
long, and I couldn't stop myself, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I kissed him, okay? And it would have been great, but he thought
I was YOU! He went home -- to YOU! You've still got them, you crazy bitch... all I've got is the occasional team and a smile and wave in the D... and
now I won't even have that!"
We sniffled at each other for a minute.
"I... I'm sorry," Emerald finally said. "Terr didn't come over last night. I got a message on my phone, he mentioned wanting to see my
new costume from Icon, and... I'm sorry."
I didn't say anything, I just nodded, swirling my coffee. I wasn't hungry any more. My stomach was a cold, hard lump.
"If you weren't trying to take Terr and Lisa... why were you dressed up like me?"
I scowled. "You pick the most annoying times to be rational, you know that?"
"I've been told that before."
I snorted. Yeah, I remembered. I shook my head. "Look, it... doesn't matter, really. Just keep an eye out for Crey ambushes for the next little
while."
Emerald stared at me for a moment, then giggled. "Oh, that sounds interesting."
I sat back and closed my eyes again. "Not really." I sighed. "Look, I wasn't joking about the rough night, and I only wish it
had been because of what you were assuming. You suppose maybe we can cut this reunion short? I don't know about you, sis, but whenever you're around
my gut does the masochism tango."
I could tell from the sounds she made that she was sliding out of the booth. She paused there, standing beside the table. "I won't tell Lisa,"
she stated. "As long as it doesn't happen again. Everyone gets a second chance. Right?"
The knot in my stomach unclenched a little. Sure, I didn't need them, I didn't need anybody, I could make it just fine on my own... but I still loved
them. I didn't want them to hate me. "Thanks," I said quietly, opening my eyes.
"No problem." She paused and cocked her head, looking at me appraisingly. "You really do look like you've had a tough run of it. Here,
let me help a little," Emerald said. Before I could react -- to tell her no way in hell, most likely -- she triggered off two abilities I remembered all
too well. The blue and green pulses bathed both of us and spread out to the rest of the restaurant, where startled gasps and exclamations bore witness to the
effects.
I knew the other effects also, the ones that Lisa and I had made shameless use of on long loving nights, and gulped as the sudden burst of warmth
flooded my body. Every nerve was tingling, every muscle taut; I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My fingernails dug into the formica tabletop.
Emerald leaned down close and whispered in my ear. "Now, we're even."
"Not... fair," I managed.
She giggled and fled.
I'm really a bitch sometimes.
When I got home, Sword was there. He sat at one end of the couch, notebook on his knee and pencil in hand. The TV was split-screened into, at a quick guess,
something like ten or twelve different stations, most of them news and some in languages I didn't recognize. The sound was off and subtitles sprouted like
weeds. Information overload... for most folks. I didn't imagine Sword had any problem with it at all. There are times I wonder if he's actually a
machine.
With a small grin, I noted that one of the stations was Saturday morning cartoons, and discounted the machine theory -- again.
"Morning," Sword grunted, eyes never leaving the hodgepodge of data on the screen. I nodded my own greeting and collapsed gracelessly into the big
comfy armchair that I'd claimed as 'my' seat.
Sword does this every morning, or at least, every morning he's home and I'm conscious enough at this hour to notice what is going on. He isn't a
morning person, I don't think -- but then, he isn't really an anything sort of person. Sword just is, like the tides and the sunrise. Trying to
assign traits to him that 'normal' people have only gives you a headache.
I watched him scribble a bit of something into his notebook. I'd sneaked a peek once, when he was in the shower and (I thought) had forgotten to put it
away. Most of it was full of writing that I couldn't make sense of. It wasn't like the magic runes the Circle freaks put on everything, and it
wasn't like any language I recognized. It wasn't shorthand that I could recognize, and some of it seemed unlikely at best. If I had to describe it,
I'd say it was like someone threw a Russian dictionary in the blender and made a Sanskrit souffle out of the resulting liquid. The one page I could read
told me in plain English to stop snooping, at which point I'd tossed the notebook back on the table and stomped off to beat up some Hellions.
"You look twitchy," Sword observed without looking my direction. I hate when he does things like that. I wish I knew how he did it.
"Ran into the Crazy One," I offered after a moment. He nodded.
"Nothing on the news," he pointed out. "It stayed calm, I take it."
"Yeah, sure, except for her cranking my spring," I muttered, sinking lower into my seat. Sword finally glanced my way, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't ask," I told him, waving a hand. I wasn't embarrassed, exactly. It was just hard to accept the fact that I had turned myself on.
Deliberately.
Well. It wasn't like she'd come on to me or anything. It was just... unnerving, I suppose. I guess I had nobody but myself -- literally --
to blame, though. Hoist by your own retard, or something like that.
Sword set his notebook aside and picked up the remote. I stared at the flickering images as he collapsed it down to four channels -- one of them still
cartoons, the classic "Wabbit Season! Duck Season!" episode, if Daffy's soot-blackened face and thoughtful expression were anything to go by.
Stock market info played on another, and the other two were CNN and BBC, respectively. Sword wasn't obsessed with the news or anything, no sirree.
For a while we stared at the screen in silence. I found myself drawn away from it over and over again, running my eyes over Sword's lean frame. If he
noticed, I couldn't tell -- but I imagine he did. He always noticed.
Driven by some urge -- that same impish urge that led me to join in on the Get Naked, Fight Crime day and other similar adventures -- I rose to my feet to
stand in front of him, just a couple of feet away. I looked at him. He looked back at me.
What the hell. Go for it, girl.
"You're blocking the TV," he pointed out.
I reached down and caught the edge of my t-shirt, and drew it over my head in one quick motion and dropping it at my feet. I noted with a bit of pleasure that
his eyes widened fractionally. I'd surprised him!
"There are better things to watch than TV," I pointed out, shaking out my hair and reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. I shrugged out of it
and let it fall to the side.
Sword cleared his throat. "You're not behaving like yourself, Rhea."
"For once," I said, and realized I was being truthful even as I heard myself say it, "for once I think I really am."
My hands went to the waist of my jeans, unbuttoning them, and Sword stood. I froze as his hands -- his deceptive hands, soft and mostly un-calloused, but with
steel cable underneath -- gripped my upper arms tightly, almost painfully. I tried not to gasp. His face was only inches from mine.
"Stop," he said quietly. "You're letting yourself get out of control."
My fingers stopped working on the zipper and I let my hands fall. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. He was right.
He was usually right, damn him.
Acting on their own, my hands came up and slid behind his back, and I pulled him into a hug. Tears leaked from my eyes. Sword stiffened for a moment, then
let go of my arms and slowly returned the embrace, his hands flat and warm against my bare back.
"I ... just... hold me?" I asked. Begged, really.
"You don't need it," he reminded me.
"No," I admitted, "but I want it."
I tried to keep the sob out of my voice, but I think he heard it anyway.
"You don't want me," he said with certainty. "Trust me."
Standing there, surrounded by Sword's arms, feeling him pressed against my naked chest, his breath tickling my ear, I thought about what he said. In one
sense, he was right. I didn't love him -- at least, not romantically. And if I was being honest, not really at all. Maybe -- maybe -- like a
friend. Not like a brother, we weren't that close... even though we were, in some ways, closer than any siblings ever could be.
But what had love ever done for me?
I'd loved Danny. The bastard had tried to destroy my life, and in the end, to kill me. Ironically, if he'd done it the other way around, he'd
probably have succeeded. Sword had saved me from that, though at the time I was still too addled to realize it. And looking back without the rose-colored
glasses, loving Danny had never been about anything but pain -- physically, when we were together, and emotionally, afterwards. Oh, I'd loved him... but
to him, I'd never been anything more than a convenient source of agony... and worse, I'd liked it, almost.
I'd loved -- and still did -- Lisa and Terrence. But they had a version of me, still -- the Crazy One -- and didn't believe that I was really
'their' Rhea. There were times I thought they didn't really believe that Emerald and I were even the same person... and who could blame them?
Loving them had brought me joy, true, but in the end it had all come crashing down and the pain was twice as bad as before. If Danny had still been alive,
he'd have enjoyed the whole mess, I was sure.
No, I didn't want love. I wasn't sure I even believed in it any more.
What I wanted was ... companionship. A friend, I guess. Someone I could trust.
I found myself laughing softly.
"Rhea?" Sword's voice carried a hint of uncertainty with it.
"I'm fine," I said, squeezing him tighter. I took a deep breath. "I'm fine," I repeated. "I just... realized
something."
He drew his head back and gave me a questioning look.
"Look, Sword, you're right, in a way." I chuckled. "You usually are, you jerk."
He nodded, the flat mask in his eyes hiding any hint of his thoughts.
"You're also wrong," I added. "I do want you, Sword. I have for a long time." I drew my head back just a bit, to be able to
look him in the eye, and smiled, though I knew it probably looked odd with the tear tracks fresh on my face. "I don't want to love you, and I
don't want you to love me... but that's not a problem for you, is it."
It wasn't really a question.
He looked at me oddly, then his lips twisted in a small, wry grin. "Not really, no," he conceded. The grin vanished and the cold emotionless man
I'd become familiar with was back. He opened his mouth to say something, probably about me just being frustrated or that anybody would do or, if he was
feeling sadistic, that what I really wanted was with Emerald right now, and I cut him off with a sharp look.
"Don't even say it. I don't want love. I don't want drama. I don't want fucking emotion," I almost yelled. Forcing
myself to calm down a little, I continued, "What I want... is you. Right now. Here in the living room, your bedroom, mine, the kitchen, I don't
care. No strings, I promise."
He looked at me warily.
"I've had all that shit before," I told him. "It's never ended well. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm too messed up to have a normal
relationship, and the damned toy was just a symptom of it. Maybe I just have really crappy luck. I don't know... but the one thing I do know is, I need
someone I can trust to not get emotional about... things. More than that... I need someone I can trust to make sure I don't get all messed up
again." I swallowed hard at the thought. "You've saved my life dozens of times, Sword. I've saved yours. You're the only person I
know who I can trust to be exactly what they appear to be... and I need that."
For a long time, he just looked at me. I began to feel a bit silly, and worried. What if I'd completely misread him? He might well be contemplating how
quickly he could get to a weapon right now -- I knew that he kept them conveniently scattered around the house in part because he needed to be able to put me
down should I lose control again. He'd said as much to my face, and I'd both hated and thanked him for it.
"Unless... unless you don't want me like... that," I finally added. I hadn't even considered that, but it was starting to seem
likely. "I --"
"What you need," he interrupted, "is to relax."
I blinked at him... and he smiled. Faintly, but it was there. "Well, can you think of a better way?" I asked him, pressing closer.
"Several," he noted clinically. "Care to tell me why none are applicable right now?"
I could tell from the way he was standing -- more exactly, the way he was trying to keep his lower body from getting too close to mine -- that Sword had
enjoyed what he'd just seen, and was still enjoying having me pressed up against him. And it was very, very nice for me, too. Emerald's dirty trick
aside, it had been a long time since I'd felt anyone's touch, and I could feel my body humming in anticipation.
I decided Sword was just being Sword. The man is difficult on purpose.
I leaned forward and kissed him, meeting no resistance, sliding my hands up under his shirt, slipping them deftly past the concealed knives and drawing my
fingernails down his spine. I pulled back a little more and tugged at the cloth. "You're wearing too many clothes," I noted playfully.
"Rhea."
I stopped and looked at him.
"Are you certain you want to do this?" Sword's face showed uncharacteristic concern.
I leaned forward, touching my forehead against his and staring into his eyes as my hands rested on his waist. "Trust me," I whispered fiercely,
"right now there's nothing I want more." I scowled at him. "Now, will you shut up and get your shirt off before I rip it off you?"
He grinned. "Just making sure."
--sofaspud--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Scar Tissue
(a Dark Reflections story)
by Sofaspud
It hurts so much, seeing the two of them together. Lisa and Terrence, I mean, leading the charge through the caverns underneath parts of the city where the
Council hid. Oh, sure, there were others along. Don't ask me their names, though. Once Lisa had shown up at the staging area, I'd forgotten about
everyone else.
I know I'm acting like a moth circling a flame. Edging closer, drawing back. I tease Terrence, then cower before Lisa's disapproving glance. I
can't stand having her mad at me. Some part of me still loves her. Some part of me always will.
But to her, I'm just... a copy. A clone. A twisted reflection of the original -- her Rhea, the Crazy One, my twin sister by some strange twist of magic
and insanity. But Lisa loves her... had loved me, before we split into two... and I know firsthand the depths of her loyalty.
I'm not going to be able to change Lisa's mind. So I circle.
And I know, someday, I'll drift too close and get burned, just like that moth.
"Good job, everyone," Terrence said, dusting off his massive hands. I knew the gesture well. I knew his hands well. I knew --
Stop it, girl, I chided myself, as I'd been doing all afternoon.
"Well done," Lisa added, stretching to work a kink out of her neck. I watched her pulse jump in her throat and licked my suddenly dry lips.
"Task Force Copper is complete."
"Yeah, great work," I muttered, but my heart wasn't in it and I doubt if anyone else heard me.
We said our goodbyes there, outside the smoking remains of the last secret Council base where Vandal and his minions had been hiding, and the team dissolved.
I watched Terrence and Lisa walk away -- Terrence, the big lunk, turned and gave me a friendly smile, and I felt myself smiling in response -- and when they
reached the end of the block Lisa leaned her head on his shoulder and that was it, that was all I could take.
The whole Task Force, running from one fight to another, I'd behaved. Lisa said 'hands off', so my hands were kept off. I didn't even tease
them -- or at least, not much. But seeing the easy way she rested against him, the way his arm naturally fell around her waist, was too much for me to handle.
I took to the air, tearing the very molecules apart with my gravity field to propel myself up. Away. Anywhere but where I could see them together and
remember what I no longer had.
I slammed into the apartment -- bunker would be a better term, I thought, not for the first time -- that Sword and I were sharing and found it empty.
Good.
Despite my mood I had the presence of mind to disarm the security system before it fried me. Sword values his privacy more than most folks; when I'd come
to live with him, I'd sensed how hesitant he had been about sharing his private space with anyone, much less with me. But even he had to admit
that it was better this way. After that night in Striga, when I'd realized what that devious bastard was up to and he'd admitted it to me --
"Finally," he said. I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Now I can begin your training."
"Don't go easy on me," I warned him.
"I won't."
-- it would have been just plain silly for us to live separately. Sword is many things, but silly is not one of them. And his training methods were...
unique. I'd become better in every respect in just the past few months, I knew. I also knew I still wasn't good enough. For him, or for me.
I made my way down the hall to the bathroom -- plain, spartan, austere, functional -- and spent the next fifteen or so minutes in the shower, letting the
scalding water pound my skin as I tried to regain my composure. Sword would be disappointed, probably; I knew I was. I was supposed to be better than this,
better than her, but here I was pining over them all over again.
"Damn," I muttered into the wall, and shut off the shower. I stepped out and stared flatly at Sword past the barrel of a large pistol aimed
unwaveringly at my forehead.
"Sloppy of you," he commented. The pistol didn't move.
"Pull the trigger and I let go," I replied. "The door shut behind you when you came in; I felt the draft stop. We'll go out together, like
Romeo and Juliet. Except messier."
He followed my glance to see a grenade with the pin already removed hovering placidly in midair in a focused well of gravity, between the door and the wall, in
the corner where the backswing of the door wouldn't bump it and up near the ceiling to avoid notice and maximize shrapnel dispersal.
Just like he'd taught me.
"You held that all through the shower?" he asked, lowering the hammer with a soft click.
"Yeah," I replied. I reached back into the shower and retrieved the pin from the soap ledge. "See?"
"Good," he acknowledged, tucking the weapon away somewhere on his person -- I think. All I can say for certain is it vanished.
"Sword?" I said levelly.
He looked at me. "Yes?"
"Hand me the towel?"
If some perverse corner of my mind had been hoping for a reaction, it was disappointed. He merely nodded and handed me the towel. His eyes dipped down,
taking in my entire body in a swift, smooth motion, down to my toes and back up again... but it was a clinical glance. There was no flicker in his eyes to
indicate ... anything.
I took the towel and began to work on my hair. Sword watched for a moment, then turned and left.
I wasn't shy -- never had been, honestly, and what little modesty I'd kept from childhood had been beaten out of me by the Army. They can talk about
privacy and segregated facilities -- bathrooms -- and that junk all they like, but when you got right down to it, you learned that skin was just skin whether
you were male or female. Barracks life didn't leave room for trivialities like personal modesty.
All the same, it bugged me on some level that Sword hadn't reacted. Was it his iron self-control? Was he gay? Was I just that ugly? Were they starting
to sag?
Stop being such a girl, Rhea, I told myself firmly. Finished with the drying, I stuck the pin back in the grenade, bounced it on my palm a few times,
then tucked it away behind the toilet paper where it belonged. I flipped the towel over my shoulders, gathered my tights from the floor -- wrinkling my nose
at the sweaty feel -- and headed towards my bedroom.
I came back out wearing a Paragon Knights t-shirt that fell halfway down my hips, a pair of stretchy bike shorts, and socks to ward off the chill of the
hardwood floors. I peeked in the kitchen to see that Sword had made himself more comfortable as well, if you counted taking off his armor and boots as getting
comfortable. For him I suppose it was. He was at the stove, and whatever he was cooking was making my mouth water.
I guess I'm lucky. All the men in my life -- that bastard Danny, big teddy-bear Terrence, and now Sword -- have been excellent cooks. Which is a good
thing, because I'm not. I can fix a busted-down Ford with a Leatherman and baling wire -- and what, I thought irreverently, would Lisa and Terr think of
that little tidbit? -- but confronted with a stove and ingredients, I ... don't do so well. Sword had taken over the cooking chores after the first week.
Originally we'd been on a rotation, all nice and organized. And according to him, I needed to learn how to cook, at least, as he put it, "enough to
fake it long enough to get close to your target."
I still can't decide if it was the almost-stew or the Cracker Casserole that changed his mind. In my defense, it seemed reasonable at the time. The
recipe for the casserole called for bread crumbs, which we were out of. Crushed saltine crackers would work instead, right?
Yeah, not so much.
Oh, it was edible -- I'm not a poisonous cook -- but it was saltier than lox. You couldn't taste anything else.
So these days Sword did the cooking, while I handled the cleaning. As usual with Sword, it was multi-layered. Everything, it seemed, could be a training
method, and now that he was actively and openly teaching me, the variety of ways he had to get his point across was startling. I was never sure if he had it
all planned out, or if he was just really damn good at improvising.
I turned away from the kitchen, suddenly realizing that I'd been staring at Sword's back for who knows how long, watching the play of rock-hard muscle
under his thin black undershirt --
Gah.
Okay, girl, it's cleaning time, I told myself firmly. Not that there was much to clean, but it was the principle of the thing, and Sword said I
needed the practice. In my more honest moments with myself I could admit he was right -- he always was, it seemed -- but it didn't make it more fun.
I stood in the middle of the main room -- living room, den, dining room, you-name-it -- and concentrated. Too much, at first; the coffee table rattled and
started to rise, and I hastily backed down on the power I was feeding my gravity field.
I don't know exactly how it works. It's magic. I've been forced to conclude that I may never fully understand it. I can't cast spells --
according to MAGI, anyway, and I get the feeling they're right -- and I don't know exactly how I achieve all the effects that I do. I've got magic
burning in my gut, and I can shape it, is all. Just like the Crazy One, but good luck getting her to admit that.
I scowled and pushed the thoughts away. I'd been reduced to sweeping and dusting by hand too many times before; this time, it would work.
Something was going to go right today, dammit.
I let my field spread out and gave it the tiniest of nudges. Around the room, a thin haze of dust rose into the air, the small particles responding to my
field while the more massive items wobbled but stayed put. Holding my breath, I shaped the field into a sphere, drawing all that dust, hair, and God knows
what else into a small black ping-pong ball in front of my face.
Then I squeezed, hard. A trickle of sweat rose on my forehead as the sphere shrank. I could see the heatwaves rising from the rippling surface as I
compressed the waste material. The ball shrank down to the size and density of a marble, and I released the field, catching the tiny orb in my hand. It was
hot, and I bounced it from hand to hand for a moment as it rapidly cooled, then added it to the jar on the end table, where a half-dozen other small black orbs
rested.
Then I grinned. I was just congratulating myself when Sword's voice reached my ears:
"Not bad."
"Thanks!" I said, whirling to face him. He lounged in the archway, leaning against the frame. I forced myself to meet his eyes, rather than looking
down at the way his chest stretched the cotton taut. Dammit, what was wrong with me tonight?
"Dinner's ready," Sword noted. He vanished back into the kitchen.
"Right," I muttered, and, sighing, followed him.
I'd spent too long around Lisa and Terrence, that much was obvious. If freaking Sword was beginning to turn me on, then it was a problem. And
somehow I got the feeling the usual repertoire of toys in my bedside drawer weren't going to cut it. I was Frustrated with a capital F.
But it wasn't like I could just go out and tackle someone. Nor did I particularly want to. Despite my antics during Jackie's annual (monthly) Get
Naked, Fight Crime day -- back when there was only one of me -- I wasn't like that. Neither of us were, really; as insane as The Other Rhea was, I knew
she and I shared that much at least. I could call her many things, but slut wasn't one of them. We didn't need to love someone, but we had to be at
the very least really good friends with them before it was an option. Just the way I'm wired, I guess.
I shook my head to banish the images Sword's muscled torso had caused to spring up and set about fixing myself a plate. I'd never managed to pry out
of the man where he'd learned to cook so well, but somewhere along the line Sword had picked up a skillset that could have made him head chef at a
restaurant, easy. Tonight it was stuffed chicken breasts, pan-seared and dressed in a fragrant, creamy sauce of some sort, with a side of mushrooms and
peppers, and salad.
"You're spoiling me," I commented as I loaded my plate. An adventurous mushroom made a bid for freedom and without thinking I caught it and
floated it back up to plate level using my field.
"We've got a job tonight," he said by way of reply. I joined him at the table, where he'd laid out a variety of papers and photos. He
wielded knife and fork like pointers, alternately eating with neat, economical motions and pointing out key features of the job. I shook my head and did my
best to pay attention, using my finger to scoop up a trail of sauce as it tried to run down my chin. I licked it clean as I leaned over the photo stack and
craned my neck to see it from the proper angle.
"Is this a paying gig or a favor for the fey?" I asked after seeing the logo on the front of the building.
"Both," Sword replied flatly.
"It better be worth it," I noted. "You're the one who told me that Crey is known for holding grudges."
"We'll need to un-dye your hair," he said out of nowhere a few moments later. I blinked and tried not to choke on the mouthful of salad I was
chewing. When my mouth was clear I raised an eyebrow at him.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"Yes, but I'm waiting for you to make sense."
He frowned minutely. "It should be obvious. You dyed your hair black. We need to revert it to its natural color for this job." Then, after he
sipped at his water: "You should be able to find green tights readily enough, as well."
He said it casually. Too casually for my comfort. I suspected -- knew -- this was another test. The question was, what was the correct answer?
And... did I care?
I set my knife and fork down beside my plate and wiped at my mouth with my napkin while I thought about my response. I looked at Sword carefully. He was
eating with apparent unconcern; he'd made his point and that was all there was to it as far as he was concerned. But I wasn't at all sure if I wanted
to have any part in what I could only assume was a frame job.
"What are the terms of the contract?" I asked quietly. I wasn't sure why I wanted to save my twin the trouble, but if a loophole existed I knew
I had to try for it.
Sword nodded as if expecting the question. "We're to retrieve a set of encrypted files from one of their servers. It's not accessible from
outside networks. Silicon Sabre believes the information in the files is crucial, and as she doesn't have anyone in her organization able to mobilize in
the time left before the data is routinely purged, she turned to Riot Force. Ifrit approached me." He smiled, just a little. "So, yes, we're
getting paid, but at the 'family discount' rate."
"That doesn't explain why you want me to impersonate Emerald."
"So far, you and I have stayed off Crey's radar," he noted, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. "We need to stay that way. Your
evil stepsister, on the other hand, has caused enough trouble with them before that she's already on their 'most wanted' list. Obviously," he
added with a hint of wry humor, "she can survive the fallout." He selected a mushroom from his plate and impaled it on his fork. "That being
the case, it seems prudent to disguise our attack as something else. We're not endangering her any more than she already is just by virtue of what
she's already done, and we're keeping ourselves off the grid."
I sat back. That was more words at one time than I'd heard Sword use... well, probably ever. And it made sense. But there was one aspect he was
forgetting, and it was one that made my skin crawl.
And suddenly I knew what the test was. I knew. And I knew that I couldn't -- I wouldn't -- go through with it. There was no possible way
I'd do it.
"Okay," I heard myself say. "Don't forget the stuffed cat."
It's times like this that I think perhaps the Crazy One has the right of it. Because no way in hell was that my voice that just came out of my mouth.
The tiny smile tugging at Sword's lips, and the hint of pride in his eyes, told me that it was, and almost -- almost! -- made up for the terrifying fear
rolling through my mind at the thought of wearing that thing on my shoulder again.
Ordinarily I'd go to Second Skin... but that got really uncomfortable the last time, when the Crazy One decided to drop in while I was trying something on.
We didn't come to blows, and the store was still standing when we left, but neither of us want that to happen again. Because, well, I can look at myself
objectively in a mirror, but it's somehow creepy seeing another you wearing leather and lace, okay?
Since everyone likes her better, I decided to find another store. Since I'm a self-admitted clotheshorse and have a penchant for... interesting attire,
that wasn't easy. Turns out that the only store that she -- I? we? -- didn't frequent was... Icon.
Yeah, I know. The one-stop shop for hero costumes in the city, and I'd never bothered going there.
But Icon has some advantages. They're open round the clock, and they can handle hair as easily as they do everything else. Serge clucked over my hair --
"Sweetie, really, if you're going to dye it at least use a quality product." -- but in a little over an hour I was the spitting image of the
Crazy One.
As I stood there scowling at myself in the mirror, Serge approached with one of those god-forsaken ShoulderPets -- the Mr. Whiskers model, of course -- and
fastened it to my shoulder. He's used to strange requests and hadn't batted an eye when I asked him the mess the little furball up. The toy looked
like it had survived a Troll Rave... which was probably just about perfect, unless my twin's sewing skills had evolved farther than mine.
I thanked Serge and went back out front, to the regular customer service area. The back rooms were for private fittings and custom orders. There were a lot
of customers in the store today, but I'd come to realize that that was perfectly normal. Icon was a booming business, they just didn't cater to the
same crowd I was used to being part of.
"RHEA!" I had a split-second warning before being enveloped in a bear hug... by arms I instantly recognized. It was Terrence!
My brain screamed that this could not be happening even as my traitorous body responded the way I had wanted to since I first encountered Terrence again. I
squirmed in his grasp and before I realized what was going on I had my legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth locked in a kiss.
He broke it off with a chuckle. "Good to see you too," he said. "Where have you been? You're not answering your phone and your
beacon's off."
I thought frantically as I forced myself to unwind from him. I couldn't tell him that I wasn't the Rhea he thought I was, if I did that it would hurt
and anger Lisa. I didn't want to outright lie, though... Terrence wasn't the most clever man in the world, but he wasn't dumb. He could put two
and two together easily enough. I settled on the old standby and put on the cheerful, chipper expression I'd worn as a mask before that horrible day a
lifetime and not long enough ago.
"Oh, you know, out and about," I said brightly, trying not to flinch. I didn't want to lie to Terrence, or Lisa, I really didn't, but
he'd caught me off guard and now I had to try and brazen it out and hope he never found out the truth, because if he did... Lisa would never speak to me
again. Neither of them would.
I recognized the beginnings of an old-fashioned panic attack and ruthlessly squashed it. Focus!
"Doing a little shopping?" He grinned and lowered his voice. "I liked that costume you brought home last week... are you getting something
like that?"
"What, the Helpless Catgirl outfit?" I inquired. Terr's eyes bugged out.
"You... you got that?" he managed.
"Mmmaaaaybe," I said, and winked at him. This was too easy, it was coming back to me too easy, I had to get out of here before I lost it and became
the Crazy One for real. I gulped down the sudden wave of mixed longing and horror and leaned forward to put a finger on his lips. "I've got a little
bit more shopping to do before... tonight." I trailed the last word out slowly as I moved to embrace him. "You'll be ready, won't you,
Mister Hero, sir?" I breathed the last bit into his ear, inhaling his scent and squeezing my eyes shut. I couldn't let him see how much this hurt.
Terr grinned broadly. "Ohhh yeah, I'll be ready."
"See you later then," I whispered, and bit his ear lightly. What the hell, I was already in trouble if Lisa found out, so I might as well enjoy what
I could. Right?
Right?
I turned away quickly, so Terr wouldn't see the tears in my eyes, and left him grinning in the middle of the Icon store.
At ten minutes to go time, the night was cool and dark, with the wind whistling gently though my hair as I sat on the edge of the roof a block away, and
several stories up, from my target. The evil toy I'd left tucked in my satchel, hidden behind the grille of an air conditioning unit up here on the
otherwise-empty rooftop. I stared out over the city and took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Is there a problem?"
I turned to see Sword standing there, watching me. I wasn't sure how long he'd been there. I was never sure when he was going to pop up like that,
like a ghost out of nowhere. Most people found it hard to sneak up on me, due to my gravity field -- I could feel it around me at all times, like an extension
of my skin. But some folks managed to pass right through it without me noticing. Sword was one of them.
And I still couldn't figure out how.
"Yes," I admitted.
"Can you work past it?"
I nodded. Sword shrugged and began checking his weapons. That was it. No further pressing, no overt concern -- he trusted that I was telling him the truth.
He trusted me.
That means a lot to me. At times I hated him, and at other times I thought of him as a friend, as a mentor, as a teacher, as a partner... but always, since
that first day when he'd kept me out of the Zig, I'd trusted him. Even that night in the desert, on some level I'd still trusted him, even if I
had lashed out at him for leaving me alone in the village with our enemies.
It had taken me a while to realize what that had meant. Sure, it had been a test... but it also meant that Sword trusted me to handle myself. That he
didn't feel the need to loom protectively over my shoulder all the time. It was an amazing feeling. It also scared me -- a lot. Sword doesn't trust
people. If there was one thing, just one sentence, you could use to describe the man, that would be it.
But he trusted me.
Of all people, why in God's name would he trust me? I hadn't yet figured that out.
"It's time," Sword said, breaking into my thoughts. I nodded again and retrieved the toy, affixing it to my shoulder where Emerald always let
the demon ride and trying not to shudder. Sword and I checked each other over quickly -- I tugged his harness tight across the back where it was hard to
reach, he straightened the seams on the back of my tights -- and we stepped together over the edge of the roof, letting ourselves plummet towards the ground so
far below.
Just before we would have become twin obituaries, Sword ignited his boot jets and I bent gravity to my will. We slowed and touched down, cutting off our
respective flight abilities before Sword melted holes into the asphalt or I made the pavement crack from the stress bands. Then Sword vanished with the
short-lived, high-pitched whine of his cloaking field. I took a deep breath, counted to thirty to give him time to get into position...
... then I put Emerald on like a mask and strutted towards the building like I belonged there, giving a friendly wink to the startled guard as I approached.
I -- we -- can be sexy when I put my mind to it. Sure, I'm a tomboy -- I used to play football with the boys before I got too old and they started getting
ideas -- but I enjoy being a girl, thank you, and biology and sheer luck had blessed me with a body that let me make the most of it when I wanted to.
And -- let's face it -- once they realize girls are girls, guys are so easy to mess with.
Well, most of them, anyway.
Lisa had never really been as comfortable with that idea as I was, I suspected. She knew what it meant to dress up and turn on the Walk, but she rarely did,
and wasn't very comfortable with it when she did. And I could understand that... but one does what one must, and often the easiest and most effective way
to get things done is to get big hairy guys to do it for you.
I like guys -- there's nothing quite like being held by big male arms -- but they've got a huge weak spot and any woman knows instinctively how to
attack it. Some of us do it consciously, is all.
All of which flashed through my head in a heartbeat as I reached the secure entranceway and the guard stared at me, gape-mouthed. "T-this is a secure
area,' he managed to stammer.
"I know," I told him, smiling seductively and cocking my head.
"You can't, you can't be here," he continued.
I leaned towards him. "I won't be long." He blinked -- then his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped.
"Took you long enough," I grumbled into thin air. Sword's voice reached me through my earbud a moment later.
"Crey has added neck protection to their armor," he noted. "Had to find a spot to stick him."
I gathered my concentration and cranked up the output. The old adage about riding a bike held true. After a few moments, my hands were surrounded by glowing
green energy.
Just like before. Just like Emerald.
With a little luck, nobody would realize it wasn't the lethal levels I used to pump out. I'd refined my power from after the split. She and I could
do the same things, but the last thing I'd wanted was to be that close a duplicate of her. Bad enough I shared the same body and voice. So
I'd concentrated in other areas.
As long as I didn't use any overt tricks with gravity -- my specialty, and the area where The Crazy One hadn't bothered to go, except for her flight --
the use of radiation and my looks should make it easy enough for Crey to mis-identify me.
I blew the doors off their hinges with a big, flashy blast of radiation and a subtle push from my field, and strode through the wreckage. "Go," I
muttered over the comm. Alarms began to blare. I hurled a green fireball between the guards working the security desk and took to the air, darting down a
side passage and flinging blasts randomly about to keep them stirred up.
I was the distraction. I can be very distracting when I try.
Pretty soon I had the whole building riled up, like an ant nest being poked by a kid with a stick. I'd been attacked more times than I cared to think
about, but my gravity field deflected and absorbed most of it, and by using more twists than a belly dancer I'd made most of their shots miss. It
wasn't likely to last, of course, but Sword didn't need me to stay long, he just needed everyone looking the other way while he pilfered their
databank. I glanced at my watch and zigged when I should have zagged.
The Power Tank punished me for my mistake immediately, bringing both glowing fists down on my back as I flew in front, instead of behind, him. My field
absorbed some of it, but not enough; I bounced off the floor and lost what little concentration I needed to stay aloft. When I stopped rolling and skidding, I
was upside down in a vending machine at the end of the corridor.
"Ow," I observed a bit breathlessly.
The sound of weapons cocking greeted me, like a chorus. I craned my head and saw to either side several full squads, and more besides, filling the hallways.
"Status report," Sword whispered in my ear.
"Just fine," I subvocalized. "Get clear."
I could almost hear him hesitate... but he didn't press. He trusted me. "Moving out," he reported. "Explosives in sixty."
I let myself fall out of the vending machine and lay there on the ground for a moment as the world spun. "You know, boys," I said in a chipper tone,
"if you wanted me on my back you could have asked. Bought me dinner first. Something."
"Freeze!" said the tank, rather belatedly, I thought. "Don't move!"
"No, not freeze, silly," I replied. "You're not a Cryo Tank!"
I squeezed my eyes shut and let all the power I had loose, all at once, in a massive electromagnetic pulse. Then I scrambled woozily to my feet as the hall
went dark except for the sparks of excess energy coalescing from every jagged surface. Around me men twitched and writhed. Everybody in Crey's
employ is simply crawling with electronics and metallic devices... and I'd just delivered enough juice to make them feel like tinfoil in a microwave.
They'd be down for a few seconds, unless they'd been lucky enough to be shielded. I didn't care to stick around to find out. I ran -- actually
ran, instead of flew -- feeling the aching tingle in my gut that told me I'd seriously overdone it this time.
I made it to the entrance and out into open air seconds before parts of the building began to belch smoke and flame as Sword's explosives went off. I
half-ran, half-staggered down the street to the nearest alley, where I collapsed in a heap next to a Dumpster. Crey would have other things to worry about for
a while, and I needed time to recover.
Sword materialized next to me. "You made it."
I nodded, gasping.
"Can you walk?"
"Yeah," I managed. I struggled to my feet with an assist from Sword's left hand -- his right held his rifle at the ready -- and we moved out. I
couldn't keep a silly grin off my lips, as exhausted and beaten and ragged as I was.
He'd trusted me.
Even when you're expecting it, the flare of magic whispering across your skin is like the touch of a lover, making you shiver and tense with anticipation.
Unless, of course, it's your crazy other self. Then, it's more like having the creepy kid groping you -- you know, the one in high school that always
stinks and blinks too much and isn't quite right? Everybody knows one.
I knew Emerald was there the moment she walked in the door. I'm sure she felt it too, but that doesn't help make it more pleasant.
PJ's Grill and 24 Hour Family Restaurant -- just PJ's to us regulars -- was fast becoming a sort of neutral ground. I (we) had been here before the
split; the staff remembered me and assumed, how cute, you must be twins! Which was easier than explaining the truth, at least. But it's not easy to find
a quiet place in this city. And PJ's was nothing if not that. I honestly had no clue how they stayed afloat, considering that I rarely saw more
than half a dozen people in the place at once. But somehow they did, and they had decent coffee and a biscuits-and-gravy platter that we would cheerfully
commit murder for.
Neither of us were willing to give that up... so we didn't. I'd given up Second Skin; Emerald had given up Jello Night at the D. But PJ's was not
on the table. So we both continued to come here, and if one of us happened to be here when the other arrived... we dealt with it. Usually by staying as far
from each other as possible.
Not today, of course. I winced as the magic reflection of myself that was The Crazy One hesitated just inside the door, then headed straight towards me. I
set down my mug and turned to face her.
"Damp it down, will you?" I said as she approached. "I've had a rough night." Which was true. After the escape from Crey Central,
Sword and I had dropped off the package and he'd vanished for points unknown. I should have curled up in a little ball of misery in my bed, but, damn it,
all I'd really felt like doing at that moment was something I couldn't have, and sleep wasn't an option. So after a couple hours of frustrated
contemplation of the ceiling I'd decided if I couldn't have the sensual pleasure I truly wanted I'd make do with another. Food.
Fortunately my metabolism is such that I can do things like that and not have to worry overmuch about it. Being a full-time punching bag for the criminal
class probably has something to do with that, too.
"I'll bet," Emerald spat, drawing my attention back, and I raised an eyebrow. Even I didn't want to have to deal with myself if she
lost control. The barracks and, hell, the lower levels of the Portal Corp. building all attested to what happened when little ol' Rhea lost it. My eyes
flickered to the monkey on her back, and I noted with some relief that she might be a bit pissy, but she wasn't as truly mad as her voice sounded. Mr.
Whiskers wasn't wearing his Angry Eyes. Yet.
"Okay, what is it this time?" I sighed. "Are you butt-hurt that I joined a task force with Lisa and Terr?"
Sometimes I wonder if it's possible for her and I to have a normal conversation. Not that I particularly want to, but I hadn't intended to come across
that bitchy, either. It just slips out that way.
She frowned at me. "No."
Made sense. She didn't have to be jealous of me, she had it all -- arrgh. Stop it, Rhea!
"Then what's the deal?" I waved at the bench on the other side of the table. "Sit down already, and clamp down a bit, will you?
You're making the silverware rattle."
"You said you'd leave Terr alone," she blurted, sliding into the seat.
I raised a finger. "I said I wouldn't pester him seriously. I can still tease him." I looked at her steadily. "And that's
all I've done. No matter how much I want to do more."
She drummed her fingers on the table, glaring at me. "I wasn't at Icon last night."
I winced.
"What are you up to? I... after all that stuff with Danny... you say you remember it too, why are you doing this?" She blinked back tears.
"I don't know what you mean," I told her.
"Oh, please," she snorted, and glanced pointedly at my hair. "How long have you been dressing up like me? And you call me
crazy," she added.
I took a deep breath. "Last night was the first time. And will be the last."
She folded her arms and turned away. "Did you enjoy yourself at least?" she asked bitterly.
I scowled. "Will you please try and make some sense? You think I like pretending to be you?"
"It got you Terr, didn't it? What's next? Lisa too? You're going to take them both from me?"
"Okay, you are nuts," I replied. "What the hell are you talking about? I saw Terr, yeah. I gave him a hug. And it sucks!" I
gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut, promising myself I would not cry, not in front of her. "I hugged him and I gave him a kiss and he
thought I was you and you know as well as I do if Lisa ever finds out, that's it! I won't even have them as friends anymore! But it's been so
long, and I couldn't stop myself, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I kissed him, okay? And it would have been great, but he thought
I was YOU! He went home -- to YOU! You've still got them, you crazy bitch... all I've got is the occasional team and a smile and wave in the D... and
now I won't even have that!"
We sniffled at each other for a minute.
"I... I'm sorry," Emerald finally said. "Terr didn't come over last night. I got a message on my phone, he mentioned wanting to see my
new costume from Icon, and... I'm sorry."
I didn't say anything, I just nodded, swirling my coffee. I wasn't hungry any more. My stomach was a cold, hard lump.
"If you weren't trying to take Terr and Lisa... why were you dressed up like me?"
I scowled. "You pick the most annoying times to be rational, you know that?"
"I've been told that before."
I snorted. Yeah, I remembered. I shook my head. "Look, it... doesn't matter, really. Just keep an eye out for Crey ambushes for the next little
while."
Emerald stared at me for a moment, then giggled. "Oh, that sounds interesting."
I sat back and closed my eyes again. "Not really." I sighed. "Look, I wasn't joking about the rough night, and I only wish it
had been because of what you were assuming. You suppose maybe we can cut this reunion short? I don't know about you, sis, but whenever you're around
my gut does the masochism tango."
I could tell from the sounds she made that she was sliding out of the booth. She paused there, standing beside the table. "I won't tell Lisa,"
she stated. "As long as it doesn't happen again. Everyone gets a second chance. Right?"
The knot in my stomach unclenched a little. Sure, I didn't need them, I didn't need anybody, I could make it just fine on my own... but I still loved
them. I didn't want them to hate me. "Thanks," I said quietly, opening my eyes.
"No problem." She paused and cocked her head, looking at me appraisingly. "You really do look like you've had a tough run of it. Here,
let me help a little," Emerald said. Before I could react -- to tell her no way in hell, most likely -- she triggered off two abilities I remembered all
too well. The blue and green pulses bathed both of us and spread out to the rest of the restaurant, where startled gasps and exclamations bore witness to the
effects.
I knew the other effects also, the ones that Lisa and I had made shameless use of on long loving nights, and gulped as the sudden burst of warmth
flooded my body. Every nerve was tingling, every muscle taut; I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My fingernails dug into the formica tabletop.
Emerald leaned down close and whispered in my ear. "Now, we're even."
"Not... fair," I managed.
She giggled and fled.
I'm really a bitch sometimes.
When I got home, Sword was there. He sat at one end of the couch, notebook on his knee and pencil in hand. The TV was split-screened into, at a quick guess,
something like ten or twelve different stations, most of them news and some in languages I didn't recognize. The sound was off and subtitles sprouted like
weeds. Information overload... for most folks. I didn't imagine Sword had any problem with it at all. There are times I wonder if he's actually a
machine.
With a small grin, I noted that one of the stations was Saturday morning cartoons, and discounted the machine theory -- again.
"Morning," Sword grunted, eyes never leaving the hodgepodge of data on the screen. I nodded my own greeting and collapsed gracelessly into the big
comfy armchair that I'd claimed as 'my' seat.
Sword does this every morning, or at least, every morning he's home and I'm conscious enough at this hour to notice what is going on. He isn't a
morning person, I don't think -- but then, he isn't really an anything sort of person. Sword just is, like the tides and the sunrise. Trying to
assign traits to him that 'normal' people have only gives you a headache.
I watched him scribble a bit of something into his notebook. I'd sneaked a peek once, when he was in the shower and (I thought) had forgotten to put it
away. Most of it was full of writing that I couldn't make sense of. It wasn't like the magic runes the Circle freaks put on everything, and it
wasn't like any language I recognized. It wasn't shorthand that I could recognize, and some of it seemed unlikely at best. If I had to describe it,
I'd say it was like someone threw a Russian dictionary in the blender and made a Sanskrit souffle out of the resulting liquid. The one page I could read
told me in plain English to stop snooping, at which point I'd tossed the notebook back on the table and stomped off to beat up some Hellions.
"You look twitchy," Sword observed without looking my direction. I hate when he does things like that. I wish I knew how he did it.
"Ran into the Crazy One," I offered after a moment. He nodded.
"Nothing on the news," he pointed out. "It stayed calm, I take it."
"Yeah, sure, except for her cranking my spring," I muttered, sinking lower into my seat. Sword finally glanced my way, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't ask," I told him, waving a hand. I wasn't embarrassed, exactly. It was just hard to accept the fact that I had turned myself on.
Deliberately.
Well. It wasn't like she'd come on to me or anything. It was just... unnerving, I suppose. I guess I had nobody but myself -- literally --
to blame, though. Hoist by your own retard, or something like that.
Sword set his notebook aside and picked up the remote. I stared at the flickering images as he collapsed it down to four channels -- one of them still
cartoons, the classic "Wabbit Season! Duck Season!" episode, if Daffy's soot-blackened face and thoughtful expression were anything to go by.
Stock market info played on another, and the other two were CNN and BBC, respectively. Sword wasn't obsessed with the news or anything, no sirree.
For a while we stared at the screen in silence. I found myself drawn away from it over and over again, running my eyes over Sword's lean frame. If he
noticed, I couldn't tell -- but I imagine he did. He always noticed.
Driven by some urge -- that same impish urge that led me to join in on the Get Naked, Fight Crime day and other similar adventures -- I rose to my feet to
stand in front of him, just a couple of feet away. I looked at him. He looked back at me.
What the hell. Go for it, girl.
"You're blocking the TV," he pointed out.
I reached down and caught the edge of my t-shirt, and drew it over my head in one quick motion and dropping it at my feet. I noted with a bit of pleasure that
his eyes widened fractionally. I'd surprised him!
"There are better things to watch than TV," I pointed out, shaking out my hair and reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. I shrugged out of it
and let it fall to the side.
Sword cleared his throat. "You're not behaving like yourself, Rhea."
"For once," I said, and realized I was being truthful even as I heard myself say it, "for once I think I really am."
My hands went to the waist of my jeans, unbuttoning them, and Sword stood. I froze as his hands -- his deceptive hands, soft and mostly un-calloused, but with
steel cable underneath -- gripped my upper arms tightly, almost painfully. I tried not to gasp. His face was only inches from mine.
"Stop," he said quietly. "You're letting yourself get out of control."
My fingers stopped working on the zipper and I let my hands fall. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. He was right.
He was usually right, damn him.
Acting on their own, my hands came up and slid behind his back, and I pulled him into a hug. Tears leaked from my eyes. Sword stiffened for a moment, then
let go of my arms and slowly returned the embrace, his hands flat and warm against my bare back.
"I ... just... hold me?" I asked. Begged, really.
"You don't need it," he reminded me.
"No," I admitted, "but I want it."
I tried to keep the sob out of my voice, but I think he heard it anyway.
"You don't want me," he said with certainty. "Trust me."
Standing there, surrounded by Sword's arms, feeling him pressed against my naked chest, his breath tickling my ear, I thought about what he said. In one
sense, he was right. I didn't love him -- at least, not romantically. And if I was being honest, not really at all. Maybe -- maybe -- like a
friend. Not like a brother, we weren't that close... even though we were, in some ways, closer than any siblings ever could be.
But what had love ever done for me?
I'd loved Danny. The bastard had tried to destroy my life, and in the end, to kill me. Ironically, if he'd done it the other way around, he'd
probably have succeeded. Sword had saved me from that, though at the time I was still too addled to realize it. And looking back without the rose-colored
glasses, loving Danny had never been about anything but pain -- physically, when we were together, and emotionally, afterwards. Oh, I'd loved him... but
to him, I'd never been anything more than a convenient source of agony... and worse, I'd liked it, almost.
I'd loved -- and still did -- Lisa and Terrence. But they had a version of me, still -- the Crazy One -- and didn't believe that I was really
'their' Rhea. There were times I thought they didn't really believe that Emerald and I were even the same person... and who could blame them?
Loving them had brought me joy, true, but in the end it had all come crashing down and the pain was twice as bad as before. If Danny had still been alive,
he'd have enjoyed the whole mess, I was sure.
No, I didn't want love. I wasn't sure I even believed in it any more.
What I wanted was ... companionship. A friend, I guess. Someone I could trust.
I found myself laughing softly.
"Rhea?" Sword's voice carried a hint of uncertainty with it.
"I'm fine," I said, squeezing him tighter. I took a deep breath. "I'm fine," I repeated. "I just... realized
something."
He drew his head back and gave me a questioning look.
"Look, Sword, you're right, in a way." I chuckled. "You usually are, you jerk."
He nodded, the flat mask in his eyes hiding any hint of his thoughts.
"You're also wrong," I added. "I do want you, Sword. I have for a long time." I drew my head back just a bit, to be able to
look him in the eye, and smiled, though I knew it probably looked odd with the tear tracks fresh on my face. "I don't want to love you, and I
don't want you to love me... but that's not a problem for you, is it."
It wasn't really a question.
He looked at me oddly, then his lips twisted in a small, wry grin. "Not really, no," he conceded. The grin vanished and the cold emotionless man
I'd become familiar with was back. He opened his mouth to say something, probably about me just being frustrated or that anybody would do or, if he was
feeling sadistic, that what I really wanted was with Emerald right now, and I cut him off with a sharp look.
"Don't even say it. I don't want love. I don't want drama. I don't want fucking emotion," I almost yelled. Forcing
myself to calm down a little, I continued, "What I want... is you. Right now. Here in the living room, your bedroom, mine, the kitchen, I don't
care. No strings, I promise."
He looked at me warily.
"I've had all that shit before," I told him. "It's never ended well. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm too messed up to have a normal
relationship, and the damned toy was just a symptom of it. Maybe I just have really crappy luck. I don't know... but the one thing I do know is, I need
someone I can trust to not get emotional about... things. More than that... I need someone I can trust to make sure I don't get all messed up
again." I swallowed hard at the thought. "You've saved my life dozens of times, Sword. I've saved yours. You're the only person I
know who I can trust to be exactly what they appear to be... and I need that."
For a long time, he just looked at me. I began to feel a bit silly, and worried. What if I'd completely misread him? He might well be contemplating how
quickly he could get to a weapon right now -- I knew that he kept them conveniently scattered around the house in part because he needed to be able to put me
down should I lose control again. He'd said as much to my face, and I'd both hated and thanked him for it.
"Unless... unless you don't want me like... that," I finally added. I hadn't even considered that, but it was starting to seem
likely. "I --"
"What you need," he interrupted, "is to relax."
I blinked at him... and he smiled. Faintly, but it was there. "Well, can you think of a better way?" I asked him, pressing closer.
"Several," he noted clinically. "Care to tell me why none are applicable right now?"
I could tell from the way he was standing -- more exactly, the way he was trying to keep his lower body from getting too close to mine -- that Sword had
enjoyed what he'd just seen, and was still enjoying having me pressed up against him. And it was very, very nice for me, too. Emerald's dirty trick
aside, it had been a long time since I'd felt anyone's touch, and I could feel my body humming in anticipation.
I decided Sword was just being Sword. The man is difficult on purpose.
I leaned forward and kissed him, meeting no resistance, sliding my hands up under his shirt, slipping them deftly past the concealed knives and drawing my
fingernails down his spine. I pulled back a little more and tugged at the cloth. "You're wearing too many clothes," I noted playfully.
"Rhea."
I stopped and looked at him.
"Are you certain you want to do this?" Sword's face showed uncharacteristic concern.
I leaned forward, touching my forehead against his and staring into his eyes as my hands rested on his waist. "Trust me," I whispered fiercely,
"right now there's nothing I want more." I scowled at him. "Now, will you shut up and get your shirt off before I rip it off you?"
He grinned. "Just making sure."
--sofaspud--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
but since I don't think thats happening I