Sleepy Tani

Descendants

^{#796e9c ....|..... alloy ....|..... outfit ............... #00674f ....|..... sentinel ....|..... outfit .....|............... descendant tower}

Tobias wasn’t entirely sure if he was happy to rip the bandaid off and go first, or if he would have preferred to disappear somewhere in the middle. It was like riding a bike, he tried telling himself as he pushed off bent knees and stood up. Just like riding a bike with a bullet hole in his shoulder. No big deal. He sighed softly and crossed the room. He opened the door and stood to the side, letting the blonde through before him with a faint smile.

Zaria offered Tobias a small smile as he opened the door for her, stepping into the room and then pausing, her face going a little slack as her eyebrows raised. She remembered herself after a few seconds, moving at a steady pace toward the large yellow X painted onto the floor with a slight frown. "We are fighting in the concrete box?" She glanced at Tobias, clearly confused and a little subdued. She looked around slowly, eyes lingering on the glass window, head tilting to the side some. "I am a little confused." Aria admitted, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. Her mind was still half on cycling through ideas of what she could do, if anything, to try and make up for her blunder to James.

"It won’t look like a concrete box in a minute," Tobias replied as he moved to stand beside her on the X. He pointed around the room at the various different camera projector looking devices. "I’m not entirely sure how all of it works, but it feels very real once it starts." It probably wasn’t the most reassuring thing he could have said, but he thought it was important for Aria to be prepared for whatever was about to be thrown at them.

"Thumbs up when you’re both ready," Phil’s voice echoed throughout the large room from a hidden speaker.

Tobias held up his left thumb and looked over at the blonde. "It’ll be ok. I promise." He spoke softly with a calmness of familiarity. "This’ll be the safest fight you’ve ever been in," he offered with a timid smile.

She smiled in return, raising a thumb, feeling emboldened by Tobias’s kindness.

"Emergency shut down word is ‘watermelon’. Simulation will begin in 3… 2… 1."

Like chalk washed away in the rain, the large concrete room and one way mirror melted away. The air grew dry and hot as the temperature increased to what had to be over one hundred degrees. Their surroundings were replaced with the red orange expanse of a desert in every direction. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky as the sun was brutal and unrelenting, beating down on them. As far as Tobias could see there wasn’t a single rock or building for shelter, just the occasional cactus and tumble weed.

"This sucks." Tobias sighed, squinted, and furrowed his brows. He pulled his hood over his head in an attempt to keep some of the bright sunlight out of his eyes. As his gaze settled, tension rose in his chest as scanned the horizon around them. "Where are—"

Bang.

A bullet ripped through the air and slammed into Tobias’s left thigh. The impact knocked him to the ground with a pained grunt. He held his leg, staring down at the blinking blue light of the small sensor dart. Fuck, he forgot how bad it hurt. The temptation to rip it off was strong, but he already knew that he’d only injure himself if he tried taking it off before the end of the simulation. He looked around trying to find the source of the shot. At first there was nothing. Then, almost like materializing out of thin air, dozens of men were prone along the desert floor, camouflaged with their guns trained on them.

Tobias knew it wasn’t going to work, but he tried anyway. He held out his hand and tried to pry the firearms from their hands but they didn’t budge. No metal. He wasn’t sure how Phil had arranged the training, but if it was like his other attack he wasn’t the target. They’d try to subdue him while focusing their attention on Aria. He looked between the partially hidden mercenaries then back to the blonde beside him, noticing the red dots of their laser sights speckling her white shirt. His gaze fell to the metal of her jewelry and the button of her jeans. He pushed his hand toward Aria, focusing on any metal on her body and shoved her several feet away just as the shots whistled through the air between them.

Zaria let out a vulgar sounding curse that wasn’t in English, scrambling in the sand for a moment as her senses reoriented after she was essentially ragdolled out of the way. Instinct took over, and a familiar wave of calm washed over her mind and allowed her to think with a firm sense of clarity. Her father had been adamant that his children could hold their own in a fight, and her training growing up had been nothing to scoff at. She kicked her shoes off, rolling in the sand, jerking one hand up, and focusing as she twisted her wrist. She wasn’t half naked in a gas station, this time, she was ready.

A half translucent green barrier snapped into existence in front of Tobias, a bullet bouncing off of its surface, while a similar barrier formed at her back, wrapping her from head to toe and protecting her vulnerable side as she popped up, bolting towards the mercenary that was between her and Tobias, keeping her body low to the ground as she ran. A bang sounded, another gun firing, and it was only luck that had her shifting the shield, making the bullet ricochet off of its surface rather than hitting her arm, just as she jumped onto her first target.

A plan was half forming as her drove her fist into the man's head, a surge of energy that was just as green as her force fields surrounded her arm, leaving a shimmering trail behind the movement of her arm, and as it impacted with the man she’d caught off guard, the sand cratered beneath them, a cloud of dust kicking up and obscuring Aria from view for a moment. She skidded across the hot sand, hands digging into it as she came to a stop beside Tobias, breathing a little harder as she raised both hands and the force fields shifted into a small dome that covered them both for a moment.

"Is your leg okay?" Sweat trailed from the side of her face, leaving her uncomfortable and sticky as the sand clung everywhere it could. A few bangs sounded from outside their shield, but they bounced off harmlessly, even if Aria winced each time one impacted.

Tobias was honestly surprised at how fast Aria went into action. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected, but someone who could hold their own in a fight was not it. He should have known better than to underestimate the daughter of Doctor Doom. There was more than one similarity when it came to their lives, so it shouldn’t have been difficult to assume she was molded into a killing machine like himself. He sucked in a sharp breath as he bottled his pain and tossed it to the farthest recesses of his mind. "Fine. Forgot how much that hurts."

It wasn’t until he was standing that Tobias noticed the translucent green dome Aria was holding up. His mind quickly ran through a roulette of possibilities of attack, but half were useless when had little to no metal at his disposal. "Keep that up," he instructed her before he hooked his leg around hers as an anchor. He closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers into the dirt. His muscles tensed as an invisible sphere pushed out from around him, surrounding them in a bubble of zero-g. Tobias focused on controlling his breathing, grounding himself and tightening his hold on Aria as he felt her start to lift from the ground.

He watched as various mercenaries charged them. The second they stepped into the anti gravity field, their next step sent them floating into the air. The few that were stupid enough to try and shoot were launched backwards with the kick of their guns. They spun through the air until they were out of range and crashed down with a sickening crunch. Tobias kept one hand firmly in place on the ground while his other palm ran along the dirt feeling for any faint traces of metal and pulling every tiny speck across the desert floor toward him.

Zaria’s shield flickered only once out of sheer surprise, a strange sort of yelp escaping her throat as her body began to lift from the ground, but then she focused, pushing the shield out a little further, giving them more space to work with, squeezing her eyes shut so she could refine it properly. She triple checked it for weaknesses, made sure the surface was in a perfect circle around them, unyielding to any force that may challenge it. It wasn’t hard to do, but it took up a lot of her focus, so Aria had to rely on Tobias until she felt that the shield was good enough.

"Do we have a plan? Can you use this?" She paused, closing one of her hands into a tight fist, before letting her other flutter down to her necklace. The tiny little dagger at the end of one of her chains wasn’t just for decoration, it could be used as a weapon in a pinch, which is exactly why she wore it. "I’d offer the metal in my jeans, but I like having pants." She grinned, trying to lighten the tension just a little.

Tobias kept his eyes closed and mind focused as he pulled tiny pieces of metal in the earth toward him. "Find a way to get close enough to them so I can—" His hand froze and eyes snapped open at her offer. He looked over and saw the small dagger that hung around her neck. There was a brief moment where he was surprised he didn’t notice it, but considering what she was wearing, he pointedly kept his gaze anywhere else until that moment. "Don’t worry. Your jeans are safe." With one hand still firmly rooted in the ground, keeping them surrounded in zero-g, he took the dagger in his available palm. It only took a slight nod of his head and he was able to mentally open the clasp of Aria’s necklace, slip the weapon pendant free, then close the chain so it remained around her neck.

His eyes darted around trying to take a quick count of how many surrounded them. With Aria’s shield he could kill them all in less than a minute with her small gift. And while that was the easy answer, it wouldn’t help anyone, especially not her, if he ended it quicker than it began without giving her a chance to stretch her legs. If it was an actual attack he wouldn’t hesitate, but it wasn’t. Tobias was quickly learning that he needed to keep something metal on him at all times, even if it was just a bracelet. But he came into training unencumbered, as requested, so he was going to try his best to keep himself weakened for the sake of learning and adapting.

"Plan B," he nodded toward Aria while slipping the small dagger into his pocket. Tobias nodded his head toward one of the men who was running toward them. "When he goes up in the air I’m dropping zero-g and charging him." It wasn’t much of a plan, but it’d give him a couple seconds to close the distance and get his gun… Hopefully. Then he’d improvise.

Zaria nodded once, sucking in a breath and holding it. She focused, gathering energy to the soles of her feet, waiting for the moment the man went into the air, and then the zero-g dropped, and when Tobias moved she used the collected energy to launch herself high into the air. The dome around them snapped out of existence, but a different shield formed behind him, protecting his back. The sight of her clearing fifteen feet into the air distracted most of the gunmen enough to give Tobias an opening, guns training on her, and she shifted the placement of force fields a second before the first gun went off, blocking the dart that would have hit her chest as gravity returned and she began a swift decent back to the ground.

She clenched her teeth, bending her knees as she fell, and refocused the force field five feet from the ground, landing on it and rolling off before she could get shot, hitting the sand hard and popping up without a second's hesitation. The green shimmer formed around her fist, and when her hit connected to the nearest goon he went flying away. Zaria grinned, but the expression flattered as a gun rang out and pain burst along her side. She dropped to the ground with a yelp of pain, scrambling to the side as another dart slammed into the ground near her head, sending the grit of it into her eyes. Panic rose up inside of her, and she lifted her hand on instinct, eyes connecting with the gaze of the man who was pointing his gun at her.

It happened so quickly nothing but pure adrenaline guided her, the force field formed back into existence, wrapping in a tight ball around the man. Aria squeezed her hand into a fist, the green walls closing in around him smaller and smaller, until his body popped in a mess of gore, contained by the translucent green walls until she dropped them. She grimaced, turning away from the sight and trying not to heave up her breakfast.

Tobias pushed off the ground, ignoring the surge of pain in his leg as he sprinted at the man in free fall. The mercenary hit the ground with a heavy thud and the snap of his spine. Tobias skidded to the ground, sliding up beside the dead man and stole his gun. Bang. Bang. Bang. Three of the closest men collapsed before he heard Aria’s cry of pain. He rolled to the side, dodging incoming shots as they flew past him. He looked up just in time to see a man get squeezed and popped like a tube of toothpaste while the blonde laid on the ground holding her side. He quickly unloaded the clip, knocking down seven more men that approached her. They weren’t all kill shots, but they fell to the ground.

Focused on protecting her, Tobias didn’t hear the goon approaching him from behind. A flash of deja vu flooded his mind as he felt the cold collar press into the back of his neck. Before it could snap shut, he threw his head back into the groin of the man behind him. His left hand waved in front of his pocket, pulling the tiny dagger from beneath the fabric. With a flick of his finger it flew through the air, cutting into the attacker’s ear, burrowing through his brain and then popped out the other side. "So much for plan B," he grumbled before sending the small necklace pendant soaring through the air toward the mercenaries behind him, whipping, cutting and slashing through each and every one of them until they lied motionless on the desert floor.

"Sorry," Aria pushed herself up, glancing around wearily and taking note of all the fallen enemies. The simulation didn’t drain away though, they were still under the scorching sun with sand in more places than she’d ever wanted. It wasn’t over, was it? She squinted in the brightness, searching for something, not sure what it was, until she saw the glint in the distance. Her breath caught, and her body moved on its own, shoving off of the sand and jerking in front of Tobias without even thinking. The sniper took the shot, and the dart dug into her thigh. "Te ia mama dracu," the words hissed from her lips, accent thick, and while one part of Zaria hoped no one else knew Romanian, she focused on slapping her hands together. The force field manifested above and below the sniper, smooshing him down like a pancake.

Tobias made his way toward her, looking around cautiously. Then there was a shot and she dove in front of him. Reflexively, he reached out, grabbing Aria by the waist and stablizing her before she could fall over. He grimaced watching the sniper flattened far off in the distance. And then he waited… But the simulation persisted. "What are we missing?" He asked as his hands slowly released her once she could stand on her own. Remaining at the ready, the tiny dagger hovered in the air over his right palm, spinning slowly while he subtly moved his fingers. As if on cue there was a quiet groan from behind them as one of the men laying on the ground writhed. Tobias flicked his fingers, sending the metal pendant zipping through the air and slit the man’s throat in less than a second.

The desert started melting away, the bright sky was replaced with dull grey concrete. The blue blinking lights of the darts shut off before they fell to the ground. Whatever pain had been radiating through Tobias’s leg ceased immediately. The small dagger fell into the palm of his hand, coating his skin in the slick fake blood. Using the hem of his shirt, he cleaned the pendant off as best as he could before using his abilities to unclasp Aria’s necklace, slip the charm back onto the chain and latch it shut. "Thanks," he spoke quietly, looking over at her with a slight smile.

"No problem, I–" her hand had rose up to wipe away from of the sweat still on her brow, disgusted to realize she was drenched and in desperate need for another shower, before a strange and fleeting idea crossed her mind. Her mouth fell open to form a perfect O, eyes lighting up. "Poptarts!" Her hands clapped together sharply, a look of pure and utter excitement crossing her face, before she schooled her expression and offered a rueful grin to Tobias. "Sorry, good to work with you, we don’t make a bad team in a pinch." She gave him a small salute, turning toward the door.

His brows rose and a soft chuckle slipped from his lips at Aria’s random exclamation but he didn’t ask. Tobias nodded his head with a lopsided smile at her new found excitement and salute. "Back at you." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his shorts as he followed after her. Once again, he held open the door for her then trailed behind her as they exited the simulation room.

"Well done," Phil praised them with a small nod before turning his attention back toward the control panel.

Tobias returned the nod with a tight lipped smile as he made his way back to his seat without a word. While he didn’t love going first, he could rest assured knowing that at least him and Aria passed. It wasn’t without some minor setbacks, but a win was a win. He did learn a couple things from their training. One, that there was a lot more to Aria than what meets the eye and that he needed to invest in a metal bracelet or necklace… Something to have on himself in case he’s ever in a bind.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... james ............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

Descendants

^{#a8f9ff .....|..... prism .....|..... outfit ............... #00aeef .....|..... tights ............... #375a87 .....|..... nightinggale .....|..... outfit ............... imogen's penthouse}

Everything was okay, until she was alone. Jim and her had gone their separate ways, the intention of sleeping on both their minds, time alone to process their conversation and the mutual feelings that had been shared. Everything felt heavier with each step she took though, she could hear her heartbeat echoing off her bones, and dread was rising up over her head like the swell of the tide. June stumbled, arm rising reflexively to press against the wall as she caught herself, eyes tracking the twitch of her fingers. There was dried blood beneath her nails, it didn’t matter that she’d taken two showers, she felt raw and dirty like an infected wound left to pulsate with rot and puss.

Her breathing was picking up, her heart hammering in her chest, she couldn’t fill her lungs properly, her side ached with every breath. There was blood under her nails, the sight of it bringing back the memories of how she’d forced the man’s face beneath dirty rain water, how she’d felt the death rattle in his own lungs when he took his last breath. The world felt as if it was melting away, the hallway shrinking in on where she stood. She needed to get away, she needed to— June felt like she was suffocating, she was dying, surely she was dying. The panic clawed its way up her throat, wrapped around her larynx until not even a sob could break free.

Where was she? Her senses felt as dull as a mistreated knife, the pain medication they’d given her making her feel slow, sluggish, she needed to leave. Her eyes snapped toward the end of the hallway, she’d gotten off the elevator? There was no exit sign, everything felt so far away. There was a panel on the side of the wall, it took a minute of June frantically prying at it, and then she was curled up at the end of a cold, dark vent. The stitches in her side ached, were they close to tearing? She’d felt his thumb tear through her skin, sinking into the hole, he’d been so desperate to live.

She’d been desperate to die, hadn’t she? She twisted in on herself, pressing forward until her forehead was against the cool metal of the vent. Something in her side tugged painfully, and a sob that had been caught in her throat finally escaped. She sounded like a wounded animal, the noise reverberating around her. Had she really wanted to die? No, she’d just been tired, and scared, so scared. She hadn’t wanted to leave Jim, or Imogen, or her mom, but a thought lingered with all the sticky persistence of molasses. She wished she did not know that the definition of ending was synonymous with goodbye.

Twenty six minutes, June spent twenty six minutes crouched in a vent, sweaty and shaking as the night played on repeat over and over. The darkness pressed in on her with the oppressive weight of a bullet cutting a hot trail into her side, like a dead man was blanketed over her, condemning her for her sins. She couldn’t tell anyone, she’d already told Imogen, she couldn’t breathe. It was a spiral, a broken cycle that went on and on. Juniper wasn’t made for this, she was an artist, not a murderer. She felt like her home had been caught up in a forest fire, but it was the next morning and all that was left was the smoke and the sun trying to shine through.

Where was the sun? June crawled out of the vent, eyes heavy as she looked at the blood on the wall, she’d ripped a nail prying off the panel. It took her another ten minutes to put it back, hands slippery and shaking, time slipped through her fingers needlessly, and by the time she found herself in front of a familiar penthouse door the anxiety had coiled in her stomach like fingers in her gut. It was still there, on the brink of suffocating her, and her thoughts weren’t coherent. She’d promised Imogen she’d tell her when she was back, right? Maybe it was a bad reaction to the medication, maybe it was just everything else catching up to her. June pushed into the door without knocking.

Imogen never went back to sleep after the phone call. By the time the sun was up she had tried to get out of bed and make them food at least twice, but Magni seemed to have other ideas when it came to breakfast.

She never heard the door to her penthouse open or the approaching footsteps. Imogen could be seen over the headboard of her bed wearing a familiar I love NY t-shirt. Her eyes were closed and lips parted while she looked to be rocking back and forth slowly. Then a large hand appeared from somewhere out of sight behind the headboard, running up the weathered shirt to grab a hold of her breast. Imogen's hand moved to rest on top of it, slipping her fingers between his in an intimate grasp. A soft moan escaped her lips before her eyes opened… and to her horror she was met with June standing in her doorway. "June?" Imogen gasped and panicked. She went to roll off of Magni’s face but didn't realize how close she was to the edge of the bed. She lost her balance and tipped over.

It took a long moment for her brain to process what she was seeing, she was mentally stuck somewhere between fight or flight, which June supposed was the secret third option, freeze. So she stood frozen like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and horror struck as the scene unfolded like a bad play. I need therapy. She decided, but the idea of sitting on someone’s couch and discussing the trauma of seeing her maybe boyfriend's sister getting—yeah. No.

June’s hand slapped over her eyes so hard it hurt but only in that fuzzy, far away sort of sense that someone who had been heavily drugged could register. Her nail was still bleeding sluggish, wet warmth sliding down her cheek, but she ignored it in favor of trying to decide on which funeral home she should put in her will for herself because there was no way she’d survive this embarrassment.

"I didn’t see anything!" She blurted, after very clearly having seen some things. Her voice was several pitches too high, verging on hysterical. Funny how seeing something so very far away from what you’d originally been having a panic attack could re-trigger the panic attack. She could feel it swelling up in her brain with all the force of a battering ram. She’d never, ever tell Jim what she saw here today. No, she has to die, clearly that’s the only solution now. "Nothing, nothing at all."

Magni's hands were quick. As Imogen began to tumble, his hand unlatched from her chest quickly and slid to her side. His other hand remained firmly planted on her hip, helping to keep her rooted in place. It was very hard to hear the arrival of a stranger as his head was vigorously being shoved down into the pillows. But as it became clear they were not alone, he let out a sigh. He brought Imogen back into her kneeling position, and ducked his head out from between her legs to crunch himself up into a sitting position. His head peered over the headboard, his face slick from what June certainly must have hoped was sweat. He ran a hand down his face, trying to wipe off the moisture. The woman, June, was clearly in some distress. His voice was soft, but still seemed to echo about the room as he spoke. "Thou hast committed no offense… I was unaware that Lady Frost had prior engagements this morning." He dipped his head slightly in deference to June as a small way of apology.

Imogen’s face was as red as the heart on the shirt she wore. She quickly scrambled out of bed, trucking her messy blonde hair behind her ears as she searched for something to cover her lower half. "Pants, pants," she muttered to herself as she stumbled about briefly, her legs unstable like jello as her body struggled to catch up with the change in plans. She sighed and finally settled on her thong from last night. Keeping her bottom half hidden from June, she quickly shimmied into the underwear trying to make herself descent… Or as descent as she could be.

She started to beeline for June, but stopped a few feet past Magni, pivoted and went back to him. Imogen lightly ran her thumb along his upper lip, wiping a stray bit of wetness that clung to the stubble of his mustache. She hooked her hand beneath his jaw and tilted his head up to face her so she could give him a quick kiss. "Don’t go anywhere, lover," she whispered down to him before turning to walk away. Imogen got about two steps away before the gravity of what she said hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest. Oh my god. Well… She could… Unpack that later.

Imogen got close enough to June only to notice her bleeding finger and absence of a nail. "Jesus, June." She grabbed the woman’s hand to study it. Rather than letting her go she dragged June to her bathroom. She pointed toward the toilet. "Sit," she commanded before opening her medicine chest and started searching for a bandaid, gauze… Something.

June peaked open an eye when she felt Imogen’s hand on her own, wordlessly letting herself be pulled into the bathroom but keeping her eyes diligently on the ceiling instead of looking at Imogen or Magni. Her mind was cycling through useless facts; deuterium, tritium, fusion fuel, lithium deuteride, uranium-235, plutonium-239, components of a hydrogen bomb which, conveniently enough, could kill her in a jiffy! She blinked down at her hand, raising it some to get a better look at where her nail had been torn. She opened her mouth, and then shut it again.

She’d always gone to enclosed and dark spaces when she had a panic attack, usually under her bed when she was younger, never in a vent before. It had been surprisingly comfortable, even if her side throbbed in agony now. June leaned to the side, checking her stitches and nearly toppling off the toilet. "Sorry," June finally sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have come up here."

"Ah ha!" She cheered to herself as she found some bandages and medical tape. She set them aside on the counter before wetting a towel in the sink. "It’s fine, June," Imogen reassured her as she knelt on the ground before her. She took the towel and gently tried to clean up any blood, as well as wiping away the smudge on her cheek from her panic. "I’m glad you’re ok," she commented while putting a small bit of ointment in the crevice where June’s nail used to live. "It would have been nice if Jim called me, like I asked. But when is he ever considerate about my feelings?" The comment was harsher than intended but her grievances weren’t with June.

Imogen methodically began wrapping June’s finger being careful to add a little pressure but nothing that would be uncomfortable. When it was finished she ripped the gauze with her teeth then taped it into place. "Do you wanna tell me what’s going on in here or over coffee?" Her voice was patient and gentle, showing she was prepared to sit on the cool tile floor or make June a three course meal as long as it meant she’d talk. While Imogen could pry into her mind for answers, she’d rather not.

June stared blankly down at the bandage wrapped around her finger, perfect white fabric unblemished by the stain of her blood. She swallowed around the sudden wave of nausea, she hadn’t eaten in…how long had it been? One day? Two? She couldn’t recall eating before the meeting yesterday, or after, unless you counted vitamins which she was fairly certain Imogen didn’t. "Coffee, please." Her voice sounded weird, even to her own ears, a little too hollow. Part of her wanted to defend Jim, he’d been exhausted after helping her, but another part of her knew he was never exactly eloquent when it came to other people's emotions.

The memory of their brief conversation resurfaced, and Juniper winced, smothering it before Imogen could catch too much even as tears filled her eyes. She just wanted her brother, he always knew the right things to say when she was upset, and the wave of grief that came with the realization that he wasn’t there was enough to almost drown her. She held it in for exactly thirteen seconds, and then June promptly burst into tears. She stared at Imogen in horror as the sobs started, the careful control she’d kept over her emotions all morning falling apart like a badly assembled Lego set. It wasn’t like when she’d cried a week ago, these sobs were gasping, broken, ugly things that choked her over and over again. Hysterically, she found herself wishing she was back in that damn vent.

"Woah, woah. Hey." Imogen quickly stood up and wrapped her arms around June. It wasn’t the best height to hug her, inevitably ending up with the girl's head resting on her bosoms, but honestly crying into some boobs sounded better than the alternative. Her hand gently stroked June’s head as she tried her best to calm her down. Imogen kept her breaths steady hoping that she would eventually try to match the rhythm. "Do I need to carry you to go get coffee?" The tease was tender and warm, and a cheap way to try and elicit a small laugh or smile from her. "Because I can. I’m sure it’d make Magni laugh." Looking down at her, she gently ran her thumbs along June’s cheeks trying to wipe away any tears.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d cried for, couldn’t have been very long, but she did manage to laugh at Imogen’s comment, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. She had too much remaining pride to allow herself to be carried like that, even when she was in the midst of a full blown mental breakdown. They likely both knew it, but it worked in calming her down enough to get her tears under control. "I’m okay," she lied to the telepath, because that always worked, and stood up unsteadily. June looked down at her side where the stitches were, a discolored bruise crawling along the side of her ribs. "It looks worse than it is." Another lie, actually, and she didn’t know which of them she was trying to fool.

"Imogen, I…" the words she wanted to say caught in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to look into the blonde's eyes. "Coffee, please. I’m sure Magni will want to hear about the fight anyways." It was deflection, but a decent one considering everything.

Imogen’s brows furrowed at the lies. She shook her head and chuckled softly. "Didn’t your mother ever warn you about lying to a telepath?" She took June’s other hand and helped her to her feet. Then slowly led her out of the bathroom and through the bedroom, strategically blocking Magni’s naked body until they were already stepping out of the room. "If you find some clothes I’ll make us all breakfast, handsome." She flashed him a wink before disappearing into the next room.

She pointed at the bar height chairs around an ornate dining table that hung from the ceiling by chains, signaling for June to take a seat and get comfortable. "Are we feeling eggs, sausage, bacon, waffles, pancakes or…" Imogen opened her fridge taking stock of the ingredients she had available. "Cinnamon Rolls?" Before she even finished asking the question she started pulling out the bacon, sausage and carton of eggs. It was a safe bet that Magni could eat all of that and still be hungry, but she could at least save June’s favorite from the Asgardian’s hungry grasp.

"Cinnamon rolls." Her bottom lip wobbled a little, but she swallowed around the tears that threatened to raise up once more and instead settled in one of the chairs, though she had to kind of hop up into it, her side twinging in pain, a groan dragging from her throat before she unceremoniously settled her head onto the table with a solid thunk. "I don’t know what they gave me, but it wasn’t strong enough." Her voice was muffled by the surface of the table, but it still carried well enough. Telepaths sure made the whole master spy thing more difficult.

Her mind was not a kind place, aided by morphine, anxiety, and exhaustion, she couldn’t help but to let her thoughts wander. Did the man she’d killed like cinnamon rolls? The thought made her feel sick to her stomach, so June desperately sought an alternative thought process. "I totaled Phil’s car."

In the background, Magni had taken to stretching as he crawled out of the bed. He opened the balcony door, aiming to get some fresh air and to feel the cool ocean breeze on his skin. It was a later start to the day than he was used to of late, but a bit earlier than he would have liked to be torn from his companion’s side. Most importantly, he wanted a moment to think. He wasn’t sure if Imogen was listening, but he mulled that word over in his thoughts. Lover had a bit of a connotation, but the word itself was not bad. If he had to describe Imogen to a stranger, lover was a fitting word. It was an accurate one, in regards to their physical affection for each other. But the way she said it to him had him concerned. He had not believed Imogen the type to fall quickly, though she might think the same of him. Regardless, he had been burned before. It was best to ignore the comment, in the hopes it was just a slip of the tongue.

When clothes were requested, Magni quickly set about to searching for his undergarments. It did not take particularly long, they were still discarded by the wall near the front entrance. Squeezing into his tights when thinking of their night together was a hard task, but he was able to get them on before turning around and making his way towards the dining table. He had heard much of their discussion since entering the kitchen, giving a nod towards Juniper. His eyes quickly noted the stitches and bruising at her side, still smelled faintly that scent of iron he knew so well. He had seen the looks of pain, anguish, and guilt before. "Automated steeds are trivial compared to thy own well-being." He took a seat across from June, eyeing her carefully as he spoke. He would dance around the subject first. "How does thee fare? I have seen pearls less pale than thee."

"Feel like I got shot, which…funny story," June snorted into the counter, twisting her head up so her chin was resting on the counter instead. She eyed the raw cinnamon rolls with a forlorn expression, licking her lips like she could already taste the sweet goodness on her tongue. "Can I eat one now?" Her stomach rumbled in agreement at the idea.

"No," Imogen laughed softly as she got a pot of coffee started before turning on the various burners on the stove and the oven, then retrieved multiple frying pans from a cabinet. "Magni’s right," she agreed as she grabbed a baking dish and began prepping the cinnamon rolls. "Phil is under the same roof as three of the richest people in the world. I think we can afford to buy him a new car. I do not, however, have enough money to buy a new June." She glanced over her shoulder toward her with a warm smile. "Plus, if you asked Phil I’m sure he’d say the same thing… In his own grumpy way."

By the time Imogen finished lining up the rolls in the pan, the coffee was finished brewing and everything was up to temp. Imogen slipped the cinnamon rolls into the oven and set a timer. She grabbed three coffee mugs and filled them. She left one behind on the counter for her to sip at while cooking, then took the other two to Magni and June. "Cream and sugar," she snapped after passing off their drinks. She ducked into the fridge to grab… milk was the best she had, then scooped up the sugar bowl and two spoons. Imogen returned to the dining table and set them down for them.

Her left hand rose to rest against Magni’s back, thumb stroking his skin tenderly. Even seated, he was still around the same height as Imogen as she looked into his eyes. "Do you prefer waffles or pancakes?"

"Tell her both." June mock whispered, covering her mouth so Imogen couldn’t see her speak even though they were both right there. She let her hands drop after a moment, a lazy smile set on her face as one of her hands wandered toward her side. It was easier to push aside the anxiety that felt all consuming earlier when she was around other people, but it was better to talk about it than bottle it up. Her fingers probed along the bruise, small sparks of pain crawling down her side like spiders over her skin.

Magni gratefully accepted the coffee, being very delicate in holding the mug. As Imogen placed a hand on his back, he leaned into the touch, turning his gaze to face his newfound partner. He took in June's suggestion, but simply shook his head. "To make demands of a host would be dishonorable. Make what thou wilt, and ‘twill be a fine feast." He lifted the mug to his lips, knocking back the cup and downing the contents swiftly. As he gave a relieved sigh and set down the mug, his mind drifted to memories of his childhood. He and his brother had always made a mess in the kitchen when preparing the batter for Sunday breakfast. He remembered the small pride he had when his mother had finally let him flip the pancakes all on his own when he was six, and how he had gotten one stuck to the ceiling when he was eight. Pancakes always reminded him of that shabby apartment in Brooklyn.

"Do you know any…any mutants that can control emotions?" The question was tentatively posed, the hitch in her breath the only give away to how June actually felt.

While Magni might have refused to answer her question, his memories did instead. Imogen contemplated giving him a kiss before drifting back to the kitchen, for no other reason than she wanted to and had the freedom of tasting his lips as much as she pleased, but she refrained. June might have stumbled upon them while in the middle of intimacy but that didn't mean she was going to intentionally make her uncomfortable with displays of affection either. She gave Magni's back one last stroke of her thumb before slipping her hand free. Imogen grabbed the pot of coffee, then returned and refilled his mug.

"I don't," she replied to June's question after some thought. "I can erase memories but…" Imogen sighed, looking her in the eyes with concern. "I don't recommend it. Our memories make us who we are, even the bad ones. Erasing a memory erases part of what makes you you. And I can't reverse it once it's been done."

Reluctantly, Imogen wandered back to the kitchen, grabbed a mixing bowl and started prepping the pancake batter from scratch. The entire time she added ingredients she had to fight the urge to sift through June's mind like a filing cabinet in search of her meaning. After finishing whisking and pouring out the first set of pancakes she turned to face the dining room table. "What aren't you telling me, June?"

"Wasn’t going to ask you to erase my memories," she sighed, pressing her cheek against the cool surface of the table. The thought hadn’t occurred to her, but now that it was in her head…no, she wouldn’t have asked even if she’d known. The man had brought her to a brink she hadn’t been able to fathom before, what if it happened again? It couldn’t happen again.

What was it she wasn’t telling Imogen? There were several things, most of them began and ended with Jim, but she was trying to spare the other woman that. So, she focused on the vastly less pleasant memories, squeezing her eyes shut. The anger was evocative and had a visceral reaction even now, bubbling inside of her bloodstream in a way it had no right to. He’d twisted her emotions, brought it to the surface of who she was on a fundamental level, but he hadn’t fabricated any of it. The anger was hers, and it scared her.

"I could have killed him with one shot," she said instead of giving life to those darker thoughts, admitting to what she’d done was easier than admitting to her fears. "I had it lined up, but I chose not to. He took parts of myself I buried and brought them all up…" Juniper shuddered, and she could practically taste that anger on her tongue with all the sweetness of a cinnamon roll. She pressed her fingers into the bruise, let the pain wash over her, refocus her, she used it to drown out everything else. "Everything feels all wrong now, like he sunk his nails into my emotions and now I can’t control them as well."

She let her voice trail out, not able to say everything else when Magni was there. She didn’t know him, didn’t trust him like she trusted Imogen. It was easier to just surrender the memories of it all to the other woman, she knew she was tempted to just look for them anyways. They came in fluttering snapshots of moments, rain sliding down the collar of her shirt, fingers slipping in hot blood, twisting his neck until his face was submerged in that murky water. Doing it over, and over, and over again. The pain of his desperate struggles, his fingers digging into the wound in her side, how her anger had kept rising until he was dead and then it all snapped back in on her like a rubber band. Laying on the ground in the rain, those few moments where everything felt so far away. Crushing uselessness, how tired she’d been.

By the time it was done, June had gone sort of limp at the table. The surface was warm beneath her face now, sticky and uncomfortable. June mentally pulled back as much as she could, and she began to recite chemical compounds in her head as she spoke next. "Also," her voice was a little strangled now. "I slept with Jim."

Imogen listened to June’s words intently as she began plating up food while the cinnamon rolls had a few remaining minutes to cook. The images of June torturing the unknown man flashed through her mind as she slowly approached the dining table. She silently slid a large stack of pancakes covered in melted butter and maple syrup in front of Magni along with a second plate that was half bacon and four fried eggs. Her gaze fell to where June’s dug into the bruise on her side. Imogen slapped her hand away as her brow knit together in concern. "Don’t do that," she practically hissed.

She lingered there for a moment with an angered, but compassionate grimace until she was certain June wouldn’t try hurting herself again. The ding of the oven’s timer was the only thing that pulled her away. There were several things Imogen wanted to say. She had no experience killing. Hell, she didn’t even have experience fighting outside of training during her days at the academy. That was something Magni could relate to more than herself but she did think that there were times where it was necessary to kill, especially when it’s you or them. An argument could even be made for torture in some circumstances but she didn’t know if she was capable of that with her own hands. She had never been pushed to those extremes to know what she was capable of.

Imogen turned off the timer and opened the oven when June’s words cut through the silence like a rusted blade over flesh. The admission caught her so off guard that she reached for the cinnamon rolls with the wrong hand. It wasn’t until the baking dish was out of the oven that the burn registered. "Son of a bitch!" She dropped the pan on the counter and hurried to the sink to submerge her hand under cold water. Before she could hear any of June’s thoughts over the rushing water Imogen shut off her mind. The last thing she needed was those images scarring her for the rest of her life. She’d rather not have to kill herself just yet.

"About time… But Jesus, June. Warn me next time," she groaned through clenched teeth as she looked down at the pink flesh of her palm.

Magni moved quickly, swiftly rushing into the bathroom at the sound of Imogen’s pain. He plucked out a small bandage and a small salve that looked familiar, before striding back to her side. He wrapped his arms around Imogen, standing behind her as he held her hand in his. He observed the burn and grabbed a dish towel to help dry the wound. He was quick and deliberate, applying the gel over the forming blister, before securely fastening the bandage around the area. He was silent as he did so, but hovered behind Imogen for a moment after he was finished. He squeezed her biceps before taking a step back, his thoughts shifting back towards June’s confessions.

He was confused by the surprise Imogen showed towards the reveal of June and Jim’s passionate tussle. Surely she had seen the woman sitting in her brother’s lap and hanging all over him at the pool the day before. Regardless, it was not his place to comment on love-making in this scenario. There were more pressing matters that he was more fitting to address. He turned his attention to Juniper, his eyes narrowing as he observed her. His words were slow and deliberate. "It is a great toll on the soul to take the life of another. To have thy emotions twisted in the process…" His words trailed off for a moment, refocusing his thoughts elsewhere. "The choice was made by thy foe. Violence is messy, unfocused, chaotic. There is no shame in losing oneself to it, especially when thou recognizes it… and when someone twists thy thoughts."

June had jolted upright at the cry of Imogen’s pain, eyes wide and wild for a moment before it registered that it was accidentally self-inflicted. Guilt shot through her, and she hastened to soothe the other woman emotionally as Magni worked on the actual burn with quick efficiency. "I wasn’t thinking of it! I was going over the chemical compound of a hydrogen bomb, I’m not trying to scar you for life." June’s voice was a mix of wounded and worried, and she rubbed a hand across her face, keeping her hands clear of her side in fresh memory of Imogen’s sharp reprimand. "I’m sorry."

Her eyes slid toward Magni and then bounced away, shame churning in her stomach like acid. She looked down at her hands instead, braced against the table, one of her fingers wrapped in the white bandage that was now spotted with red, there was still blood under her nails. Juniper looked back up toward Magni, offering a wan and fragile smile. "I…" She sank back into her seat, letting out a slow breath. "I haven’t killed anyone before, my dad…he didn’t believe in killing, so I especially tried to avoid it in Gotham. It feels," she hesitated, swallowing around the sick that swelled up in her throat. "Sacrilegious."

Imogen was a bit dumbstruck at the speed Magni sought to alleviate her pain. Her heart fluttered in her chest as his large arms wrapped around her making quick work of bandaging her blister before it finished forming. When he squeezed her shoulders she tried to shake off thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking about at a moment like that. She cleared her throat and, far more cautiously, went about prepping two cinnamon rolls for June. Once they were iced and on a plate, Imogen carried them over to the dining table and set them in front of her. "I’m probably the worst person in this tower to give advice when it comes to being a hero. I’ve never killed, let alone been in a fight. But…" She sighed, running her thumb over her bandaged palm. "He tried killing you and was after Phil. That’s reason enough for me. That man doesn’t deserve your guilt."

She gave June’s hand a gentle squeeze before wandering back over to the kitchen. Imogen made an inventory of everything she prepared, even sparing a glance to June and Magni’s full plates. "Did you need anything else? More coffee? Juice?" It seemed once Imogen ran out of things to busy herself with she sought something else to keep her mind from accidentally slipping the tendrils back out and catching a glimpse of June’s thoughts. Rather than sit down, she started collecting the dirty pans and dishes.

Magni moved back to his seat as they spoke, settling himself in as he looked over the meal prepared for him. He listened to June’s confessions and inner turmoil, letting Imogen speak and do her thing. He gave a slight shake of his head as she asked if there was anything he needed. He wanted Imogen to join them, to sit down and eat beside him, but he knew that moving and keeping busy could help to ease the mind. He would save her some food. In the interim, he spooned up a big forkful of pancake and quickly shoved it into his mouth, letting out a grunt of pleasure. They were better than he remembered. As he swallowed down his first bite, he spoke softly. "To carry a title, a mask, or a cause is to bear responsibility greater than thy individual desires or code." He scooped up more of the fluffy pastries, shoving them down and swallowing with all the gusto of a man who had not eaten in a week. "Sometimes, the choice is beyond us. Circumstance can make us an audience of our own lives." He gave a knowing look towards June. Her description and injury made clear that even if she had lost herself to rage, the outcome had been set by those attempting to slay her.

And yet, he would not coddle a warrior. "It does not get easier… the memories, the faces, the final moments of those slain by thy hand." He scooped up another forkful of pancake, his content expression and always jovial tone in sharp contrast to his words. "To kill is the greatest burden, when done with sound mind and body." He took in the bite, chewing slowly as he mulled over his own words. "And yet… ‘tis always the simplest action, the easiest course." He left the remaining quarter of his pancakes, turning his attention to the eggs and bacon he had stacked up. He shook his head slightly, doing his best to tamper down the brief flashes that threatened to overwhelm his thoughts for Imogen’s sake. "It helps to talk about it… to not let it fester in thy soul." His eyes did shift to his partner, the creeping realization that he may need to follow his own advice burning at the edges of his thoughts. Another time, another place, perhaps.

Luckily for Magni, Imogen's mind was still shut down for fear of a temporary slip up where images even bleach couldn't remove got seared in her memory. Even without an ear to his thoughts, she could tell by the way he looked at her that he wanted her to sit down and relax. She sighed, finally gathering herself a single cinnamon roll and her coffee before slipping into the seat beside him. She absently tore a piece from the gooey pastry but never actually took a bite. Imogen was thankful Magni was there. Killing and fighting was something she knew nothing about. Her mind couldn't help but drift to the thoughts she had in the darkness of the night but she tried her best to push them away and focus on June.

June shook her head to Imogen’s question, but she stared at the cinnamon rolls blankly for a long moment. She took in what they said, and she appreciated it, but…"I didn’t just kill him," her voice was soft and empty, she sounded like a broken doll. "I strangled him, over and over. I was so angry and I couldn’t stop, I…I didn’t even try though, all there was…was me, my anger, and him. I didn’t just kill him, I tortured him, but it wasn’t useful. I didn’t even—" June choked on her words, and she pressed her hands over her face instead of digging them into her side like she wanted to. Her fingers were trembling, there was so much shame and guilt inside of her, and she was sat at Imogen’s table having a fucking therapy session with her and a God. Everything was so fucked. "Damnit. I didn’t ask him any questions, I just tortured him, and then I held his head in a puddle of fucking rain water until he died. It didn’t feel easy, it felt cruel."

June couldn’t look at them, wouldn’t. She was terrified that she’d find the disgust she felt for herself reflected in their faces. She hasn’t been able to tell Jim, either. She shouldn’t have told any of them, should have locked it up somewhere quiet and private and let it fester, advice be damned. But some part of her valued their opinion more, she didn’t want to turn away even if it made her feel weak and uncomfortable. "After he died, it all just stopped. It was like…I don’t know, like someone had been holding my hand against ice until the feeling in my fingers drained away. After I could pull back, everything was just numb. I almost—" she swallowed the last confession like it was bile that needed to be kept down. No, that last part, she would keep it to herself. "I feel like a burden, talking about it."

"I understand wanting to suffer in silence. I do it a lot more than people think," Imogen admitted as she crossed her left leg over her right. "My problems are a lot more trivial than things you both go through but… Someone recently told me I should share my burdens so I don't drown in them alone. And they were right." Her hand slowly reached out under the table to rest on Magni’s knee while her thumb gently stroked his skin tenderly.

The idea that Imogen thought her own burdens were trivial, that she’d choose to suffer in silence too, it sat wrong in June’s chest. It was the first thing she had been able to focus on properly since the panic attack had started, giving her a metaphorical point of narrowed vision. Her hands, trembling still, slid slowly from her face so she could focus on the other woman properly. Her vision had been fuzzy around the edges, but now it felt as if everything was clear again. This was, undoubtedly, the first time June had allowed herself to be vulnerable like this in the midst of a panic attack. She just…felt safe with Imogen. Her gaze stuck to the tabletop, a surreal feeling rising up in her. All of the friendships she’d made in college had felt superficial, Jim had been her closest friend for as long as she could remember, it was jarring to realize she was capable of forming actual, tangible friendships.

"June… Honey," Imogen reached her other hand out across the table, hoping she'd take it. "Those fuckers took all of our dads, your brother and hundreds of other innocent people. Don't feel guilty for doing to them what they've undoubtedly done to someone else." She sighed softly. "They probably wouldn't have given you anything if you questioned them anyway." She tilted her head to the side, leaning down slightly to try and catch June's gaze. "If you want us to judge you for what you did, you're in the wrong apartment. And if someone says something I'll choke slam through the wall." She smiled innocently but there was a dangerous glint of truth that sparkled in her eyes. No one, not a single person in that tower had a right to judge someone for killing. These were desperate times and they were beyond the point of playing nice.

Imogen’s hand slid on the table in front of her, and June automatically took it. She let her words wash over her, glancing up to meet the woman’s gaze in a way that was timid and unlike herself, mulling over everything Imogen said for a long moment. "Your burdens aren’t trivial," it was the first coherent thought that she could give voice to, because it had been the loudest in her head. She squeezed her hand weakly, offering a shaky smile. "Thanks for listening, I…didn’t tell Jim." June looked back down at her cinnamon roll, and added, in a voice bordering on sheepish— "Sorry for going to the bank when you told me not to, I wasn’t thinking clearly." She’d do it again though, given the opportunity, because that was the sort of Hero June was turning out to be, and maybe that wasn’t too bad a title to claim, after all.

There was a second where Imogen’s lips parted to argue with June, but in the end her mouth slowly closed and she nodded her head. Her burdens being how she feels unloved by her brother and useless compared to everyone in the tower felt like one of those self deprecating conversations people had to fish for compliments. She’d rather remain silent than dig thoughts back out after the sweet things Magni said to lull them away. "Whatever you tell me in confidence intentionally or through your thoughts remains our secret. I promise." Imogen laughed softly at June’s apology. "I knew you weren’t going to listen to me. But it’s ok, because you’re alive. If you weren’t I’d have to find a necromancer just so I could kick your ass myself," she teased but her smile remained warm and comforting.

June laughed, feeling her shoulders slowly relax. A lot of what Magni had said was still rolling around in her head, and it was with a heavy heart that she realized he was right. She’d taken up the mask, the title, and the cause, her personal desires had to fall to the wayside now that she was shouldering such responsibility. If she hadn’t killed him, he would have very likely done worse to someone else. She’d need to adjust her personal training to better compensate for emotional vulnerabilities, more time meditating, more time working out. She had to eliminate that weakness as much as possible, because if she didn’t the next time would be worse. She simply couldn’t afford to allow herself to go to the edge of that abyss again, because the fallout was too much.

Though, there was a quiet part of Juniper that felt like a caged tiger, pacing the length of her enclosure. That level of rushlessness, the relentless way she’d worn him down like he was the prey and she the predator, maybe that was the sort of all person she’d need to become if they were going to find their fathers, her brother, and bring them home.

She slowly slipped her hand from June’s and pointed at the uneaten food in front of her. "Eat," she instructed. Following her own advice, Imogen finally took a bite of her cinnamon roll. Even after a decade she found it a bit difficult to have breakfast, but she tried. Her other hand ran along the top of Magni’s and hooked beneath his palm so she could slip her fingers between his, subconsciously seeking support before she opened the next can of worms. "Ok," she sighed and pointed to her head. "It’s off... What happened with Jim?"

June obediently took a bite of her cinnamon roll, basking in the taste of the cinnamon in particular, before she nearly choked on her bite. She coughed a few times, swallowing hard, before eyeing Imogen wearily. "Uh," she said, color rushing to her face. Quite a lot had happened with Jim, but considering this was his sister there was only so much June could share. "Well, I was bleeding out on the floor and he was trying to stitch me up, after he got the bullet out." Her eyes slid up to the ceiling, once again finding it easier to talk without looking at either of them, but for entirely different reasons this time. "I may have convinced him to kiss me…then passed out, total accident, only half my fault really."

It was 100% her fault, but she wasn’t admitting to that, thank you very much. June, feeling that eloquence was evading her, proceeded to shove the rest of her cinnamon roll in her mouth. The silence stretched as she chewed, a touch aggressively, eyeing the second cinnamon roll like it could receive the same treatment at a moment's notice. Once she’d swallowed though, the rest of it whooshed out. "We didn’t…I mean, we uh…Christ, we didn’t sleep together until this morning. We had a conversation about it on the way back, and a uhh, a date planned, kind of? It’s a little confusing, actually." She shrugged in a way that was self deprecating, deflating a little as she picked at the second cinnamon roll. "Jim seemed happy," June’s voice went gentle, gaze softening some as she recalled his open excitement and how it had made her heart flutter. "That makes me happy."

June looked up then, meeting Imogen’s gaze, before her eyes flickered to Magni and back to Imogen, raising an eyebrow as if to say Well, what about you?

Imogen laughed finishing her cinnamon roll as June panic explained everything that happened between her and Jim… Sparing her the gory details. Thank God. She licked the remaining icing from her fingertips before finally speaking. "Honey, I don’t have to read your mind to know it was your doing." She laughed softly. "Jim has the emotional maturity of a twelve year old. He wouldn’t understand social cues if they hit him over the head with a frying pan." The deja vu of June’s fantasies from the night before flashed across Imogen’s mind at the faint thought of her seducing her brother. The muscle in her jaw tensed as she quickly tried to murder the images with any horrible thought that could come to mind… Dead babies, Phil in a speedo, Donald Trump naked. She blinked a couple times and then her smile returned with ernest. "But I’m glad you both are happy. That’s all I want for you both. I’d tell you not to break my brother’s heart but I think we both know if someone is going to fuck it up it’ll be him."

June snorted, that soft smile still on her face. She wasn’t sure if she’d let Jim fuck it up, now that they got to a point where they were both mostly on the same page. She’d stick by him, unless he explicitly told her he didn’t want her. It was different than it had been with Liam, a relationship of convenience compared to one with mutual desire were drastically different.

Her brows raised as June’s insinuating gaze flicked between herself and Magni. "June, I’m not opening back up my mind until relationship talk is off the table," Imogen laughed before taking a sip of her now lukewarm coffee. "If you have a question, you’ll have to ask it."

She huffed, embarrassed at the direction of the conversation because the elephant was quite literally in the room with them. "You have no faith in the control I have over my mind," she muttered, taking a bite of the cinnamon roll instead of asking her question right away. She allowed herself to actually enjoy this one, the sweetness of it spreading across her tongue. "Well," her smile turned a little devious. "Magni is having second breakfast, and you guys were making out at the pool last night, soooo…" she dragged the word out, wiggling her eyebrows playfully at Imogen. "Can I be a bridesmaid?"

Magni nearly choked on his sausage, having nearly cleaned his plates entirely. June's teasing bore a word that he was not expecting. He knew what a bride was. He did not recall sharing breakfast being a part of the act of betrothal in Midgard. The thought of marriage was something he hadn't even considered at this stage. It seemed wrong to drag Imogen away from her own realm to help rule in his domain. Even then… It was far too early for any of that. He would not be made a fool of again, not until he was certain that this was not all just another trick. The other word June used did raise some questions. He was not entertaining marriage yet, but he would not settle for a low quality of service for a partner. "Dost thou have experience in housekeeping?" His expression was serious, his tone genuine.

"Do I what?" June sputtered, her joke backfiring in a fantastically miserable manner, her previous laughter choking into a sort of wheeze.

Imogen’s face went bright red. She slipped her hand out of Magni’s grasp and buried her face in her palms. "Oh my God, June." She took a minute… or three, to try and gather her thoughts. There were a couple times where her lips parted to reply but then her mouth snapped shut and she swallowed the thought. She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears before looking over at Magni. "Maid as in an unmarried woman, not a servant." She laughed awkwardly while her cheeks remained a vibrant shade of pink. "In Midgard, or Western culture here specifically, when a couple is married the bride will have bridesmaids. Umm…" Her brows furrowed as she tried to find the words to describe it. "Usually a couple of friends or family members that stand by her side in support during the wedding ceremony." She scratched her head feeling exceptionally awkward explaining this to her partner of what?... Twelve hours give or take. "There are groomsmen who perform a similar role for the groom."

She sighed softly, turning her attention back to June with a less than amused expression. "It happened fast, I know. I… Don’t know what to say." Imogen anxiously bounced her crossed leg while picking at the bandage wrapped around her palm. She gave Magni a brief sideways glance then looked back at the woman across the table. It was very uncomfortable being put on the spot when the man in question sat right beside her. If it was just her and June her response would have been entirely different, but in his presence she found herself floundering. She cleared her throat. "Magni is kind. He trusts me with his thoughts, and cares about my feelings… I…" Her voice drifted off when she was at a loss for words again. It was odd listing the reasons she agreed to be exclusive with him less than a day ago where they then spent most of the remaining time barely leaving bed. "I guess old crushes die hard," she admitted with an awkward smile without looking up.

Magni's eyes remained fixed on Imogen as she spoke, soaking in her explanations carefully. It was an interesting tradition, one he could see purpose in. As her leg began to bounce and she fumbled over her words, he set down his fork and knife and slid a hand under the table to her knee. He gave it a soft squeeze, but did not hold it in place. He did not want to cause injury or let her feel trapped, just trying to offer some silent reassurance.

June reached out instinctively, patting the top of Imogen’s hand gently, smiling gently at the woman and trying to be as reassuring as possible, as it seemed to be her turn. "I was only joking," she soothed, ducking down some in a similar manner to what Imogen had done in order to catch her gaze. "I’m happy for you, really. It doesn’t matter how fast things happen, if the connection is genuine."

Imogen’s gaze slowly lifted from her lap to meet June’s as she patted her hand. A fraction of her smile returned even if her cheeks remained flushed at the sudden attention. She knew June was joking but something about it triggered the subconscious defensiveness inside her, like she was waiting for someone to make a comment about it… Someone like Jim. She shouldn’t have to explain what makes her happy. No one deserved an explanation behind her decision beyond Magni, but even so, she felt like she had to explain herself for his sake rather than her own.

June glanced at Magni, still smiling, but there was an edge to her gaze that could only be described as dangerous. She squinted at him in an assessing manner, before huffing out a breath and squeezing Imogen’s hand one more time, letting go to lean back in her seat. "I’ll do the whole threatening sibling thing, since Jim would sooner eat glass than say how much he cares about anyone aloud." June’s voice was deceptively pleasant, and she smiled at Magni a little too widely. "If you hurt her, I’ll find a way to lift that hammer so I can throw it at you." She clapped her hands together, as if suddenly remembering something very important. "And get that thing out of my Batmobile, please." June nodded to herself, feeling as if she’d covered her bases quite nicely.

Magni laughed. The table and chairs and cutlery shook slightly from the thunderous cackle. His eyes were bright, and he gently slapped the table. The chains rattled violently at the move. He shook his head as the laughter died down. "A warrior's spirit resides in thee, but it is beyond mortal means to do as thou wishes with Mjolnir." The light in his eyes remained, though his smile faded. He leaned closer, his lowered tone still more than clear. "I will hurt her, as she will harm me. It is the nature of being close."

A quiet laugh slipped from Imogen’s lips at Magni’s own jovial reaction. There was a warmth that grew in her chest when June attempted to threaten a literal God to keep him from hurting her. The image of her attempting to lift his hammer and beat his ass with it was an entertaining thought. But some of the levity was shadowed by June’s comment about Jim. Even though she knew her brother would implode before showing any concern when it came to her well being, there was a part of her that wanted him to return at least a fraction of the love she gave him. She sighed softly but made sure her smile remained unchanged. At least June cared, that was something.

A spark lit up in Juniper’s eyes, a familiar one for Imogen but its significance would be lost on Magni. She loved a challenge, it was something she’d inherited from her father, the itch to meet the challenge head on would live beneath her skin, the desire to try and best it by whatever means necessary beat within her chest like a second heartbeat. Was it beyond mortal means because Magni believed no mortal was capable, or was it because no mortal had managed it before? Her smile turned a little wild at the prospect, but she kept her thoughts to herself on it. It would amount to nothing, she was sure, given the fact that the hammer was some Godly artifact, or whatever, but the challenge took up a new residence within the crevices of her mind, something new to ponder over when sleep evaded her.

He turned his gaze towards Imogen, his hand still resting on her leg. The smile returned as he looked at her, even if his tone still remained serious. "She bears remarkable empathy and care in her demeanor. She went out of her way to ensure we were fed and our thirsts were quenched, she tended to thy wound without hesitation." His thoughts wandered. There were smaller things, more vain things that came to mind. She was gorgeous, but saying such things seemed inappropriate. He also did not think it wise to speak on their compatibility in lovemaking, even if he had no shame in sharing such details.

When he turned back to face June, he took a deep breath. He needed to make one thing clear. "I would not wed so quickly, there is much to discuss in the process of courting Lady Frost before such a topic would be broached." He cleared his throat, feeling a heat begin to burn his cheeks as he refocused. "I… do not believe I will have much interest in other suitresses for quite some time. She hath spoiled such desires."

While Magni spoke more sweet words about her, Imogen’s lips tugged in a flattered and faintly bashful smile. Her fingers slowly ran across the top of his hand that rested on her knee. She looked up, noticing the soft flush that crept across his cheeks. His reassurances, although spoken toward June, made her stomach flutter and her heart skip a beat. Her hold on his hand tightened slightly in a tender squeeze as silent acknowledgement and gratitude at his words. "It’s ok," she spoke softly, taking her turn to reassure him. "June is teasing us. Marriage—" she cleared her throat, "Is a far off conversation that I’m in no rush to address."

Magni seemed content with this answer, turning his attention back to his own plates of food. She sighed softly, slowly turning her attention back to June with a sheepish smile. "I’ll make sure he grabs his hammer before training."

June’s brows furrowed, and she leaned back in her seat some. "We have training?" she glanced down at her side, grimaced, and then shrugged. She would heal regardless, but if her stitches popped it would suck. She dragged a hand across her face, wiping away what was left of the moisture from her earlier tears. "Phil planned it, didn’t he? Probably some retribution for me wrecking his car, or for you waking him up in the middle of the night." She grinned at Imogen, before shifting in her seat with a touch of embarrassment, looking down at her empty plate. "Thanks, both of you."

Imogen sighed softly. "I texted you about it… Right after I told you Phil was ok." While her voice was soft because she understood June was indisposed for various, and some life threatening, reasons but there was also a tinge of annoyance. "For how much you and Jim have your noses in tech, you’d think you both would be better at checking your phones," she mused with a tilt of her head. "He pushed it back to noon because I lied and told him I was drunk… He doesn't know what happened." He chewed on the inside of her cheek while the tip of her thumb mindlessly ran along Magni’s knuckles.

"Oh," June patted her pockets, but didn’t find her phone. She frowned for a moment, trying to remember where she’d left it. Most likely it was still down in the infirmary with her purse, she’d need to back track to grab it. "Sorry, I’ve always been awful at remembering to check my texts." She gave the other woman an embarrassed shrug, June was notorious for not replying to texts for days at a time, most of the time it was because she forgot to text back.

The blonde slowly looked over to meet June’s gaze with a faint smile. "Sure. My door is always open." Imogen’s eyes squinted slightly as she raised her free hand to scratch her head. "Well… Enter at your own peril I guess," she laughed softly as the warmth returned to her cheeks. "Maybe check with J.A.R.V.I.S. first."

"Trust me," there was an edge of humor in her tone, and she was trying not to smile. "I’ll be checking in with J.A.R.V.I.S. for now on." It was a good thing she was as drugged as she was, because the mortification of having walked in on them in the way she had would likely last for days otherwise. The pain medication let June, more or less, gloss right over it in her head. A true blessing.

"I’m glad you came to see me," Imogen commented with a subtle smile. "I wasn’t able to sleep the rest of the night and seeing you is far more reassuring than a text from H.E.L.E.N." The last word slipped out a bit more venomous than the rest but her calm demeanor didn’t shift. Her anger wasn’t at June, it was at her brother… So nothing new there. "Might have been nice if you waited five minutes so I could have finished, but…" She shrugged with a guilty and slightly teasing expression. While the circumstances might have been a little embarrassing for all of them, Imogen always found humor to be the best way to make light of those kinds of situations.

June winced at the mention of H.E.L.E.N. knowing that Imogen’s argument with Jim was still relatively fresh. She wasn’t sure if there was any way to soothe that, it was very much so out of her hands, but… "Jim mentioned he understood how you felt now, a little." She offered the other woman a tentative smile, knowing she was broaching a sensitive topic. "Because I called you first…I told him I wasn’t planning to call him at all." The smile turned a little vindictively smug there, but it had been the truth.

A weak laugh rumbled in Imogen’s chest in a bit of disbelief but also pettiness at knowing he might know a fraction of the shit he put her through. "You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe it unless I hear it from his own mouth." She rapped her fingers gently against the top of Magni’s hand as her thoughts drifted for a moment. "You didn’t mean to call me, June. You thought I was Alfred." While her voice was quiet, and maybe even a little guarded but she made her words sound factual, not angry or hurt. She made sure to lock away the darker thoughts that plagued her in the middle of the night. Sharing those thoughts with Magni was one thing, but she didn’t want to unpack that, not right now.Magni gave Imogen’s knee a light, reassuring squeeze as he picked up on her change in tone.

She pushed herself to her feet, clenching her teeth, face twisting some in pain as the stitches tugged and pulled at her side. Juniper wasn’t new to pain, when she was sixteen her dad had taken her to train with Shaolin monks for a year, and a lot of that training had involved some form of pain. Though, none of the bamboo sticks that had been broken over her stomach during those training sessions quite compared to being shot. She steadied herself with a hand on the table, letting out a slow breath through her nose.

"I’ll be sure to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. how close you are, next time." June laughed, letting the pain slip to the back of her mind not unlike she was shutting it away inside of a box. It was good that the two of them could cope similarly, she just hoped the fact that it was a joke didn’t go over Magni’s head. "I’m going to go change and…find my phone. I’ll see you both in training. Thanks, really. It did help."

Imogen smiled softly as slipped out of her seat and started collecting dishes. "I’d recommend you rest and don’t train, but I know you won’t listen to me. I’ll let Jim fight that battle." She nodded her head toward June before carrying a stack of plates over to the sink. Magni helped to stack up a few and brought over the mugs of coffee.

"I wouldn’t know what rest was if it snuck up and bit me in the ass." June chuckled to herself as she headed toward the elevator, giving Magni a jaunty salute as she left. He gave a wave back, a small look of concern washing over his face as he watched her leave. She had a drive that seemed to outmatch her limitations in a way that often led to tragedy.

It took several minutes for Imogen to clean up their mess while also offering Magni any remaining food which consisted of three cinnamon rolls, two pieces of bacon, and one sausage link. As she wandered about the kitchen she hummed to herself subconsciously. She was lucky enough to have one of the penthouses that did have a dishwasher, specifically because her dad knew how much she enjoyed cooking and knew she’d rarely eat in the cafeteria like everyone else. Magni handed each dirty dish and pan one by one to Imogen. She diligently scraped food waste into the trash, rinsed the dishes and placed them neatly into the washer. After setting the machine to run a cycle, Imogen carefully unwrapped her hand. The skin on her palm was pink and irritated but Magni’s fast acting looked like it might have staved off some more serious blistering. She tossed the bandages in the trash, making a mental note to rewrap it after she took a much needed shower.

Imogen turned back to Magni and took his hand in hers. "Come on," she spoke softly while giving him a gentle tug. "We both could use a shower." Her fingers slowly slipped between his as she guided him through her apartment toward the bathroom. She only released her hold on him once they stood on the stone tile and she was able to close the door behind them… And locked it for good measure. She wasn’t really in the mood for two surprise visits in one morning.

After reaching into the shower and turning on the water so it had time to get warm, Imogen started undressing. Her hands crossed at her waist, grabbing the hem of the large t-shirt and pulled it over her head. She then hooked her thumbs around the strings of her thong that arched over her hips, tugged them down and let the fabric fall to the ground around her ankles. "I’m sorry we were interrupted," her voice was quiet as she took a step toward Magni. She rested her hands on his hips and slid her fingers beneath the fabric of his tights. "I want to make it up to you," she whispered, holding his gaze as she started undressing him slowly.

Once his clothes found their home on the ground around his feet, Imogen led him into the shower. Her hands pressed against his abdomen, pushing him back into one of the walls. She likely would have stolen a kiss if she could actually reach him, but she settled for pressing her lips to the bare skin of his chest. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she trailed kisses down his body, interspersed with the occasional soft bite. His eyes met hers, and he reached up to bunch up Imogen’s hair tightly in one meaty fist. She slowly lowered herself until she kneeled on the ground before him in the cascade of water. Her hands hooked around the back of his thighs before she leaned in with every intent to return the pleasure he had given her.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... jim ............... collabs ....|.... @webboysurf @Sleepy Tani}

Descendants

<sup>#375a87 ....|...... outfit .....|..... nightingale .......................................................... #ed1c24 ....|..... outfit .....|..... vanguard.....................

traveling</sup>

"What's our ETA, H.E.L.E.N.?"

"We will be arriving in approximately 38 minutes at 10:43 AM."

Jim nodded, leaning back in the driver's seat as the van continued effortlessly weaving through highway traffic. Flakes of dried blood had turned the tips of his fingernails a faint reddish-white, his hands awkwardly tapping the door handle and the gearshift as he stared out at the road ahead of him. The car drove itself, the van being Jim's self-designed prototype for a line of autonomous vans meant to begin production by the end of the fiscal year. Bags still remained under his eyes, and two large thermoses of coffee sat empty in the cup holders. He was doing his best not to look June's direction as thoughts spiraled in his mind. He still wore his sweats and undershirt, though both were a bit more crumpled than they were before.

The van was another brilliant idea on Jim's part. He had called for it while mopping up June's bathroom, and it was idling outside them that morning. It gave them the opportunity to get naps on the trip back, and it had plenty of space to store the armor in the very back. Most importantly, the van was a tank in all but legal classification. Bulletproof windows, armored plating all around, near-lethal anti-theft technology… It was the only set of wheels Jim felt truly safe in. After June's ambush, it was the only thing he trusted to keep her safe. And yet, Jim still felt a need to ride alongside her just in case. He wouldn't be much help if they got attacked again and the van was compromised. So now, Jim was stuck in a rolling prison with a woman who had jumped him twice in the last twelve hours.

He needed to say something, but he had a sinking suspicion his words were going to sow discord. His eyes shifted towards June in the passenger seat, a small blush running up his cheeks at just the sight of her. He looked away quickly, frightened that making eye contact was going to lead to a repeat of earlier in the day. "So… ummm… did you still want to have that date?" He winced as the words left his mouth, the awkwardness of the question evident even to Jim. He continued nonetheless. "We don't exactly need a do-over at this point, so it might be a little… redundant."

June’s eyes were heavy, exhaustion and blood loss weighing her down. She also had the air of a satisfied cat, spread across her seat delicately, mindful of how every bump made her side twinge in pain. She’d struggled back into her sweatpants and sports bra after her second shower of the morning, skin flushed, body sore, but more victorious than she’d been even when she was participating in underground fight rings overseas. She jumped some at the sound of Jim’s voice, blinking open eyes that had slipped shut at some point. "Of course I want to," June sat up a little, wincing and rubbing a hand over her face. She bit her lip, thinking for a moment about how she’d like several do-overs of what they’d done in that shower, but those were the sort of thoughts she ought to keep to herself. Though, sometimes Jim could be a little…confused, so it was probably better if she shared those sorts of desires aloud. "I want to do that date, and then as many other dates as you’d entertain. You’re the only person I’ve ever—" her face burned, and she squirmed in her seat. "I mean, it was really good. For me, at least. So, as long as it was good for you, then maybe we-we could- I mean, only with each other. Unless that isn’t what you want, then…"

June turned toward the window, not even flinching as her stitches pulled uncomfortably on her side. She contemplated jumping out, curious if this speed would kill her and put her out of her misery or not.

Jim turned himself in his seat fully, staring over at June with an incredulous look. The gears slowly turned in his head as he looked her over. All the talk of wanting him to get the wrong idea, the sexual teasing, the demand for a kiss… for some reason, he hadn’t precisely connected those dots in the most obvious way. Given how Imogen acted around her friends, he was under the impression that June might also view things like kissing and sex a little more liberally. He wasn’t the world’s greatest detective, or even a remotely emotionally observant man, but he could tell that June was anxious. She was fumbling over words, shifting in place, blushing. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Processing it would take time, but the knowledge was enough to respond in the only way he knew how. "Holy shit… Junie Wayne is nervous? Call the tabloids." His tone was playful, but his nerves were still shot to hell. His ribbing always had a way of calming her down, giving her a way to redirect her feelings at him. He had always liked filling that role, but was still far too dense to understand why quite yet.

She laughed, turning back toward him, posture relaxing some, but she wasn’t going to back down. The timing felt off, she’d never expected the two of them to end up working so closely together because family members started to go missing, but she wouldn’t have traded what they’d done earlier for anything, or anyone, else. Her gaze was soft in a way that was rare and vulnerable, directed sorely at Jim. "This isn’t how I ever thought the conversation would go when I’d imagined it, not really how I imagined our first time either." She froze, eyes widening some as her words caught up to her brain. Her hand twitched toward the door handle, contemplating jumping after all. "The tabloids suck, anyways." She went on, hoping, praying really, that Jim would do what he did best and ignore the moments where someone blatantly shared their feelings with him. "They haven’t published a single accurate story about me, or you."

June’s luck had worn out. Jim was hanging on her every word, and her slip up did not escape his notice. His evil grin grew wider as he raised both his eyebrows, his voice dripping with condescending excitement. "So… you’ve thought about it before?" For once, he finally understood how their little game felt on June’s end. It was intoxicating, the smug power she held over him. He leaned closer from his spot, his eyes scanning her expression. She seemed more distressed than he had expected, his smile wavering slightly. He wasn’t sure if he would get an opportunity again, but something about the way June spoke made their game seem trivial. He needed to deflect, for her sake. With a shaky breath, he sighed. "I… have had dreams about you before. Chalked it up to hormones. But… I don’t exactly know how this stuff is supposed to go. You were with Liam, and I was busy with work, so I never really…" It was his turn to stammer and look away. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out what exactly he was trying to say. He cycled back to her questions. "It’s… all very new to me, but I do want to spend time with you. It’s just…"

There was an elephant in the van with them, whether they were willing to admit it or not. Jim wasn’t one for complications, or feelings, or confronting things that needed to be confronted. He acknowledged it anyway. "I want to find our fathers, and bring your brother back home… not that I am particularly excited for your dad to find out about last night, he scares the fuck out of me." His awkward joke hung in the air, more of a self-defense mechanism than an attempt to make her smile. "I… don’t want my feelings to get in the way of that." He paused for a moment, cycling through options on what to say next before speaking very slowly. "But… I need help making gadgets. And I have been having a hard time falling asleep lately…" His words trailed off as he searched June’s face in the hope she would understand what exactly he was getting at.

Her smile had tugged at her lips, softening her expression, but the more Jim spoke the more her smile slipped. The mention of Liam was a sore subject, she tried not to think about her brief time with him, and how the relationship as a whole had made her feel less like a person and more like an object. Her stomach had twisted itself into knots by the time Jim was done speaking, and June was reduced to a pair of suffocating lungs behind a stoic mask. It was rejection and acceptance all wrapped in one shiny metal bow, but she couldn’t understand why his deflection hurt so much.

Well, that wasn’t true. It hurt because he was pushing away how not only he felt, but how she felt as well, while planning to accept the physical. It wasn’t something she’d have ever expected of Jim, and that was perhaps what hurt the most. June’s eyes slid down to her hands, to the blood that was still beneath her nails, and it took every iota of her self control to stop the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Even in her worst dreams, this was never how she’d thought the conversation would go.

"I understand," the pause had been so brief it was barely there, and when she turned back to him the smile was back, though it no longer reached her eyes. It had hurt less when she had been shot, and she let her mind drift to how it had felt when that man had dug his thumb into the bullet wound. Pain was a good distraction from things that actually weighed on you, and so maybe this would be better for her. "It would be nice, not being the only one struggling to sleep." There were some perks that came from being trained by a man who qualified as one of the worlds best spies to be just as good as he was, namely being able to lie without batting a lash even when it felt like her ribs were being broken all over again, only this time by someone she’d trusted to never break them. "I’m happy, as long as you’re happy."

The mood had soured, unsurprisingly, when their families had been brought up. His attempts at levity did not help the matter. When she smiled at him, it wasn’t her smile: it was the fake one she used in public. He had seen it a few times. But given how understanding she seemed of the situation. Those last words, though, felt off. It’s a phrase he had seen used in movies, usually accompanied by sad music. This wasn’t that kind of moment. He wanted to be with her, she wanted to be with him, they had confessed… being happy if another was happy could be a good thing. He understood the sentiment. He caught himself smiling sympathetically when June was excited before. She must be thinking that… but the implication that she wasn’t happy still clung in the back of his mind, locked away behind more pressing thoughts.

June wanted to spend time with him. Excitement coated his words, even if his face was still mostly a stoic mask now. He looked out at the road in front of them, speaking as fast as he could think. "It’s not as romantic, upgrading the Batmobile or helping to update everyone’s suits, but it gives us a chance to talk. Strategize, sure, but maybe… we never really talked about your art before. What your style is, your inspirations, what they mean… and what kind of music you like, and..." He paused, his thoughts cataloging all the things he wanted to know about her. This didn’t feel like the time and place for that. Her somewhat pained expression from before had shot to the front of his mind, his attention immediately shifting back into her needs. "Shit… stitches, right. How are they? Do you need anything? I should have a kit in here somewhere."

She was surprised, the last thing June had expected him to bring up was her art. She hadn’t had time recently to turn toward her usual outlet, pieces sitting in her studio unfinished, but the clear excitement that radiated from him despite how he tried to keep it under control made her relax some. This was Jim, her best friend, someone she trusted inexplicably, so what if it didn’t happen the way she’d hoped? This was more than Juniper could have ever hoped for, and she wasn’t going to complain now and ruin it.

"Nothing popped, thankfully." her hand brushed across her side, fingers trailing over the splotchy and ugly bruise that was rising to the surface along her ribs. That was only a half truth, the stitches Alfred had given her the night before had popped at some point during the bank robbery, but it hurt more than it had bled so she ignored it. What was most concerning was how each deep breath hurt, it felt like June couldn’t quite get the proper amount of air into her lungs. "Cracked rib, maybe two? Dizzy from the blood loss, my pain is only at an eight though…I’ve had worse." She smiled, another lie, she’d never been shot before, but all things considered she had been lucky.

Jim was quiet for a moment, his brain cycling through what he had on hand that could possibly help June. She needed medical attention, proper medical attention. "We'll be at the tower soon… I can help you up to the infirmary." He eyed her wearily, his breath catching in his throat. He was a bit powerless to provide much aid. The only thing he could do was just be present. He reached a hand over awkwardly, placing it right next to June's leg in her seat. He turned his palm upward, and offered a small smile. "I can sit with you while you get patched up… whatever you need."

Her eyes slid to his hand, heart jumping to her throat, and she’d slid her own hand into Jim’s before she even could consider not doing it. Their fingers laced together like two pieces of a missing puzzle, and her cheeks flushed at how his calloused fingers felt against her own. "Stay with me," she whispered, not able to look him directly in the eye.

Jim nodded, his eyes fixed on the road in front of them. He squeezed June's hand softly. "Of course," he whispered back, a bit of a smile creeping on his lips. "Just… no more trips alone, ok? Flying that fast makes me sick."

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @webboysurf}

Descendants

<sup>#375a87 ....|...... outfit .....|..... nightingale .......................................................... #ed1c24 ....|..... outfit .....|..... vanguard.....................

gotham</sup>

Jim would wake up to the sound of running water in the morning, the faint scent of detergent lingering in the air, a pillow wedged carefully behind his head and a fluffy blanket draped across his chest. The smell of coffee coiled through the apartment, a fresh pot brewing in the kitchen. June had been busy since she woke up with a burst of adrenaline, dazed and confused for a few long moments as she tried to piece together the fuzzy spots of her memory. She’d talked to Imogen, then Jim had shown up and got her to her apartment. She could remember the bullet being pulled from her body, and pain that followed, but everything from there got too tangled together to sort out. She’d woken up with the taste of blueberry brandy, coffee, and oil lingering on her lips. It was a confusing mix, but she’d let it go in favor of everything else she needed to do.

She had the presence of mind to text Imogen before anything else, letting her know they’d be back soon, and apologizing. Then she’d thrown her bloodied sheets in the washer, tucked Jim in because he looked sad and cold, started a pot of coffee, and finally took a much needed shower. She’d puzzled over the metal sticker for a few minutes, poking at it with her pinky nail, ultimately deciding to leave it be and praying it wouldn’t zap her in the shower. June emerged fifteen minutes later, dressed in a sports bra and sweatpants, unable to take anything rubbing against her side.

She hesitated in front of Jim, a neatly folded shirt that belonged to her brother held in one hand, her eyes lingering on his peaceful expression as he slept. Well…sort of peaceful, he looked like his stomach hurt, actually. She sighed, leaning over him to rub gently at his collarbone. "Jim, wake up honey." Her voice was soft, soothing as she tried to ease him back into the realm of consciousness. It was the least she could do for her knight in red armor.

The touch startled Jim awake, his eyes wide and blurry with sleep as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Rays of sunlight scorched his eyes, and it took him a moment of rubbing before he could open them again. June filled his vision, her cheerful expression confusing him momentarily. He shifted slightly, a pained moan escaping his lips as he realized where he slept. His back was twisted in knots. "Fuck… how the… right. How are you feeling?" He finally shifted his gaze down, his eyes noticing the metal sticker peeking out from the top of her bra. He looked away, a small blush already forming on his cheeks as he remembered everything that had happened. He tossed off the blanket and grabbed for the shirt, hastily tossing it on. "Need help changing tha-" He looked back down at the bullet wound, noticing that a fresh bandage was wrapped around her wound. His eyes shifted towards her toned abs, and he had to look away flustered yet again. "Nevermind."

"I should have waited for you," she admitted, hand fluttering down to ghost over her side, before wincing at the contact and letting her hand drop away. "I’m still a little…dizzy," it looked as if it cost her a great deal to admit to any form of weakness, discomfort flashing across her face, but then the expression softened into something sweet and uncertain. "But, I’m alive. Thanks to you."

June seemed utterly unaware of the effect her body's physique had on Jim, so she was confused by his expression. He looked like he was going to be sick, or like he was two more words away from running away. Something twisted in her chest, and it felt weirdly like rejection. She looked down, eyes catching on the little metal patch that was sticking out of the hem of her sports bra.

"What is this thing?" Curiosity colored her tone, and she slid onto the arm of the chair, legs perched over his lap above the blanket. They weren’t touching, but she could feel the warmth of him. It made color fill her cheeks, and she braced her arm along the back of the chair. It was plush and comfortable enough that she could lean her good side against the fabric, relaxing against the cushion beside him. It felt comfortable, natural.

Now, he was trapped. Jim shifted uncomfortably as June was now far too close to him. His eyes instinctively darted to her lips, before his gaze shifted to the sticker. He slid his bottom lip between his teeth, still tasting a trace of her lipstick. His eyes widened in that shock, glancing at her cleaned face. If she had noticed, she wasn't acknowledging it. He looked back at the sticker, clearing his throat as he craned his neck away from the woman. "It's a multipurpose compact biometric monitor I developed for our medical engineering division. I usually use it to pilot the Vanguard remotely… but I used to to make sure you didn't die on me." His cheeks were red, and he still refused to look at her. His eyes settled for the view out the window. She was showing some affection, but she had not yet brought up their kiss. He figured he would take a page out of her book, and at least probe the field. "You were stubborn about a few things last night… chief among them being no hospitals. I had to make do with what I had."

Her eyes instinctively tracked the movement of Jim’s bottom lip slipping between his teeth, the soft skin imprinted with the faintest smudges of red. A familiar red. She froze for a moment, eyes widening fractionally, and then the jigsaw puzzle of fuzzy memories from the night before began to click into place. She still didn’t remember it fully, it was too hazy and bright of a memory, half overshadowed by the agony in her side. But, she did remember breathing against his lips, the hesitation, the arousal that had warred with the pain.

Her legs felt like jelly, and she lost the little bit of support she had keeping herself on the arm of the chair. June slipped across the faux leather, a soft gasp escaping her, and she landed squarely in Jim’s lap. Her hand automatically caught his shoulder, steadying herself, and then they were as close as they had been last night. He smelled faintly of his aftershave, oil, and her bathroom handwash. June’s heart fluttered in her chest, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "I’ve been told I can be pretty stubborn." She didn’t apologize for landing in his lap, because she didn’t actually regret it.

Jim, too, awkwardly grabbed for June as she slipped. He feared her falling backwards, wrapping his arm under hers and placing a hand on her upper back to tilt her his direction. As she slid into his lap, though, he went into a full system meltdown. His heart rate spiked. His breath caught in his throat. He remained motionless, as if a single movement would spark a nuclear reaction and leave him a shadow permanently etched into the cushions. His mind immediately searched for anything that could stem the flow of biological attraction at the scenario. He thought of baseball, special relativity, his sister… anything other than June's body. He could not, under any circumstance, get aroused. She would know. Her grin would grow devilish, and he would never hear the end of it.

He had to deflect. He had to turn the tables. He had to address what happened. He had to speak and fill the silence. "Yeah… well… hard to say no to someone when they're dying." That much was true. If he hadn't been concerned with her safety, if he wasn't trying to save her… surely he wouldn't have given in to her game. His mind drifted back to the kiss, his awkward motions, and her correction. Inadequacy crept up into the corners of his mind, truly purging any arousal he could have. "I bet you wished it was someone more… experienced."

Oh. June didn’t flinch, she had too much self control for that, but Jim’s words lanced pain through her chest like she’d been shot all over again. Of course, he’d only done it because she was bleeding all over the floor and begging him to. Shame colored her face, and she looked away from him. He’d said just yesterday that he didn’t need distractions and that’s all she was. Throwing herself at him like a slut, she really ought to have been more ashamed of herself.

"No," her voice was very soft, and she didn’t look at him again as she slipped off his lap. Her eyes burned, and her throat felt like it was closing in on itself. "I don’t wish that at all, actually."

She took a deep, unsteady breath, and moved toward the kitchen. She needed to put space between them, to get a control on her emotions before they spiraled. She still felt like there was something slightly off with them since last night, that man’s power had grabbed into all her repressed feelings and ripped them up. She felt emotionally raw, and this wasn’t helping. "I’m sorry for forcing you, I know how you feel about entanglements." That’s what he’d called it, June had just let the whole end of the world, dying soon thing get to her head. For a second, just a second, she’d thought he felt the same way as her.

Jim knew, as he always did in situations like this, that he somehow fucked up. He didn't know how, or why, but he had said something wrong. He had been nervous and fumbling the night before, why wouldn't she want someone better? Sure, he wouldn't have kissed just anyone… but… no, that couldn't be it. Her darkening cheeks, the way she quickly moved away… was it embarrassment? Anger? Was she ashamed? Her apology felt forced, half-cocked. Entanglements were a barb. He had said it the day before… She was mad.

But above all, she was wrong.

"You didn't force me." The statement left his mouth as soon as he thought it. He was shambling out of the chair, his aching muscles protesting his movements as he went to follow her. He needed to correct. He needed to elaborate. "You asked… I could have said no. Probably should have said no, given I hadn't even stitched you up yet." The words were pouring out at this point, a deluge of explanations and corrections and clarifications he hoped would defuse the matter. "I was so tired and exhausted and scared. So, I tried. I had always imagined something more… cliché. Candles, dinner, a gazebo in Central Park… not that I've thought about it much. I just..." His words slowed down as the realization and awkwardness of it all truly seeped in, and the confession embarrassed him to all hell. "I was expecting a little less blood and gore for my first kiss."

"I—" June froze, staring down at the countertop in front of her, stomach doing flips right up into her throat. He had imagined it? The thought had left her gobsmacked. There had always been something about Jim that drew her in, he had been her first friend and she’d always trusted him undoubtedly. He’d always seemed distant too, though. Sometimes, when they were younger, it felt as if they were two planets orbiting the same sun. Never close enough, not like she’d wanted. She’d chased her feelings away with shitty boyfriends over the years, trying to distance the little voice of longing that whispered whenever Jim was around. She turned slowly, tilting her head back to look up at him. Her surprise was evident on her face, blushing for an entirely different reason now. "That was your first kiss?"

She’d never even considered that Jim hadn’t been with anyone else, he had everything someone would look for in a partner. Looks, brains, money, the uncanny ability to put his foot in his mouth without even trying. He was kind, and funny, and clearly cared enough about her to rush to save her. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, and she felt bad for it. Just couldn’t resist but to step closer to him, a smile tugging at her lips. "I could do better, if you let me. I don’t think being shot puts me at the top of my game, though if you wanted to wait for a candlelit dinner I wouldn’t complain."

She wanted to do more than just kiss him, actually. Though June was worried admitting something like that would scare him away. The very thought of it though made heat gather in her core, she’d thought about it too many times to not even try, right? She looked up at him through her lashes, considering asking him to simply strip them and there…probably too much, too soon.

Jim, oddly, reached for his own chest and side. This didn't feel right, or rather, it felt too good. His cheeks were the darkest shade of red they had been since he had gotten sunburn when he was nine. His body was still in that heightened state, every ounce of his body energized and on edge. His momentary annoyance at her realization was swept away as she smiled at him. Her request seemed as genuine as the night before, though less serious.

He wanted to… he had not been aware that that was a thing he really wanted here. The memory of the sensation as she kissed him, the hunger and desire that had swept them both… It was so very tempting. He stared at June, his hands rubbing themselves together in front of him nervously. His eyes shifted to her injury, to the white cloth with some dark spots in its fibers. "I don't want you to pop your stitches." That desire was easy to confess, and easier too to admit. His eyes shifted back towards June, his stoic mask beginning to shift over his face again. His desires didn't matter. He knew what her blood felt like. The stench of her wound, then antiseptic, the bleach… he didn't want to clean her up like that again. He needed her to be safe. "I… You need to get those stitches redone at the infirmary."

But… he had other desires too. And he knew how to bargain. "Then… candles, dinner, your balcony. I want a do-over."

She didn’t mind popping her stitches, actually. In fact, it sounded like the best way to pop stitches. She thought about teasing him, asking him if he couldn’t be gentle, offering to be gentle with him instead. A few creative images came from that thought process, like how bouncy her couch was, or how if she laid on her back with her legs curled around his hips, then maybe…color rushed to her face, and June squirmed a little. She’d flustered herself with imagining how it could feel to have no other option but to take him gently, even if she’d wanted it harder he would—

"I’d love that," she blurted, trying diligently to grind those thoughts into the ground. She meant it, though, the idea of a do-over where she wasn’t bleeding out was immensely tempting. "A do-over, I’d love that. I’ll even go to the infirmary, if that’s your bargain."

Her smile turned soft and sweet, and she caught his hand in her own, squeezing it gently. The picture he’d painted was similar to her more gentle fantasies, was it maybe a byproduct of all the romance movies he’d grown up watching? "You could show me that movie, too." She realized, brightening even more at the prospect.

Jim was, for a moment, speechless. He didn't move a muscle. He was confused, baffled even. He had asked Juniper Wayne on a fucking date. This was not part of his plan. This was the sort of thing his father would do while the world crumbled around him. Hell, it's how Imogen was born. Jim had always failed to understand how his father could distract himself with such frivolous things like love and lust when the world was at stake. And yet, here Jim was. He stood in June's kitchen, her hand clutching his, the taste of her lips still a burning memory on his tongue. A whirlwind of thoughts and feelings threatened to tumble from his pores like the beads of sweat that trickled down his neck.

The worst part of it all, though, was that this was him restrained. He was still a young man. He still felt heat rising in him from her touch. His mind still wavered to the reminder of what she had worn the night before. He wanted to see her in it again. Hell, he wanted to see even more of her than he had. He wanted her to shove him against the wall and kiss him like she had before. He wanted to know what her lips would feel like on his neck. He wanted a lot of things.

He panicked, shifting his legs slightly in a poor attempt to hide the power his imagination had over him. He cleared his throat, sniffing in a quick intake of breath as he sought for a verbal response. "Yes… yeah. Whenever you have the time." It was a nervous fumble, he knew that. He had no clue what he was doing at this point.

Her eyes automatically followed his sudden movement, eyebrows furrowing in confusion for a moment, not sure what she could have done to cause such a sudden reaction. Then, June caught the outline of him straining ever so slightly against the grey of his sweatpants. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry, heat rushing through her body. She stared for a beat too long, licking her lips before looking back up at Jim. Did he expect her to behave after that? If so, he was putting too much faith in her self control.

"If I didn’t think you’d stop me," June said, voice tantalizingly low. "I would show you what else I can do with my lips." Her eyes slid back down, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. What was it about Jim that made her feel so desperate for him? She’d never felt it so intensely before. "I might still try, I’m undecided."

Jim learned a lot about himself in the span of ten seconds. He felt like prey. He was aroused at being viewed as prey by June. He was surprisingly quick on the uptake when it came to innuendo of all things. His reason had limits. After all… if she popped a stitch, he could just sew her back together. For just a few minutes… maybe nothing else had to matter.

He was a Stark, after all.

"What makes you think I could stop you?" His own mouth grew dry with anticipation, and maybe a tiny bit of fear. But his stoic mask slipped. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His competitive edge was back. He knew they were past the point of mere teasing. The seal was broken. Anything was possible now. Who cares? The last thing Anthony James Stark was going to do was show weakness in the face of a challenge. His tone was no longer panicked. It was confident and clear. "And what makes you think I would?"

Her smile was breathtaking, and it didn’t fade even as she closed the distance, her hand curling around the back of Jim’s neck so she could pull him down and press their lips together. June kissed him with the same level of desperation as the previous night, pressing closer to him as her other hand pressed flat to his stomach, fingers sliding down to dance along the hem of his sweatpants. She broke away after a moment, trembling with anticipation. "Where do you want me?" She whispered, fingers dipping beneath the fabric, hesitating for a moment. She wanted his direction, experience didn’t mean anything to her, all she wanted was what Jim wanted. "The bed would be more…romantic." June’s voice was sensual as her hand slid a little lower, her own arousal clouding all other thoughts.

A million thoughts stormed through his head, all at once. Years of fantasies, decades of history, the warm sensation of the night before. Not to mention yet another hungry, desperate kiss. The way she held him, pressed against him… it was like she was afraid he'd disappear or run away. She had him pinned. His clothes felt far too tight, his anticipation growing as her fingers inched their way toward her desire. As she nearly touched him, his senses seemed heightened, his arteries throbbing as his blood pressure skyrocketed. His back arched slightly, his body desperate for her caress. Her voice rang in his ears like a siren's call. He felt unclean, filthy even, for even wantin-

"Shower." His words seemed to startle even him. It took him half a second to realize he had not vocalized his entire thought. "I haven't showered. I need a shower first. I reek… I've still got oil in my hair…" His words were almost pleading, insecurities and discomfort bubbling to the surface at the reality of the situation. He could diffuse the situation, reassess, think with the proper head and not the other. He just needed a moment.

"Okay," June soothed, her hand withdrawing to catch Jim’s, her smile softening at the edges as she gave him a soft tug toward the bathroom. A shower sounded fine, but if he thought for a second she’d step back fully and give him time to rethink everything and start to doubt his decisions he had a nasty, or quite pleasant, surprise in order. They made it to the bathroom at a leisurely pace, she didn’t move with the urgency she felt, almost as if Jim were an animal she was worried she’d scare off with any abrupt movements. Juniper left the door open, it wasn’t like anyone would be coming in, and she flicked the shower on after letting go of Jim’s hand and stepping further into the bathroom.

Her hand was held over the downpour of water, humming to herself as she tested the temperature, before June very deliberately untied the waistband of her sweatpants and let the fabric drop to pool around her ankles. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside, she wasn’t wearing anything under them, and all that was left was her sports bra. She threw a devious grin over her shoulder at Jim, raising one of her eyebrows in challenge. "Let’s get the oil out of your hair."

Jim felt his mind spin as he slowly entered the bathroom, placing a hand on the knob of the door. All sense, all reason, all decency and potential for things to remain simply cordial were gone. He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him.

They never made it to the bed.

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"Is everything arranged?" Was the greeting her mother provided when Juniper answered the phone. She hesitated, the burn from the cut in her arm throbbing to the beat of her heart. Her mind was swirling with contingency plans, with mental blue-prints of everything she’d done and needed to do. No one would notice what she’d added to the system during her stress tests, not unless they were on the same level as her and dedicated a week hacking through everything and looking for the little ink blots she’d left in her wake.

"Yes," June’s voice was hollow, and she leaned back in Phil's car, trying to not feel annoyed with the fact that she had to borrow it again, breathing slowly out through her mouth and then back in through her nose. "We have to choose a date within a week, I’ll…decide before the next board meeting."

There was a pause, the soft crackle of the phone, the only sound that filled her car. It wasn’t her moms fault, she was fragile enough after losing her father and brother. No one she was close with was handling their grief well, apparently. "Mom, I’m going on patrol before I head back to the tower—"

"Why are you doing this, Juniper?" Her mothers voice was cutting, and she couldn’t help but to flinch at it. Her eyes strayed up toward her rearview mirror as a set of headlights pulled up behind her. "You aren’t your father.

June sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers going numb around the phone. She was under no illusions about who she was and what she was capable of, but to hear her own mother use such a scathing, resentful tone set her on edge. Hurt unspooled within her like a ball of yarn, unraveling to the point that trying to find where it began and where it ended felt impossible.

"You’re going to die in those streets, someone is going to kill you and I won’t watch it hap—" All the self doubt that simmered within June began to boil, rolling until it spilled over, until she was choking on it. Why was it so much all of the sudden, why was it just too much.

The engine of the car behind her revved, and a drop of dread bloomed in June’s stomach like a flower. She didn’t bother saying anything to her mom, she cut the call, dropped her phone, and had just shifted the car from park to drive when the first shot shattered the back of her windshield.

"Fuck." The tires skidded across the wet pavement as she stomped on the gas, and then the car lurched forward. Juniper ripped through the streets, bitching under her breath about the stick shift as she tried to lose the car that was right on her ass, speeding and drifting the car even when it seemed too risky to do so, until they turned down an alley and she slammed on the breaks. The game of chase had grown old fast, and her chest felt tight with a surge of feelings she couldn’t quite name but knew they felt out of place.

June pulled the gun from the holster around her thigh beneath her skirt, throwing open the car door and pushing out. Her gun was raised, finger on the trigger, and so was the man that had been in the car behind her. He hesitated long enough for her to take in his black clothes, the stubble along his jaw, and the coldness in his dark eyes.

"You aren’t Phil Coulson."

"No shit."

There was a strange pause, one in which all of her emotions seemed to swell up within her like the tide of the ocean. Fear, doubt, self-loathing, guilt, anxiety, but above all else…anger. It was the beast resting in her belly, purposefully chained down and repressed only not for her sake, but for the sake of everyone around her. Her anger felt as if she were being disentangled from the inside out, like that rage was burrowing out of her ribcage, a hungry monster seeking one thing and one thing only upon it's release. The benevolence and mercy that June had carefully cultivated to be stronger than the red, ravening creature she knew she could be like were crumbling like wet tissue paper. She could feel the figurative shackles she’d made for that rage clicking open, and all she saw was red.

Their guns went off at the same time, he hadn’t been shooting to kill, and neither had she. The anger was cool and cruel, she wanted him to suffer before he got the luxury of death. June didn’t flinch as a bullet slammed into her abdomen, her own had cut a hot trail along his jaw, and then she was moving with all the grace of a lethal creature. Her heels were discarded, bare feet splashing through puddles, hitting the brick wall of the alley like a springboard, and she launched herself at him with an incoherent and animalistic snarl.

The gun clattered to the ground, forgotten and useless in her mind, and she saw the exact moment his eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t need it for this, her hands were interlocked, and she drove them down into the top of his head with a brutal slam. The man crumpled to the ground, landing in a deep puddle that splashed up around them, one of his hands instinctively scrambling against her side as she landed atop him, both of them grappling for control. Her emotions seemed to elevate to an almost impossible, incomprehensible degree. Juniper’s anger narrowed to a point where she felt bitterly cold, where logic that was a byproduct of her anger began to filter into her mind.

Her fist connected with his cheek once, twice, six times. He stopped trying to shove her off of him, one of his thumbs dug into the hole in her side, agony lancing along her spine, but she didn’t scream. She slammed her forehead into the man's face instead, heard his nose crunch on the impact, and locked her hands around his throat. He changed tactics, his fist knocking hard enough against her ribs that she felt something crack and splinter, but June just didn’t care.

Skin turned red, then purple, then blue. His struggles slowed, the hits stopped, his nails scratched painful grooves into her wrists. She watched blood vessels begin to burst in his eyes, and she only lessened her grip when spittle began to foam at the corners of his mouth. The man wheezed, struggling desperately to pull in what little air she would allow him. She started the process all over again, over and over, never letting him lose consciousness, slamming his head against the hard asphalt when his eyes drooped and pulse skipped a beat or two. June didn’t want it to stop, she was so angry. Angry at this man for targeting Phil, for shooting her, for very likely being part of the same organization that had stolen her father and brother away from her. Her family had been the sun to her world, she'd gravitated around them. Now, they were gone. June’s world had turned cold and desolate, and it–it was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so set on attending college, maybe, just maybe, she could have been there for her dad, for Thomas…her anger drowned out the sadness, it drove June to the edge of that abyss Alfred had mentioned, a point that she’d never been to before.

If she were in the right mindset, she’d keep him alive for questioning. She wasn’t though, she didn’t care about keeping him alive. The urge she felt bubbling up in her was simple, she wanted to kill him. She let it wash over her, she gave into it. It was addictive, all-consuming. She’d felt it before, tapping around the edges of her mind, trying to prise her open, but she’d always been stronger than the barbarian she knew she could be. That control had been stolen from her, and it made her angrier than anything else.

"Please," he gurgled, and something dark and bitter in her relished at the sensation of having his life in her hands, of knowing she was going to be the one to snuff it out. She knew, distantly, that this wasn’t who she was, Juniper had never been so needlessly cruel, she tried to upkeep her fathers ideals in Gotham, but her fingers spasmed around his throat and a bright laugh ripped from her.

"I’m no God," she hissed, and one of her hands lifted, pressing over his jaw, forcing him to turn his head until his mouth and nose were submerged in the dirty, rank puddle of rain water they’d fallen into. His struggles began anew, bubbles rippling to the surface, and June grinned viciously at the sight. "Begging for mercy is useless."

She could feel the spasm of his vocal cords beneath her fingers, his blood made the hold on his jaw awkward and slippery but she was persistent, urged on by the insatiable rage that was rolling across her skin like steam. She didn’t want to listen to him beg, it didn’t do anything for her or the beast in her belly, but watching him struggle, watching him aspirate on murky water, feeling him go prone beneath her, it was all immensely, perversely satisfying.

And then, as suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The abruptness of her emotions snapping back to normal left her dizzy and sick, and June was left staring at the still chest of a man she did not know. Her breathing was ragged, hands trembling as she lifted them slowly from his lifeless body, she felt as if someone had hollowed her out. There was nothing left, no anger, no cruelty, just the echo of everything that had been. She rolled off of him, collapsing beside the man like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Warmth bloomed along her side in contrast to the bite of cold in the air, each fast and choked breath leaving a puff of visible fog in front of her face.

Her blood was washed away by the rain slowly, but the water could do nothing to stop the crimson from spreading across the white of her shirt. The alleyway was dark, and cold, and each smack of rain against her bare skin stung. June stared up at the dark sky, the sound of the car's engine and her ragged breathing all she had in that moment.

Her fingers dragged across her side, spasmed over the fabric of her shirt, and something in her chest twisted painfully. The pain shot upwards, from her side, to her heart, and to her head before her vision darkened, dimmed, shivered— it hurts, it hurts.

She was alone now, though. Barely on speaking terms with her mom, part of a team that felt so unsteady they might as well have been on a paddleboard in the middle of the ocean during a storm, and she’d spent an hour picking out caskets. She was all alone.

A sob caught in her throat, echoed in the alleyway, and she pressed a hand to her stomach. Her blood swelled up between her fingers, warm and sticky. It was no different from how the man's blood had felt on her palm, and she was reminded that she’d killed him in a way that was beyond cruel. She wanted her dad, she wanted someone, anyone, to show up and pick her up. She didn’t want to be alone. I’m scared. The realization was quiet, it was not profound, but it hit her with all the force of a freight train. And then, even louder, I am so tired. For a moment, June wondered if she could just give up. No one actually needed her, not the team, not her mom, not this city. She wanted to let it all go, to just lay down and die in this alley like a dog. She was hurt, and tired, she’d tortured a man, and she just wanted it all to be someone else's problem.

She could feel her heart beating in her ears, feel it thrumming through the pain in her arm and her abdomen. The rain was so loud, it blocked out everything else. She thought about Jim, about how his smile had made her own emerge like the sun from behind clouds, about how she’d wanted him to hug her that first day even though she’d tried to lie to herself, to convince herself a hug wasn't what she needed. She wished he was here.

It hurts.

No one came. Jim wasn’t here. She was alone, all alone. The pressure she was applying to her side lessened, the desire to keep struggling dimming. Each breath hurt, her entire side ached. Her head started to feel fuzzy, and she could tell that if she gave up, she would die in this alley. The thought scared her more.

Her eyes fluttered open as hot tears streaked down to her ears, and Juniper caught sight of a light cast in the dark sky. It was a beam that cut through the darkness, the symbol of a bat in the center. She felt her sobs subside, her feelings of hopelessness slipping through her fingers like the blood she’d stopped trying to stem. No one was coming, and this was all she had left. Striving to help save the world a little bit at a time, to push it just a bit farther into the right direction. She felt like she was drowning, but her father had taught her that you don’t drown from falling into the water, you drown by staying there. I drowned that man. The thought made her want to throw up. Regardless, those thoughts were the only thing that kept her from collapsing in on herself like a dying star, it allowed Juniper to grit her teeth, and push herself to her feet.

---

She was bleeding all over Phil's seat, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. Her fingers trembled, rain water dripping down the back of her bra, and June clumsily hit the call button with one hand. Her shirt was off, bunched up and pressed to her stomach hard enough that she had to grit her teeth to keep from sobbing in pain.

The phone rang once, twice, and then it clicked as someone picked up. "Alfred?" June managed, not quite able to keep the sob that had been building in her chest from breaking free. She fumbled with the phone, blood still slick and wet on her hand. Was it hers, or did it belong to that man? She pressed the shirt harder to her side, another sob pulling from her as the pain doubled. "Alfred, is-is Phil okay?"

She shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to focus on why she’d called him. She wanted to make sure Phil was still at the tower, still safe, but she’d also needed to hear the voice of the last father figure she had left in her life. She wanted to talk to the person who knew about the abyss that haunted the Wayne family and would not judge her for it. What June hadn’t been expecting was for a very different voice to come through the speaker, jolting her from the fog that had been closing in around her mind like a snake coiling around its prey.

The muffled ringing and vibration resonating across the mattress roused Imogen from her slumber… barely. She had half a mind to ignore it or throw her phone across the room. A heavy arm draped over her side and hooked around her waist kept her firmly stuck in place, not that she was in any rush to move. Her hand slipped along the sheets until she found her phone pinned somewhere between the headboard and mattress, beneath Magni’s pillow. His warm breath caressed the back of her neck and sent a chill down her spine as her fingers wrapped around the cool metal.

Without opening her eyes, her thumb tapped the screen a couple times before she managed to answer the call. She pressed the cool screen of her phone against her cheek in time to hear June’s exhausted, pained voice on the other end. Imogen forced her eyes open as she tried to focus on the time, a little past 3 a.m., and caller I.D. "June?... Phil? What about Phil?"

"Imogen?" June pulled back the phone, growing quiet as she blinked down at the caller ID in a sort of daze. She could have sworn…but then again, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Had Imogen been the last person she’d talked to on the phone? No, it had been her mom. She shook her head again, putting the phone back to her ear only to flinch at the tone of the other woman's voice.

Magni let out a soft groan as he slipped his arm from around her and rolled over, still fast asleep. "Is something wrong?" Imogen rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up, her gaze frantically darting around the room as she waited for an answer or some kind of response. "June!?"

The surprise gave her more clarity, and she shifted her phone to balance between her shoulder and ear, struggling to open her purse with one hand. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, pausing long enough to try and wipe the blood on her hand off on her skirt instead. She dug around in her purse for a moment, until her fingers brushed across something cylinder shaped and an idea began to take form in June’s mind.

"I’m…yeah, sorry. I just have to stop the bleeding, it’s too much." She spoke very softly into the phone as she withdrew the little plastic item, grimacing at what she knew she had to do and wanting very much so not to have to do it. She pulled back the shirt, but it stuck to the blood that had started to clot around the bullet wound. The phone slipped from her shoulder, and June dropped her shirt to adjust it. Her breath hitched, and all the fear and hopelessness reemerged with a vengeance. "It hurts Im, I don’t think…I think the bullet is still in me."

Juniper clutched at the tampon, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could block it all out. The AC in the car was on low, blowing cold air that felt harsh against her damp skin. She wanted to turn it down, but she didn’t have enough hands. Her brain was working in overdrive, bouncing between barely tangible thoughts faster than she could hold onto them. "Is Phil okay?"

"Bleeding?" Whatever sleepiness was fogging Imogen’s mind was immediately wiped clean as a cold chill ran down her spine. She quickly threw the satin sheets from her body and practically jumped out of bed. "I’ll check on Phil in a minute." Her voice was frantic as she pinned her phone between her cheek and shoulder, searching for the quickest piece of clothing to throw on. Laying on the ground beside her bed was Magni’s I love NY t-shirt and her discarded underwear. It’d have to do.

"Keep pressure on it," Imogen instructed, her tone bordering on demanding as she hastily slipped the shirt over her head while juggling the phone to keep it pressed to her ear. "Where are you?" She hopped and stumbled frantically across her penthouse as she pulled on her thong, nearly knocking over a decorative bowl of fruit in the process. She burst out into the stairwell and took the steps two at a time as she climbed two floors to her brother’s apartment.

"I was…putting pressure on it. And then I-I stopped." A beat of silence stretched across the phoneline for Imogen, and then, softer than a feathers kiss, a whisper followed like a confessional in a church. "I killed him, I think he was a mutant. My emotions weren’t in my control anymore, but I tortured him. I didn’t mean to, Imogen. I-I just…"

"Well," Imogen sounded a little winded as she reached the top floor of the tower. "Sounds like it was you or him. So the bastard deserved it." Probably not the most encouraging reassurances but she’d rather that than the alternative. Always. "I’ll tell you what, next time, I’ll do the torturing," she added, trying to lighten the mood and relieve the rising tensions in herself, and panic in June.

Juniper’s voice hitched in a sob, and she hastily used her teeth to rip the plastic from the casing around the tampon. She pulled the little cylinder free with her teeth, letting the plastic flutter away, before dropping it into her bloodied hand. It was pink and for some reason that realization dragged a hysterical, pain laden laugh from her throat. ”…I’m going to use a tampon to stop the bleeding."

Imogen burst through the door into Jim’s penthouse and quickly fumbled to press ‘mute’ on her phone. "Jim!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the… workshop? Honestly, was there even a bed in there? She unmuted the phone for a second to give June some encouragement as she searched for her brother. "That’s smart. Do you have any alcohol?" Mute.

"We drank it all earlier," June muttered, thinking about the meeting and the pool and how much she wished she was still there. It wasn’t anywhere near a coherent thought process, and she took a moment to puzzle over why Imogen thought drinking was a good idea as she was currently close to bleeding out.

The lights were still on, albeit dimmed. Rock music faintly underscored Imogen's footsteps. Around the corner from the elevator, near a far wall, robotic arms suspended the red and gold armor in the air. A bit of movement could be seen from behind it. A small flash of blue emanated from the right leg, followed by a relieved sigh and the sound of metal hitting metal as Jim tossed the screwdriver back in his toolbox. He slid his chair around the side, wearing a tank top and sweatpants that were both stained with oil.

When she finally found Jim, Imogen held up her hand, stopping him before any asshole insult about her lack of clothing could slip through his mouth. "Put on your suit and do whatever bullshit it is that you do to track my phone call or whatever." Her voice was urgent, not asking but demanding. "June’s been shot. I think she’s still in Gotham." She searched her brother’s eyes hoping for the sympathy and compassion that she knew was in there somewhere. "And you call me the minute she’s safe. Promise me!"

"H.E.L.E.N., trace it." Jim's relieved and confused expression was immediately replaced with worry. He snapped his fingers, and the mechanical arms lowered the suit to the ground. Jim grabbed a nearby rag, wiping some oil off his chin and forehead as his mind began racing. He paced over towards his desk, opening up a drawer and grabbing a bottle of Dramamine and immediately popping several of the pills in his mouth. The suit had integrated systems to help combat the effects of supersonic travel, but they could only do so much.

Before Jim had the chance to jump into his suit and fly away, Imogen quickly pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. "Please be careful," she whispered to him. Her head was spinning between June and the thought of her brother rushing out to save her. It needed to be done, but the anxiety already made her hands tremble. He might have been an asshole, but he was her asshole and she couldn’t lose him too.

Jim wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her back slightly as he did. "I always am." He gave her a nod as he broke from the embrace and rounded towards the back of the suit. Metal plates shifted and folded open to make room for him to climb in. The suit hummed to life, blue accent lights firing up as it began to lumber towards the balcony exit. Inside the suit, the audio of the phone call began to play. The sound of June's voice steeled his resolve and washed away any doubts of his actions.

There was a hint of June’s usual tone in that statement, a shot of cool clarity steadying her hands as she fumbled with it for a moment, hesitating with the tip of the plastic right over the edge of the bullet wound. It made sense, this is what tampons had initially been developed for, or something like that. She didn’t want to do it, giving up would have been a lot easier. "He wanted Phil, he was expecting him." She was putting it off by trying to be hysterically conversational.

Imogen took a slight step back from Jim, making sure he wasn’t picked up when she unmuted her phone. The last thing she needed was June getting pissy at her for sending her brother after her. Whatever land of denial they both lived in about their feelings could take a backseat that night. Her safety was more important. "Stop the bleeding, June," Imogen commanded her through the phone. It was almost like she got the faintest threads of thought through the call… Like a gut feeling was telling her what June was really thinking and that wasn’t an option. Fuck her own feelings, she wouldn’t let June do that to Jim. "I promise, I’m going to check on Phil right now." …After Jim leaves.

Imogen could be bossy, she knew that much, but she’d never heard her tone shift quite like this before. June clenched her teeth, leaning her head back against the headrest. She gave herself the luxury of hesitation for one more second, but then…she caught the glimpse of the bat signal still in the sky. Someone, somewhere, needed Batman but all that was left was her. She pressed the plastic into the wound, and June couldn’t stop that scream that ripped from her throat as the pain burned through her. She made quick work of it, making sure the packing was secured in place as she dragged the plastic back out.

She could feel the bullet, wedged somewhere inside of her abdomen. The pressure of the compressed gauze was uncomfortable, but the blood was stemmed successfully. June let the plastic drop from her fingers as she bent over, the phone clattering onto her thighs. It took a few minutes for her to come back to herself, to quiet the broken sobs that had been shaking her chest, to swallow the nausea that was gagging her. She managed it though, pulling the phone back to her ear with a shaking hand.

"So," she managed, voice raw and trembling. "How’s your evening been?" There were the barest hints of humor in June’s voice, she was trying to lessen the tension as her mind cleared. It wasn’t all at once, the clarity came in snapshots. One thought was louder than the others, and she fumbled in her purse for a moment, pulling out a small radio.

The blonde grimaced, pulling the phone away from her ear with a pained expression as she heard June’s agonized scream. A cold sweat trailed down her back as she swallowed the lump in her throat. Once there was quiet on the other end of the line followed by a horrible attempt at casual conversation, Imogen let out a soft sigh of relief. "Better than yours, I’d imagine."

Imogen could hear the sound of a radio clicking on, static filling the other end of the line, and then— "Bank robbery in progress off of twentieth street," June hummed in a sort of delirium, absentmindedly mopping up the blood from her side with her ruined shirt. "Good thing I packed my suit." She sighed, clearly a walking list of bad ideas.

"June… No," Imogen practically begged her, even if she knew it fell on deaf ears.

"June, yes." Her tone shifted into one of amusement, the words uttered in a fashion that was closer to singing than speaking. Loss of blood, had to be the loss of blood. Or maybe it was the fact that she was still alive that was giving her a sudden high, like a rush of adrenaline. She glanced down, sobering some at the sight of her bruising and bloodied side.

Imogen’s mouth tensed and the urge to throw her phone at the wall crossed her mind for a brief second. "You have been shot. You need to go somewhere safe, rest and wait. Not save a fucking bank!"

"What do I do with…the body?" June sat up straighter, her eyes trailing down to the red and raw wounds on her wrists. "My blood is under his nails."

"They operate outside of the law. It’s more important you leave before they collect the body… Leave it."

"My blood is under his nails," she repeated, horror leaching into her tone. "Imogen, what if they find my mom because of me? I— oh my God. I killed him, I don’t kill. Not in Gotham, what…"

Juniper’s breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to calm the sudden flood of panic that swept through her system. When she spoke next, her voice sounded broken and exhausted. "What do I do? Tell me what to do, Im. Please."

Imogen started pacing around Jim’s apartment. She crossed one arm over her chest and tucked the hand in the crook of her elbow that was raised to hold her phone to her ear. "June. Breathe. Think." She made her own breaths loud, audible through the call hoping that she would mirror her. "Have any bodies been recovered from these attacks?"

June focused on matching her breathing with Imogen’s, every exhale shaky and pitched like the whining keen of an injured animal until she slowly calmed down. Her mom’s words from earlier bounced around in her head, and she hated the fact that she’d almost been right. She wasn’t strong like her dad, or resilient like her brother. All she wanted to do was curl in on herself and pretend it all was over with, but she couldn’t.

"Not that I know of," she managed after a few moments, voice still unsteady but the panic attack that June had been on the verge of was subsiding. She could hear police sirens far off in the distance, the radio crackling in the seat beside her. She needed something else to focus on than how her emotions felt as if they’d been ripped from her, flayed and strung out, something other than the pain that radiated in her side with every breath. "I’m sorry…for calling. I was just so…I was so scared."

She had been so close to giving up, shame made Juniper sick. How could she have been so selfish, so uncaring about what it would do to the people she cared about. The guilt was all consuming, and it made her feel undeserving of Imogen’s worry, it made her feel like a fraud of everything she aspired to be.

You aren’t your father. She swiped at the tears that trailed down her cheeks angrily, blood that was halfway to drying smeared across her skin. Her mom had been right, she was nothing like her father.

"Don’t apologize," Imogen tried to remain calm knowing Jim was already on his way there. There was a faint bit of guilt and resentment that she had to go seek help because she couldn’t help on her own. The pang of an old pain of insecurity and uselessness tugged at the back of her head but she tried to push it away. This wasn’t about her. "I’m going to check on Phil." Her feet slowly carried her to the elevator. "Please… Be rational."

"They don’t have anyone else," she whispered, pleading with her tone for Imogen to understand. It was rational, in the barest sense of the word. The bat signal was clear in the sky, but Batman wouldn’t be answering it. "I’m sorry…I have to, how could I look my dad in the eyes ever again if I didn’t at least try?"

Then the line went dead… "June?... June!?"

---

The lobby of the bank had a wide layout, high windows set into the roof that allowed June to slip in undetected to observe the situation before she made a move to interfere. There were a few civilians caught up in the robbery, tied up and shoved aside carelessly, but the sheer amount of goons lurking around was alarming. They were speaking in low, hushed voices that didn’t carry up to her darkened high beam. She would barely hear what they were saying, the police outside had been in a standoff with the robbers for a few hours now, but it was hearing that they were planning to stop executing civilians that spurred her into action. She dropped down into the center of it all, hoping to distract them from the bank teller they'd started to vaguely threaten.

"Well, well, well...we were waiting for you." There were maybe thirty of them, a tight circle forming around Nightingale who stood emotionless at the center of it all. Her eyes were set on the man speaking, he was at least five feet taller than her, muscles bulging in his arms as he flexed like a moron. "Stupid little Bat, falling right into our trap. This city is ours now, it’s time for you to hang up the cape."

"Oh?" June’s voice was colder than ice, her hands moved slowly until they were curled around the grip of her guns. The cool touch of the metal through her gloves grounded her in this moment, even if her side ached with every breath. "What if I say no?"

"It doesn't matter what you say, you’re dead." He spat, and a smile curled her lips. There was the slightest of pauses, the moment seeming to suspend in time as the men circled her, as her resolve hardened like Imogen’s diamond form. Everything that had happened from earlier was easily pushed away, she could focus on the fight and the fight alone for now.

"Then let's get it done." Juniper snapped, and then she ripped the guns from her holsters. There was a flurry of motion all around her, and it was only pure instinct that allowed her to duck her head, dodging a punch. She twisted to the left, between two men who moved to grab her, and the sharp bang of a gun firing, followed by a man's scream, filled the relative silence of the bank lobby.

The CZ SP-01 was a gun June had been training with for years, the weight natural in her hands. She knew how to take it apart and how to put it back together blindfolded, she knew the exact angle the casting released from after a bullet was fired, she knew it took her exactly two seconds to reload, and she knew how to handle the recoil. The moment she put pressure on the trigger, she felt the inch of give where there was no resistance, and then the snag. She forced her finger down fully, an instinctive pull that bypassed the gun's hesitation. Twice, seven times, the magazine was almost empty, the sharp smell of gunpowder filling the room.

She twisted her wrist up on the last shot, the casting from the bullet ejecting up and out, slamming into the eye of one of the men she’d just shot in the knee. A strangled sound left his throat as he clapped a hand over his face, and she ducked beneath another sloppy punch. None of the shots were lethal intentionally, but if they bled out…well, she didn’t care. Not tonight.

"What the fuck?" One of the men, he’d taken a bullet to his left foot, was staring at Nightingale like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "Batman doesn’t use guns!"

"Do I look like Batman?" The question was punctured with her throwing her gun, out of bullets, straight at his head, the heavy metal leaving an indent in his forehead, and he fell back with a thump.

"You’re out of bullets," another man, smaller than the rest, was sneering at her. "What now?"

There were twenty of them left, more or less. She hadn’t brought enough ammo with her, it was annoying, but you live and you learn. She hadn’t been expected to get fucking jumped tonight. The other gun clattered to the floor, and she raised her fists, stance widening, eyes narrowing.

"Now, I make you wish I was Batman."

One of them laughed, but it was a high pitched, nervous and teetering sound. The dance started all over again, she let a fraction of her anger rise up inside of her, let it fuel every punch, every kick. Juniper didn’t enjoy feeling bone crunch beneath her fist, but she didn’t stop. She took hits back, the sharp blade of a knife sparking off the waist of her suit, a fist slamming into her stomach and making her see stars as agony choked her for a moment, another man trying to stab her in the back. For a moment the only sounds that filled the bank were the sounds of her fists connecting with their bodies, the scuffle of feet on marble flooring, the cries of pain that followed each sharp impact.

A deafening crash disturbed the fight, everyone halting as glass rained down from one of the sky-lights. A towering suit of armor plummeted down, lowering a knee to cushion the fall with a three-point landing. It rose to its feet a moment later, glowing blue eyes scanning the scene. The suit was spotless and pristine, almost gleaming in the soft bank lighting. The suit glanced at the hostages, the goons, and then finally Nightingale. Jim's voice rang out through the suit, modulated slightly to deepen his tone. "You have ten seconds to stand down and surrender yourself to the boys in blue outside. If you fail to comply, you better hope Hell is a myth… because you will find out swiftly." In Jim's HUD, small red circles began to form over each criminal's chest as the suit began locking on. A small mechanical whirring rang near Jim's shoulder as the weapons system began priming.

"Did your sister tell you where I was?!" June’s voice was sharp, nothing like the cool professional tone she’d used with the goons. A few of them looked between her and Jim with wide eyes, and her panic at the sudden and loud entrance subsided as she realized who it was. Was Jim actually in the suit? Or had he just sent it as backup. The idea that he wasn't actually here made her feel cold. "How did you even find me?"

He didn't answer.

Her eyes narrowed as the dots started to connect, and she drew in a sharp breath. She was either going to start yelling, or laughing. There was no in-between. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Imogen snitched, not after hearing how distraught June had been. One of the goons closest to her scoffed, clearly unconcerned by the red dot level on his chest.

"What, need saving from your boyfri—" Her fist knocked out two of his teeth, it was an effective way to get someone to shut the fuck up.

"He’ll literally kill you, you thimble-headed moron." June hissed, turning back toward Jim with a grimace of pain. Imogen had told her not to come to this particular party, and she’d ignored her. Had she mentioned that to Jim? He could be mean when he got fussy.

Jim was far too furious to be phased by the comment, but smiled at June's punch. But his smile faded as she grimaced in pain. He was done playing games. She needed medical attention. "Time's up." A small panel in Jim's right shoulder shifted open, revealing a series of half-inch holes. From them small flashes of light signaled the launching of small cluster munitions, which were launched vertically. One by one, each miniature rocket hovered in the air as they were assigned a target. A dozen rockets then, in a small volley, projected themselves in a chaotic array towards their targets. As each rocket made contact with their target's chest or back, a small shockwave erupted from them. It was ultrasonic, quick, and ripped apart the internal organs of anyone it came in contact with. The squelching sound was going to be hard to forget, but Jim's face remained blank behind the helmet. They had chosen this fate. His eyes shifted to the couple who were still standing, his hands raised as the blue light from his palms glowed brighter. "Feeling lucky, punks?"

Juniper felt frozen to the spot, eyes stuck on a gaping hole in the chest of one of the men she’d been fighting. She wasn’t sure why the sight made her freeze, she’d just killed a man in a much more brutal way, but having to reconcile the idea that it was Jim who had killed them was enough to make her pause. The last two men, the one she’d just punched remained crumpled on the ground though she had a feeling he was faking unconsciousness, threw their hands up in surrender. They all looked as gobsmacked as she felt, the idiots in Gotham got too used to Batman’s no kill policy.

Batman was gone now, though. June was still trying to come to terms with what she’d done earlier, but none of the disgust she felt for herself and how she’d killed that man appeared for Jim. Actually, it was a little concerning and confusing how his blatant no-nonsense attitude about it turned her on. Prioritize, June. She reminded herself, turning slowly on her heel and moving toward the hostages.

They only had a few seconds before the cops would realize the situation had tipped in their favor and rush in, but she couldn’t just leave these terrified people tied up like this. Her adrenaline was fading fast, the pain she’d been ignoring was coming back with a vengeance, but June knelt in front of each hostage and cut them free, offering soft words of reassurance as she worked. Only when they were all freed did she unsteadily make her way toward Jim, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"Can I get a lift out of here?" Her voice was quiet and exhausted. How could she bring herself to be really upset at Imogen when she was so unbelievably happy to see Jim? She could feel blood seeping beneath her suit, apparently the tampon wasn’t very absorbent.

The suit nodded softly, and one of its arms wrapped around June's waist to pull her in close. He waited for her to set her feet on the armor's toes, kept one arm pressing her, before the repulsors lifted them off the ground. His own adrenaline helped steady himself as they rose up through the skylight. They rose up into the sky, hovering in place above the bank for a moment. She had been shot, so he knew a hospital was the best option for her health. He knew she would protest, and their conversation on privacy earlier rang in his head. He needed to find somewhere close, somewhere private where they could either get her changed or patch her up.

"Initiate autopilot. Take us to Wayne Manor, low prepulsion." In the split second before the automated flight began, Jim made sure to tilt himself and the repulsors backwards so June could safely rest and hold on to the chest plate. His optical sensors remained trained on her, and he was ready to override the second she began to slip.

A soft, muffled moan of pain slipped past her lips, and June pressed her forehead against the cool metal of his suit. She couldn’t feel it through her mask, but the closeness was nice. If she squeezed her eyes shut tightly enough, she could pretend that she wasn’t the only one of the two of them that wanted to be held in this way. It was hard to focus on more coherent thoughts as the pain washed over her, so June gave up and just focused on imagining what it would be like to feel Jim’s arms around her waist without the agony of a gunshot wound.

She missed when he’d initially routed to the Manor, but the second she realized she jerked in his arms, slipping against the metal. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, trying to find a groove or something to steady herself. "Not here," she gasped, smacking at his chest. "I have an apartment, off of Greenwood Avenue by the stadium. It’s not far, we can’t…not here."

Jim sighed, and a quick redirection from H.E.L.E.N. later sent the two back towards Gotham proper. It took him only a moment to process why she might not want to go home, especially in this state. But he would not turn down an opportunity when it presented itself. "What, afraid I’d see your baby pictures?" The adrenaline was beginning to fade, and levity was the only way he could avoid not freaking out over June’s condition.

A surprised laugh escaped her, pain tracing a hot tongue down her side for her trouble. She held onto Jim a little tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. June wasn’t particularly a fan of flying, it was different from gliding, they were much too high up for her tastes and she didn’t want to catch a peak of how far away the ground was beneath them.

It only took about a minute to soar through the air and hover over the rooftop to June’s apartment building. The suit settled down gently, holding June steady as it tilted vertical again. Once June was standing, the front of the armor opened and Jim quickly stepped out to place a hand on her shoulder. His worried smile lacked the usual dry charm. "Disappointed I wasn’t your first call… beginning to understand how Momo felt."

"I called Alfred first, actually." It felt like some sort of divine retribution for Jim, because if she were being honest…she hadn’t planned on calling him at all, or Imogen for that fact. Her weakness felt like a burden that June should be shouldering alone, she’d woken them both up, caused them stress, reminded them both that she was only human. It felt disgusting, but Alfred had been there for her dad, he understood in a way no one else ever seemed to. "I was a little delirious after…" her voice trailed off, stomach twisting. "It was an accident, calling Imogen. I meant to call Alfred. C’mon."

She nodded toward the rooftop entrance, tugging off one of her gloves to press her hand against the keypad. When she lifted it back up, there was a smear of blood left behind. June grimaced, and half turned toward Jim. "You can leave that up here, if you want. This opens directly into my apartment, I’m the only one with access to the roof. Or, we can stash it inside."

There was an absurd sense of relief that came with realizing Jim had actually come, and not just sent his suit. She tried very hard not to lean on him, using one hand to shove open the door and the other to pull off her mask. Her hair was a mess of still damp waves, a few erratic strands sticking up in odd places. There was a smear of flaking and dried blood on her left cheek, specks of the same substance on her right as if it had splattered on her. She had almost no color to her face, lips pale, and blood was dripping from her sleeve now that the glove was gone. In short, Juniper looked like an absolute mess.

The suit followed the two inside as Jim awkwardly guided her towards the apartment. His face had grown equally pale at the sight of the blood dripping from her sleeve. His eyes met hers for a moment, panic clearly flashing over his eyes. He was too tired to hide what he was feeling. "I… we should get you out of that suit and get you to a hospital." His lip quivered slightly as he failed to keep his voice steady. He anticipated protest, but he prayed she’d listen to reason. She needed serious medical treatment, not a Band-Aid. But his mind did begin cycling through what he would need, recalling the steps doctors had taken when he had cut his palm open on a saw when he was twelve.

"I’ll strip for you sweetheart," June grinned lazily at him, her eyes drooped a little as they navigated the stairs to the main level of her apartment. "But if you try to take me to a hospital, I will vandalize your workshop. "

The studio apartment opened to them after one more door, several couches clustered together just off the kitchen, there was a fine layer of dust on most of the surfaces. June hadn’t been back to this apartment in months, long before her dad went missing. The air smelled of stale leather, not entirely unpleasant but not exactly welcoming either. She led him to the bathroom just off of the kitchen, pausing to lean heavily on the doorframe for a moment, before looking over her shoulder at him. "Unzip me, please?" June waved at the zipper at the back of her suit, then winced and dropped her arm back to her side. He’d figure it out, probably.

Jim seemed a little uncomfortable at the proposition for a moment, but sighed as he knew she was in no position to do it herself. "You need an upgrade… can’t believe you’re still using a zipper." His hand felt for the pull tab, and slowly began to peel it down her back. The suit was very form fitting… perhaps a little too much in some places. He awkwardly glanced away and pulled back quickly as his hand travelled rather low down her backside. "Is… that good?"

"Then give me an upgrade, sweet cheeks. Otherwise, no complaints when you’re undressing me." June was coping with humor, trying to distract from the pain as she pulled off the top half of her suit. The fabric pulled at the congealed blood that had collected around the bullet wound, and she groaned before she ripped the metaphorical band-aid off, and just chucked the whole suit from her body as quickly as possible despite how badly it hurt.

She was left in a matching set of undergarments, black with dark red lace curled around the cups of her bra, the thread spun in elegant little swirls that disappeared out of sight between her thighs. Embarrassment seemed far away from her though as she caught sight of her side in the mirror across the bathroom. The skin was turning a dark and vivid, splotchy purple where he’d punched her, and there was a steady trail of blood sliding from the wound to the hem of her underwear. She let out a morbid laugh, and sank down to the floor, leaning against the wall. "First aid kit, under the sink."

Jim was embarrassed enough for the two of them. Despite the grotesque scene in front of him, his cheeks were still flushed red and his eyes did their best to quickly glance away from the few parts of her that were unexposed. He quickly moved towards the sink, hoping beyond hope she did not notice his expression as he dug around for a first aid kit. He grabbed onto it, a rather bulky set. Wayne’s did not mess around, it seemed. He set it down on the ground next to June, unzipping and unfolding it to reveal its contents. It was already used, something that did not surprise him. He turned back to face June.

His breath caught as he saw the bullet wound more closely. It took him a moment to process why a string was protruding from it. When he did, he grimaced. "Christ, June… did you clean the wound before you plugged it?" He already knew the answer, and his fingers trembled as he tugged on the string and began to peel the soaked tampon from the wound. He hesitated when it was clear how painful this was from the sounds June made. But he needed to keep going. He plucked out the final fibers of her makeshift gauze and removed a penlight from the kit. He shined it into the wound, and felt a twist of his stomach as he saw a bit of reflection from the hole. "Fuck," he hissed, looking up to meet June’s gaze. "I can make a new workshop, Junie.." It was a final plea, one he prayed she would accept.

"I’m sorry, honey." She smiled at him grimly, her voice raw from the scream that had torn at her vocal cords when he removed her makeshift patch job, knowing she was going to owe both Jim and Imogen for the emotional damage she’d caused this evening. June held out one of her hands, only a little surprised by how steady they were. "I can do it, it’s okay."

She was trying desperately to reassure him, the guilt at even having Jim in this situation with her was enough to make her feel like she was choking on it. She wanted to reach out, to brush her fingers along the ridge of his jaw, but it was a thought surely brought upon by the blood loss, and all she would do was get her blood on him. It would have been better if the bullet had gone clean through, though she certainly would have died then. Fishing it out seemed like a horrible plan, especially if she was…"I have a bottle of blueberry brandy in my kitchen, I need that. Please." Liquid courage, and all that.

Jim nodded, sliding the first aid kit away from June as he rose to his feet. "Right..." He backed out of the bathroom, and made his way to the kitchen. A couple bottles of alcohol were lined on the counter, and he quickly scanned the bottles until he found the right one. He went about unscrewing the top, taking a whiff. The alcohol burned his nostrils, but he could sniff just a hint of the aforementioned fruit. He took a swig himself, letting the liquor burn his throat as he gave a slight gasp. He did not understand the appeal, but June clearly had a strong sweet-tooth. He entered into the bathroom, opening and closing his right fist to warm up his fingers. He handed her the bottle, eyeing her carefully. "I’ll do it."

He knelt down next to June again, removing a set of long tweezers and the hydrogen peroxide. He sterilized the metal tool, and grabbed for the penlight again. He held it between his teeth, aiming it at the wound so he could get a good look for where the bullet was. He used his left hand to hold taught June’s skin, and slowly inserted the teeth of the instrument into the gaping wound. He moved slowly, treating it like that silly game his mother loved when he was a kid. After a moment, the tips of the tweezers tapped against the edge of the bullet. He slid the tweezers between June’s flesh and the metal fragment, and then spat out the penlight. He met June’s gaze, his eyes preemptively watering as he feared the scream that was about to come. "I’m sorry." His movement was quick, as he steadied the bullet and ripped it out in a quick motion. Blood seeped from the wound, and Jim quickly grabbed for some gauze to help sop up the mess.

She drank more than she ought to have, downing a decent amount of the expensive liquor before pulling the bottle back. It burned down her throat, soothed by the sweetness that lingered on her tongue. It was an improvement from the shit she’d drank with Imogen and Magni and it took the edge off as the cool metal tweezers sunk into her side. She grit her teeth, clenching her jaw tightly to muffle the sounds of protest that bubbled up from her throat. One of her hands, slick with sweat and blood, pressed over her mouth to stifle the scream. Her back arching some before she slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Stiches," June groaned, shoving herself to the side until she was laying flat on her back. The coolness of the floor leached into her skin, helping soothe the nausea. She felt dizzy and sick, why couldn’t she just pass out already? That would have made everything so much easier. "There’s a baggy of…vitamins, in that kit. Need them, it’ll help." She let her eyes slip shut, too tired to struggle keeping them open. Iron, B9, B12, Vitamin C, they wouldn’t help as much as a blood transfusion undoubtedly would, but they would help her body replenish what she’d lost a little faster.

The analytical filter of her thoughts dimmed for a moment, and when June forced her eyes open it was to the sight of Jim leaning over her. The overhead light created a halo around his head, and even though her vision was fuzzy around the edges and the pain in her side was agonizing, she was stunned for a moment. "Jim…?" she reached out, her fingers curling clumsily around his forearm. "Can you…come closer, I need a favor." She was whispering, making it harder for him to hear her.

Jim was good with instructions. He quickly reached his hands up and ran the faucet, rinsing off the excess blood on his hands before he dug around for food in her medical bag. He did find the ziplock bag easily enough, and shoved them into one of June’s hands. He eyed the seeping wound, plucking out more gauze and pressing it into the wound while he moved in close. "Now isn’t exactly the time for favors, Junie." Yet, he did move closer, worried that she was close to losing consciousness. He reached a hand up towards her neck, placing his fingers along a vein to begin checking for a pulse. "What is it?"

Her pulse thundered against his fingers, and June instinctively wet her lips. Her gaze was half-lidded, her hand squeezing his arm before she let it slowly glide down to curl around his wrist, fingers dragging leisurely against his smooth skin. "On account of the fact that I nearly died today, I need you to kiss me." Her lips curled up into a soft smile, but there was nothing teasing about the request like there had been back at the tower. It was a genuine request. "I…just need to know…"

Jim’s heart felt like it was going to explode. After all this, all the pain she was in, she was still teasing him. Even near-death couldn’t stop her mocking, it seemed. And yet, something in her movement, in her tone, lacked that playful seductive tone from before. It was almost… serious? "June..." He paused, his eyes taking in the sight of her as he felt blood soaking through the cloth. She was losing a lot of blood. He needed to fix her. He didn’t have time for this. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to say no. "You’re going to give me the wrong idea, Miss Wayne." A weak smile formed on his lips, his eyes carefully studying her face. "What do you need to know?" Redirection… he could just ignore the request. She was clearly delirious. Maybe she meant something else?

"James," she tried again, squeezing his wrist as hard as she could, voice more serious than it had been a week earlier when they’d listened to Thomas’s voicemail. There was an edge to her tone, something bordering on desperate. "Kiss me." Her hand released his wrist, rising to catch in the fabric of his shirt, uncaring about the stains that were left in her wake. "I almost died today, and one of the last things I thought about was you." June tugged on his shirt, eyes breaking away from his own to settle on his lips before they slid back up, their gazes reconnecting. "I need to know what you taste like."

Jim audibly gulped down the excess saliva in his mouth. His eyes grew wide. This was real. No, no, this was some weird dream. They usually weren’t this graphic, but he’d had them before. His stomach did flips while his heart threatened to beat right out of his sternum. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe she was delirious. Maybe she did have feelings for him. Whether he liked it or not, he knew there was only one way to get her to cooperate long enough to sanitize her wound and stitch her up regardless of which scenario was true. He kissed her.

He didn’t know what he was doing, of course. He lifted a hand up to June’s cheek, tilting her head just enough that he could guide himself in quickly. He puckered his lips and pressed them against June’s awkwardly. The taste was, in fact, stronger this time. Cherry, with a hint of grapefruit. He held his lips against June’s for a few moments, his brain short-circuiting in his skull as they kissed. The warm swell in his chest was intoxicating. He slowly tried to pull away and peel his lips from hers.

"No," she breathed against his lips, her other hand curling around the back of his neck, fingers brushing through the loose strands of his hair. They were so close she could feel the heat radiating from his chest to hers, the frantic tempo of his heart beating against her knuckles from where she held onto his shirt. "Like this."

She pressed their lips together softer, gently, like she was worried he would break beneath her kiss. She nipped at his bottom lip, soothing it with the tip of her tongue, and when his mouth fell open she kissed him as if she were on her deathbed. He tasted like coffee and oil, a combination she never would have thought would be nearly as appealing as it was. The kiss lasted until her lungs were screaming for air, lips wet as she finally pulled back, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breath. She grinned at him, leaning back in for one more, soft kiss, and then…she promptly passed out.

This was definitely a dream. June’s kiss had sent shivers down Jim’s spine. Blood flowed in places he definitely didn’t want it to, and he was afraid her touch was going to send him into cardiac arrest. He had followed her lead, kissing her just as intensely and passionately as if it were the only kiss he would ever have. And when it broke, and he saw that grin, a lifetime of unknowable feelings had coalesced in an instant. Her words from earlier, her teasing… had she always felt similarly?

He was lucky he did not have the time to parse the feelings further. June’s sudden collapse into him had sent a new panicked surge through him. He struggled to lower her down onto the floor, his fearful state drowning out the bliss a mere second before. He got to work immediately, using peroxide to disinfect the wound while plucking out a small needle and some thread. She was in no state to protest a call for an ambulance, but perhaps his own common sense had been washed away in the kiss. His movements were hasty and sloppy, as he did his best to sew closed June’s flesh. He lowered his head down towards the wound to rip off the excess thread with his teeth. He used a spare towel to wipe away the pool of blood that was shared between them, his breath ragged and labored as he finished his work. He looked out towards the kitchen, where his armored sentinel kept vigil over the scene. Jim stumbled for it, climbing in and guiding it towards June’s body. Metal arms scooped June carefully off the ground and very slowly guided her, with much pivoting, out of the bathroom. The armor slowly lumbered up the stairs, and settled June down onto her bed.

It took Jim thirty minutes to clean up. He texted Imogen that June was alive. He scrubbed the blood from the bathroom tiles. He discarded his bloody shirt into the trash. He packed her first aid kit up and moved it to her nightstand. He drank a bit more than he perhaps should have. He checked on her throughout this process, before he finally resolved to grab a small metal sticker from inside the suit. He pressed it against her chest with much hesitation, and checked that the suit was picking up her vitals. "Alert me if she gets worse." His last order came as he slumped down in a chair he had dragged to her bedside. It took only moments for the exhaustion to finally drag him down to slumber.

She did not taste nearly as sweet in his dreams.

^{interactions ....|.... imogen, jim ............... mentions ....|.... alfred ............... collabs ....|.... @webboysurf @Mjolnir}

Descendants

^{#962929 ....|..... hell's angel ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower ........................... #feffb5 ....|..... redback ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

The drive was peaceful, more so than another taxi drive would have been. They’d talked for awhile over bad pizza, and then listened to music, and eventually Myla had fallen asleep with her head resting in his lap, the oversized sweater wrapped around her like a weirdly shaped blanket. One of his hands absentmindedly ran through her hair, the other on top of the steering wheel, humming along to a Cosmo Sheldrake song. The sun had set an hour ago, dipping below the horizon and leaving them in darkness on the winding road back to the tower.

Theodore didn’t mind, he was glad she was getting some rest and long drives always soothed his anxiety. Soon enough though, they were pulling into the parking garage. His eyes felt dry, exhaustion creeping up on him, but he wanted to get her checked out in the infirmary and let one of the big brains on the team know what had happened. Theo stirred Myla gently, whispering her name until her eyes fluttered open. "Sorry to wake you, Angel, but we’re here."

The low after the adrenalin wore off and the loss of blood left Myla in an almost zombie like state of sleep. It took a little extra effort to rouse her. When she began stirring her hold on Theo’s thigh tightened subconsciously. A soft moan hummed behind her lips as she forced her eyes open. She reluctantly sat up, the sweater slipping into her lap as she tried to get her bearings. Her left hand lingered on his leg as her right rose to her head to steady herself from the rush of sitting up too quickly. She blinked and nodded her head. "Ok."

She slowly parted herself from him as she slid back into the passenger seat. Myla clutched the knitted fabric of the new sweater Theo got her, ignoring the pang in her chest as she opened the door and climbed out of the car. She kept her hand pressed to the side of the car as she slowly and carefully walked toward the trunk to meet him.

He made quick work of gathering both bags in one hand before rounding the car toward Myla. He was tired, and she was too, which meant he could get away with what he was about to do without getting an elbow to the face…probably. He swooped down, arm curling around the back of her thighs, before standing back up fully so Myla was supported by his free arm. Her arm curled around his shoulders, and Theo pretended to be very casual about how internally proud he was for not fumbling that.

"Will you let me take you to the infirmary?" He was genuinely curious if she’d allow it, otherwise he’d imagined she just wanted to get to bed, unless there was something else they needed to do first.

A soft gasp escaped Myla’s lips as she was swept off her feet with a single sweep of Theo’s arm. She did her best to help support her weight as she held his shoulders. Honestly, she had no idea how he just managed that while also carrying their bags, but she wasn’t going to argue. That was probably the one time she wasn’t going to be stubborn about, walking on her own. Her leg would thank her in the morning.

Myla adjusted her arms around his shoulders to keep herself upright without straining the stitches in her side. "I don’t think I have a choice when you won’t let me walk." While she was tired, they both were, she still managed to add a faint tease to her words, if only to make him smile.

He snorted, fighting the urge to press a kiss to anywhere he could reach, which would be her chest currently and while he knew he’d enjoy that quite a lot it would only fluster her. Actually, in retrospect, not the worst idea…"I’m not sure what more they could do for you," he said instead, heading for the elevator in the garage. "Except maybe give your some pain medication, you’re already as patched up as you can be right now."

Theo didn’t struggle even a little as they stepped into the elevator, hesitating between buttons for a moment as he tried to make up his mind. There were at least four different things they could do, but he was fairly certain he should let someone else know what had happened. But who? "Alfred, Phil, or Imogen?" He wondered aloud, checking the time and grimacing at the thought of having to bother any of them. "We need to tell someone…maybe Wayne, instead?"

Her brows furrowed. Myla had no idea who they should tell. Her gut instinct said Stark, but she didn’t have the strength to deal with his attitude and snide comments about Theo carrying her. Plus she imagined he wouldn’t have an ounce of sympathy, which, for whatever reason, made her more reluctant to choose him. She wasn’t wanting sympathy or concern, but the lack of it just felt kind of soulless. "I don’t know," she sighed. "Maybe Alfred or Phil? I imagine they’d inform whoever needed to know."

"Alfred, then. Doesn’t the elevator like…talk to us, or something? Sort of like an Alexa, what was its name again? Jason? Jackson? Frodo?" Theo frowned, setting down the bags and squinting at the multitude of buttons. He was too tired to remember properly, and the desire to say fuck it all and just go to bed was incredibly tempting. He felt like he was forgetting something important, something with the whole fight, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He’d replayed it all a hundred times over in his drive back, trying to pinpoint what it was that was eluding him, but he still couldn’t place it.

"Move me closer," she instructed him gently. Once they were closer to the buttons, Myla let her right hand slip from his shoulder. She reached out and ran her fingers along the buttons until she found the familiar pebbling of braille beside them. It took her several seconds before she ran along one line multiple times then pressed the button beside it. "Third floor," she told him quietly as she hooked her hand around the bend of his neck for support.

"You’re so hot when you’re smarter than me." He sighed, glad he didn’t have to push the button and be mindful of his strength so he didn’t accidentally fold the metal like it was paper. The elevator was smooth as it moved between floors, and the doors were sliding open again before he could even process it. Doubt and guilt warred inside of Theo, and he stepped off slowly. "What if he’s sleeping? Maybe I should leave a message with the robot."

Her cheeks grew warm at the uninhibited way his compliment slipped out like they said things like that to each other all the time. They definitely didn’t. Myla laughed at a loss for words and flustered. "I think everyone is asleep at this hour," she whispered as they stood in the silence of the hallway between Alfred’s and Phil’s apartments. "Whatever you think is best," she replied, turning her head toward him slightly.

He had to choose? Theo groaned, rolling his head back to try and stretch out his neck some. He left the bags in the elevator, figuring it wasn’t like anyone would be in a stealing mood at this hour anyhow. "Okay," he tilted his head back, speaking directly to the ceiling now. "Mister tower…robot…sir, uh. Could you let Alfred know we need to speak with him?" He nodded to himself, feeling it was respectful enough for the tower to not go all Smart House murderous on them.

"Of course, Mr. Parker. Mr. Pennyworth shall be with you momentarily," the British voice echoed in the small foyer as it addressed them.

Myla felt a little uncomfortable when she came to the realization they were actually about to talk to someone and she was still firmly in Theo’s arms. There was a moment where she contemplated asking him to set her down, but she knew he’d argue so she instead kept the thought to herself.

A minute later the sound of shuffling slippers approached the door. The cylinders of the lock shifted before the door opened to the older gentleman who was most definitely sleeping a moment earlier. He was wrapped in a maroon robe with black satin pajama bottoms peeking out beneath it leading toward matching house slippers. For a moment he looked tired and confused until his gaze fully took in the state of Myla. The stitches in her thigh were visible beyond the hem of the basketball shorts and the deep purple bruises had already begun to settle around her eyes and across her nose. The rest of her injuries were thankfully hidden away but no less gruesome. "Good God. Are you alright? Have you been to the infirmary?" Alfred asked, concern prevalent in his tone regardless of the fact he hardly knew them.

"We’re sorry to wake you, Mr. Pennyworth," Myla spoke up through the rough soreness of her throat. "We didn’t know who to go to…" her voice slipped away as she searched for the words.

"We got her fixed up before we headed back, so no infirmary yet. Myla was attacked, we…we were separated, I barely got there in time." Theo shifted their weight some, the guilt leaking through his tone like puss from a wound. He didn’t look at either of them, wasn’t sure if he could without cracking, so he pressed onwards instead. "We just wanted to pass it on, so anyone else who leaves the tower knows to be extra cautious, and we have a billy club with the recording from the incident…maybe Stark or Wayne could use it?"

"I’m happy to see you both made it out… Relatively safe." He flashed them a sad, but compassionate smile. "Ms. Wayne and Mr. Stark are currently indisposed but I’ll be sure to pass on the message to them and Mr. Coulson."

Myla’s head shifted a fraction of a degree toward Theo as she heard the guilt in his voice. She could feel the escalation of his heart rate and the way everything shifted in him. Her hand slowly slipped from his shoulder to rest against his chest. "I can get it to them tomorrow. It’s shoved somewhere in my bag anyway," she replied, seamlessly slipping into the conversation as an attempt to calm Theo in whatever way she could.

"Mr. Coulson intended on running some training simulations in the morning. Team building or something. But they should both be there, although I recommend you observe rather than partake."

"Thank you. I…" Myla’s face contorted as she struggled to force out the lie. Maybe it was because she was tired or maybe it was because Alfred seemed too kind and like he had heard more than his fair share of false promises, but she couldn’t do it. She sighed softly. "I’ll probably train," she confessed with a guilty expression. "But I appreciate the concern. We’ll uh, leave you to rest. Sorry for waking you again." She gave Theo’s chest a gentle pat as a silent signal that they should leave.

"You remind me of Ms. Wayne," Alfred commented with a fond smile. "Don’t ever hesitate to knock," he motioned to his door, "Good night, Ms. Murdock. Mr. Parker." He gave them both a friendly nod of his head before disappearing back into his apartment.

"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth," Theo called out, voice tinged with uncertainty as the older man disappeared back through his door. He hesitated for only a second before turning back on his heel and heading back toward the elevator. "I wish you would sit out of training tomorrow, but I know you won’t." He stepped back into the elevator, the doors sliding open without him even having to push a button, and he sent a happy glance toward the ceiling again.

"Enemies won’t wait until I’m healed, Theo," she replied quietly. "If I pop my stitches I’ll go to the infirmary and have them cauterized. They won’t heal pretty but I won’t keep reopening them." It wasn’t much of a compromise but it meant less bleeding. It wasn’t like Myla cared much about getting scars. She already had plenty. They weren’t attractive, but the last thing on her mind was how marred she looked naked. Ok well… Maybe she cared a little now, but scars didn’t change much. "But we should probably keep that from your mom. I don’t need an angry call from her because I didn’t follow her instructions." Her face scrunched guiltily. She really liked Theo’s mom and the last thing she wanted to do was piss her off less than a day after meeting her.

Theo’s face scrunched up, he knew she’d be too stubborn but at least he’d tried. "It doesn’t matter how your scars look, you’re beautiful regardless. I care more about you not going through additional unnecessary pain, if you just gave it a few days…" he sighed, because really who was he kidding? If their roles were reversed, he’d still do training too. Though, he had accelerated healing. It was a little different, in the end. "I’ll be there to carry you to the infirmary anyhow, but we’ll have to postpone our beach date if you get too banged up."

There was a lot to unpack in only a few simple sentences. Myla was flattered and blushing at being told she was beautiful, even if the concept was a bit lost on her. She understood the beauty of the soul but physical beauty was something she’d never quite understand. Then he mentioned carrying her, which at that point she was starting to wonder if it was just an excuse to touch her or keep her close… Not that she was complaining. But the part that stuck out the most was the mention of a date. "Beach date?" she mused.

Theodore’s sleepy brain stalled, a strange, strangled sound escaping his throat. He froze for a split second, and then, in a wild attempt to distract her, he just started to…talk. About the ocean. "According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, oceans make up 97% of our planet’s water and more than 70% of Earth’s surface. Did you know that? The Pacific Ocean is the world’s largest ocean, accounting for more than 30% of the Earth’s surface. But, when you take a dip in Ocean City, New Jersey, you’re in the world’s second-largest ocean—the Atlantic. The Atlantic Ocean covers about 20% of Earth’s surface and spans an area roughly 41 million square miles, and—" he coughed, changing tracks again and addressing the elevator instead of Myla.

"Please take us to Myla’s penthouse, mister tower man, please." Theo felt dumb talking to the air, but it had worked out great earlier and they weren’t being struck down by lasers or anything dumb like that. "We need to shower, and sleep."

Myla buried her face in his shoulder attempting to muffle the laughs poured from her. His little info dump about the ocean had her lost in laughter enough that she missed Theo talking to the tower’s AI, but it must have worked because the elevator heeded his request. She raised a hand to wipe away a tear while her smile still stretched from ear to ear. "Yes, please." She sighed longingly. "Bless your mom, she tried. But I feel like I have dried blood in every crevice." She let out one last little laugh. A hot shower actually sounded fantastic. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d manage it but she’d figure it out if it meant getting clean.

"One shower, coming up." The elevator doors opened, and Theo carried her down the hall toward the door, letting out a low whistle once they’d cleared it. The pictures didn’t do it justice, it was modest and fit Myla perfectly in his opinion. He adjusted the bags before shutting the door behind them. "Do you want me to lead you to the bathroom?"

"I need to grab fresh clothes first… so bedroom?" she asked a little uncertainly. Myla’s fingers absently toyed at a small wrinkle in Theo’s shirt as he carried her. She took in a soft breath and her head fell slightly as she tried to find the words. "You’ll stay… Right?"

"Always," he spoke before he could stop himself, but Theo didn’t feel embarrassed for it. He meant it, he would stay with her for as long as she wanted, no matter what. "Until you send me away." He meant to say it jokingly, to lighten the sudden tension that surrounded them like some kind of plasmatic goop, but his voice was too raw, too serious.

Myla could have said a lot of things. There were several that crossed her mind… One more important than the others. But instead her hand gently rested on his cheek and turned his face toward her. She winced a little as she sat up more in his arms, but ignored the pain. She pressed her lips against his softly. It wasn’t impulsive like their first kiss outside the tower, or fleeting like the kisses they shared after she nearly died. It was gentle and tender. Their lips slipped together like the last two pieces of a puzzle. The past couple hours had been a whirlwind but in that moment she just wanted to sink into it… Into him. They had been dancing around the what ifs for so long that Myla found herself seeking the embrace of his lips as a reassurance that it wasn’t her imagination or a brief lapse in judgement on either of their parts.

He kissed her back, because there was nothing else for him to do and nothing else he wanted to do. This kiss was different, he could feel it in how gentle it was, more tentative and sweet. The day had been a whirlwind, a jumbled mess of emotions and hurt, but he wouldn’t have taken a single kiss back. Theo pulled back after a moment, voice huskier than he could control. "Myla, if you kiss me like that again I’m going to have a hard time stopping."

"Good." Her voice was hardly a whisper, rough from frying her vocal cords but also desperate. Myla leaned back in to fill the distance Theo created without hesitation. The warmth of her breath ghosted across his lips as their mouths faintly brushed with every deep breath. Her hand coaxed him forward as her fingers slipped back through his hair. There was a faint touch, lips parted, her tongue nearly found his…

And she paused…

She felt the pain in her thigh, hot, sending a wave of sharp aches down her leg. The stitches along her ribs tugged, threatening to snap. She thought of the dried blood that stuck between her toes and under her finger nails. Then there was the shock that was holding on like fingertips at the edge of a cliff. Myla was hours overdue for it all to come crashing down on her like an anvil dropped on her head. The last thing she wanted was to slip into a mental breakdown the first time they were together. She didn't want him to see her like that, broken and vulnerable, a shell of the person she normally was.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath before letting her forehead fall to rest against his shoulder.

He almost gave in then and there, it was horribly tempting to just fall into the mutual attraction and let himself go to what could be. Her moment of hesitation was all he needed though, it brought about a sense of clarity to the fog that had invaded his senses. Theo pulled back, hands gentle as he shifted their bodies apart to make some space between themselves for…Jesus, he supposed. "Shower, then sleep. I could make you something to eat too, I’ve been told I make the best grilled cheese." He paused sheepishly, and moved them closer to the bathroom. "Well, my mom was probably just being nice, but I think it’s pretty good."

As much as he very much wanted to continue, it wouldn’t be as good right now, it wouldn’t mean what he wanted it to mean if they rushed to it now. Theo has to be like that dumb tortoise during the metaphorical race, slow and steady whilst she healed. Anything more and he’d only hurt her further, and that was the last thing Theo wanted.

Myla inhaled sharply, letting herself slip from his arms. She didn’t like the space but it was better that way. It’d be easier to let the warmth that build up inside her dissipate if his hand wasn’t on her thigh and if his face wasn’t temptingly close. "Yeah," she whispered and nodded her head in agreement. "Can you set my bag in the closet or whatever?" She pointed down the hall in the direction of what she assumed was the bedroom. Her hand reached out to steady herself as she took a second to catch her breath. Then slowly she followed after him.

"Of course," Theo led the way down the hall, toward the open bedroom door, lingering a little slower than usual as he waited for her to follow. By the time she’d made it inside though, he’d set both their bags in the closet, pulled out a set of clean clothes for her, and turned the shower on to let it warm up. He fidgeted as Myla came into the room, nervous for reasons he couldn’t explain. "Do you need…help?"

"I…" her voice trailed off and brows furrowed. Did she need his help? Myla’s fingers rose to lightly brush over the stitches along her ribs. She probably should ask for help with removing her shirt but she didn’t know if she could exhibit his level of control either. Just the thought of knuckles brushing her skin made her heart flutter in her chest. Theo undressing her was not the way to keep her on her best behavior. Maybe if she used only her right arm she’d be ok. "I’ll figure it out." The corner of her lips tugged into a weak smile.

He frowned, nodded, and then cleared his throat. "Okay, if you need help just call out for me, I’ll make something for us to eat." He passed by her, pausing to brush a soft kiss against Myla’s forehead. Theo lingered there for a second, as if second guessing himself and his choices, and then he headed toward the kitchen.

Myla’s eyes slowly closed when she noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. She exhaled softly and nodded her head. Once he wandered off toward the kitchen she grabbed the door and started closing it. Her fingers lingered on the handle. There was a strange nagging in her stomach that made it hard for her to find the strength to close it the last couple inches, like shutting the door would erect a wall between them. It was stupid… But her fingers still slipped off the doorknob leaving it open by an inch or two.

Standing alone in the bathroom, bare feet on the cold tile, her brain cycled through how she was going to manage taking the shirt off. Myla lifted her left arm slowly, testing to see how high she could elevate it before feeling the stitches tug. Her elbow elevated to the height of her shoulder before she sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She reached her right hand over her head and grabbed a fistful of fabric. Rather than going slow, she gave a quick jerk and pulled it over her head. If the shirt was one of her own she probably wouldn’t have managed it. Luckily it was big and only minorly irritated her stitches.

Slipping out of the basketball shorts was significantly easier. She left the dirty clothes in a pile on the ground and made her way over to shower. The temperature was a little too cold when she stepped under the gentle cascade of water. Her right hand reached out to turn the hot tap. As she spun it, the metal knob screeched against the pipe. The sound was sharp and high pitched, reverberating through her ears into her memories throwing her back into her uncle’s apartment, writhing on the floor. She started shaking, breath seizing as her chest constricted. Her hands pressed against the slick tiles as she tried to ground herself.

Every punch kick, gun shot and stab strobed through her mind. The head splitting noise bounced around her skull while Roger’s voice felt like a sickening whisper against the back of her neck. She shivered. The memories shifted. Her father was in her place, out numbered and fighting for his life. She heard his winces, the sounds of tearing flesh, snapping bones and the sharp noise that dropped him to his knees. The thought carried her across the city to a shitty bar in Midtown where she sat at a bar while her father was taken… Having shitty cocktails with Roger.

Myla’s legs went weak and she fell to her knees. Her trembling hands pressed against the ground as she wretched but nothing came up besides the body wracking sobs that shook her to her core. She didn’t move from beneath the falling water as her body curled in on itself and she buried her face in her hands. She wept for her father, for how close it was to being her too, for the death on Theo’s conscience, for how weak and useless she felt. The sobs stole the air from her lungs and made it hard for her to catch her breath. She was gasping, couldn’t tell if it was tears or water covering her hands, couldn’t make sense of the pain and grief. Myla had been carrying it all for so long, putting on a brave face and pushing it away to fester and rot until it poured out of her like a body aching disease.

Meanwhile, Theo was staring up at the grilled cheese stuck to the ceiling. He’d been trying to flip it in the pan, an impressive maneuver that would have thrilled absolutely no one except for himself, mostly because he was alone, but he’d been a little overzealous with it. He sighed, and decided to just…see how long it would stay up there, moving to make a new one instead of fetching the one that had become a new fixture. It took fifteen minutes, all of which saw Theo distracting himself by singing a song about radioactive shrimp, but by the time he was done he’d made six grilled cheese sandwiches, and a small pot of canned tomato soup. He set it all out on the table, grabbing two cans of something called Stark Cola from the fridge, and waited five more minutes before he went to check on Myla.

"Myla?" There was panic in his voice from the other side of the bathroom door, he could hear her hyperventilating and crying, and he wanted to rush in and make sure she was okay. However, Theo was very aware of the fact that she was also naked in there. "I’m going to come in, if you don’t answer me in five seconds."

By the time she heard Theo’s voice the water had run cold. Myla hadn’t moved from where she knelt on the ground in a fetal position, her body shaking between the sobs, gasps for air, and shivers. She tried to find her voice and reply but nothing came out. She didn’t want Theo to see her like that but she couldn’t force out a single word between each sharp breath. Her hands pressed to her chest trying to find calm in her somewhere. Her lip quivered as she barely managed to push out two words with her remaining strength. "I-I’m f-fine."

Well, that wasn’t very convincing. "I’m coming in." There was a brief moment where he floundered like a fish on land, but then he shoved aside his personal feelings and pushed into the room, grabbing one of the fluffy white towels that were hanging on the wall. Theo froze when he saw her curled in on herself, his breath choking in his throat, and then he was moving forward to flip off the water and wrap the towel around her, keeping his eyes very respectfully on her face. "Come on, Angel. This isn’t a good place to cry." His voice was soft with compassion and affection as he lifted her up, making sure the large towel was wrapped around her shoulders and overlapping so he didn’t see anything he ought not to. Theo cradled her to his chest, uncaring as moisture seeped through the towel and his shirt, he moved them to the bedroom so he could sit with her on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over her arms to try and warm her up.

Myla didn't say anything and didn't move. Whatever part of her that should have been concerned about her lack of clothing was more embarrassed he found her like that. She wanted to argue and tell him she was fine. But the words didn't come out. There weren't even tears anymore, just the strangled, hyperventilating breaths as she shook from the cold. Her mind didn't even fully register that Theo had wrapped her in a towel and picked her up until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her trembling hands pulled the towel around her, hiding what parts of her body she could as her senses slowly came back to her. "I d-didn’t want you to see me like t-this." Her voice was strained and wary like her final downward spiral took what energy she had left. There was no emotion left on her face. It was a pale void, absent color beyond the bruising across her nose and the red puffiness of her eyes.

"I don’t want you to hide from me," his eyes burned, seeing her like this broke something in Theodore and all he could do was hold her closer, try to warm her up even as she shivered against his chest. "I want to see all of you, even the parts you’re ashamed of, and I’ll show you all of me too. You don’t have to do it all alone anymore, Myla." Not as long as he was here, never again. Theo would make it his job to pick up her broken pieces, to handle the glue and put her back together. That’s what you did for someone you loved, afterall.

She had been shouldering her burdens alone for so long that Myla didn't know how to share the load and let someone in. Theo was attentive and caring in ways she didn't deserve and she was struggling figuring out how to open that last piece of herself when independence had always been safer. The lump still twisted in her throat but she had no more tears to shed. "My dad… he went through all of that, maybe worse and I wasn't there to save him." She blinked slowly like saying it all out loud dug the knife in deeper until it twisted and let the guilt pour out like blood. "I was on the other side of the city getting drinks with fucking Roger." God if she could kill him again she fucking would. "The bastard set it all up… set me up. It's all my fault… all of it."

Myla was spiraling again and like the first time she couldn't stop it. Everything came flooding out like a tidal wave. "I should have listened to you. I should have been stronger and smarter… I knew one day they'd come for me and I was so fucking stupid." The grief boiled inside her burning and evolving into rage. She was angry at whoever the ominous they were, she was angry at Roger, but mostly she was just angry at herself. She stood up as her body grew restless like she wasn't allowed to have the soft moments in Theo's arms. It was too good for her. With her mind racing, Myla barely registered the pain in her leg as she paced back and forth, clutching the towel around her. "I could have gotten you killed or Foggy killed… I nearly got myself killed. And I ruined your dad's sweater." Her voice cracked on the last words.

"Would you say it’s my fault that my dad got taken?" His hands trembled where he held her, Myla’s words echoing in his head like a gunshot. She was taking all of the blame and all the hurt and stacking it onto herself. "I should have never left you. I got out of that taxi first, I chose to listen to you instead of thinking about what could happen. Roger was someone you trusted, he set all of that shit up." Theo let out a shaky breath, repressing the urge to take her face between his hands and not let go until she actually listened to him. "I didn’t know your dad, but he and my dad worked together before. I don’t think either of our fathers would want us blaming ourselves for what happened to them. If someone could take them, chances are they’d have taken us too if we were there."

She stopped dead in her tracks, dripping water onto the carpet between the bed and the bathroom. The air conditioning felt cold against her damp skin as the bottom towel didn't fully reach the top of her thighs. Myla looked like a deer in headlights, like she had been stripped naked and flayed before Theo's eyes. She felt more vulnerable than she had in her life and it terrified her. "I… need to get dressed." She swallowed then dove into the bathroom without letting him see her face.

He let her go, hands still shaking, heart pounding in his chest, he had a sinking suspicion that nothing he said would help her with those thoughts. Theo pushed up with a sigh, pausing outside the bathroom door. "I have a house full of my dads sweaters, but I only have one of you," he called softly through the door, pressing a palm to the frame for a moment. "Come out when you’re ready, I have food for us, and…you have a grilled cheese sandwich stuck to your ceiling." He left back into the kitchen after that.

Theo’s words repeated in her head as her shaking hands rested on the sink. Her breaths were uneasy and somehow her body found a way to produce more tears. She rocked back and forth, biting the inside of her lip near to the point of bleeding. When she heard him wander off down the hall, Myla slammed her fist into the counter, splitting her knuckles open. Physical pain was simpler. She could manage it, choose how much it hurt, and fix it… If she wanted. She was never methodical about her self harm, split knuckles, nails in her palms, an intentional mistake in a fight. Even after everything she went through, it felt like a security blanket, one thing in her life she had control over. God… What was she doing? She grimaced as she extended her fingers, feeling the blood slip between her knuckles. "Fuck," she cursed under her breath knowing Theo was going to be mad she was hurting herself.

She took the time to rinse off her hand and stop most of the bleeding before attempting to get dressed. Myla was able to pull the pajama pants on easily enough. An ache tugged at her heart when she noticed Theo intentionally chose a button up shirt so she wouldn’t struggle so much. It was almost a sick sort of irony how she had prayed for years to not be alone, to meet someone who cared for her like no one else ever has, and she finally got it… And this was how she treated him. The temptation to slam her knuckles into the marble counter again was strong, but she pushed it back by busying her hands. She quickly pulled on her shirt and clumsily fastened two of the buttons into the wrong holes so the right side hung a little lower than the left.

Myla exited the bathroom and started down the hallway toward him. There was still the limp in her gait, but there was also determination. As she reached Theo sitting in the dining room chair, sad and burdened by her problems, her heart sank. She approached him slowly, hesitantly like she wasn’t entirely sure how to be vulnerable. "Theo," she whispered. Rather than taking a seat beside him, she slowly put her leg over his lap and straddled his thighs. Her arms wrapped around him as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. She let herself take in his scent and the warmth of his body pressed against hers. "I’m sorry… I don’t know how to do this," she muttered against his shoulder.

He’d been staring crestfallen at that damned grilled cheese, contemplating climbing up there to get it. Though…it was sort of funny, wasn’t it? How long could it possibly stay up there, and maybe he should adjust his web formula to—a warm weight settled into his lap, jolting Theo from his thoughts. Warmth flooded his face, blood rushing to places too obvious for comfort. Fuck, she was so beautiful even like this. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the side of her throat, breathing in the smell of her shampoo, the sharp scent of blood lingering around her.

"You don’t have to apologize," he pulled back some, a hand curling around her waist to keep her steady while another rose to cradle her face. He took a moment to take her in, hair wet, bruises forming, so heartbreakingly stunning. "I’ve never felt the way I feel for you, for anyone else. I don’t really know how to…I mean, we have each other, right?"

She nodded her head. "I don’t know how to be more than just… me," Myla admitted quietly as her thumb stroked the soft skin of his neck. "But I know I need you… and I’m trying." While the words might have held little meaning, there was a heavy weight behind them. She had no experience when it came to opening herself up to someone or healthy relationships. It had always been her against the world. Even people like Roger never got all of her, just the pieces that she allowed. But she wanted Theo to have all of her… She was just struggling with letting go fully. Myla trusted him. It was trusting herself that was the hard part.

"You’re more than enough, you don’t need to be anything more than what you are." He smiled at her, sweeping his thumb over her cheek. "Thank you for trying, Angel. How about you eat, and then we can sleep."

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... imogen, jim & june ............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

Descendants

^{#962929 ....|..... hell's angel ....|..... outfit .....|..... foggy’s apartment ......................... #feffb5 ....|..... redback ....|..... outfit .....|..... foggy’s apartment}

He regretted leaving her as soon as the cab door shut, watching the car drive away with a pang in his chest. Something prickled at the back of Theo’s neck, an air of foreboding and danger lingering at the edges of his senses. He ran a hand through his hair, turning sharply to enter his house instead of waiting any longer outside. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could get back to Myla.

Gwen was waiting for him, and he froze at the sight of his mom. He’d almost forgotten for a second that he’d be leaving her behind, but here she was, back early from her convention. "Uh," Theo said brightly, rocking back and forth on his heels as he shut the door behind him. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Denmark?"

"I was, until I saw the location of your phone go for an impromptu backpacking trip for a week" Her tone was measured and controlled, which was actually worse than her yelling. He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew he forgot to do something, his list had been relatively short but so much had been bouncing around in his head.

"I…wanted to connect with nature?" He grinned at her, clearly pleased with himself for coming up with that one before Theo edged around Gwen and headed for the stairs. She made a strange noise from behind him, a little like a yowling cat if he were being honest.

"Is that blood?! Theodore, I swear–get back here!" He didn’t laugh, but it was a very close thing. His mom had gotten used to his dad’s antics over the years and, unfortunately for her, he was his fathers son. Skirting around the entire truth tended to be better for his moms physical and mental health. She continued to pelt questions at his back as he took the stairs two at a time, beelining for his room. By the time she caught up with Theo, he’d already thrown a duffle bag on his bed and was chucking clothes into it haphazardly. His mom made a noise of deep aggravation, and moved to fold the clothes. "Where are you going? What’s going on, Teddy?"

He paused, bloody shirt discarded at his feet, another white T-shirt in his hands. The silence hung for a moment, and he didn’t need to be facing her to know the expression that was on her face. She sucked in a deep breath, and he heard one of his pairs of jeans thump dully onto the bed. "You’re planning something, aren’t you?"

Theo looked down at the shirt in his hands, the fabric wrinkled, there was a small dot of an oil stain on the edge of one of the sleeves from his tinkering. He took a deep breath, and grabbed a pair of jeans before turning around to face her. His mom’s face was pale, drawn, and she looked like she was going to cry so he rushed to reassure her. He was supposed to be the man of the house now, taking care of his mom, keeping her safe, but this just felt so much more important.

"There’s a…team, kind of." He shrugged one shoulder, eyes sliding toward the top of the duffle bag. She’d packed his suit, before she even knew, before he’d even said anything. The mask sat at the top, as if the responsibilities of owning it were mocking him. "Everyone is missing someone, so these brainiacs decided to make a plan. Dad had this old pager in his desk I found, I guess he was part of some team back in the day."

Theo didn’t give her a chance to answer before he hurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself for good measure. There was a time for serious conversations, and it was after he got the first hot shower he’d had in a week. He took his time, feeling a false sense of security in the idea that Myla would be safe and that he didn’t have to rush.

Gwen was crying when Theo reamerged from the bathroom, dressed in clean clothes and towel drying his hair. The guilt he felt at the sight was enough to make the towel slip from his fingers, but his hug wasn’t enough to reassure her. Theo tried rubbing her back gently, not able to offer soothing words as she clutched him like she was scared he would vanish next. "I can’t lose you too, Teddy."

"You won’t, I promise." It wasn’t a promise he could keep, they both knew it, but he would try nonetheless. "I have to do this, mom. I have to try and find—"

His phone beeped in his pocket, a high pitched whine that made his whole body go tense. He stepped back from his mom, one hand dipping into his pocket while the other instinctively closed around his mask. A red and blue alarm was flashing across his screen, the taser feature had been activated. There were six seconds where his brain whirled through all the possible scenarios, maybe a malfunction? If he’d accidentally tased Myla she’d kick his ass later, but no…no…he clicked the notification, lifted his phone to his ear, and listened to the audio that had been recorded prior to the spider’s electric end.

"Ted? What’s wrong?" His mom was speaking, but he couldn’t hear her. Something cold seemed to slide down his spine, the audio was shitty quality, but he heard every word, the shots of the gun, the tone of Myla’s voice…his breath caught in his throat, and he was out of his window before he could even think to answer his mom.

"I was trying to do this the generous way. A nice date. One last fuck. And then slip you a little Rohypnol… Easy." The audio was set to replay, which kept him in a constant loop of anger as he used his webs to slingshot himself as high into the air as possible, and apparently when he was fueled by anger Theo could clear a hundred feet easily.

"Motherfucker," Theo’s bellow of outrage was drowned out by the wind as he swung through the city like the Devil himself was chasing him, having only enough sense of mind to pull the mask over his face before he started. He was going to kill him but not before he made him eat his own dick. There were no words to properly describe how angry he felt, it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Even back at the tower with Ronnie, it wasn’t comparable. He should have never left, he should have made her deal with him being there and then dragged her to his house.

Police sirens were going in the opposite direction, he could hear that something bad was happening in the distance. Was it Sandman? It didn’t matter, for the first time in his life Theo chose to be selfish, he chose to go to Myla instead of helping the citizens he’d sworn to protect. His world was on fire, and all he had was a tiny bucket and not enough time to get there before it all burned down.

There was a man lingering at the steps of the building, wearing all black, looking around like he was some sort of lookout. He had a phone to his ear, muttering about how…someone had gone out the window? Theo could hear the sounds of a scuffle a few stories up, and he barely cared to listen in on the man's conversation. "I do loathe when others take credit for my plans, if Roger isn’t dead already I’ll kill him myself." He caught the end of what whoever he was speaking with was saying, a voice that sounded startlingly familiar, before he shot up to the window that had been broken.

Web wrapped around the device from outside the window, startling the men, and then it was ripped from his grasp. The sound faded as if fell several stories down, shattering upon impact with the pavement, and Theo was sliding in through the window, body trembling as he took in the scene in front of him. The sound of Myla’s scream was bouncing around in his head, but the sight of her broken and crumpled on the floor made all the walls that Theodore had built around his self control over the years snap.

"I’m going to kill all of you." His voice was low and rugged, he was breathing too hard, hands shaking at his sides. One of the men looked at him and laughed, a cruel smile twisting his lips upwards. He was going to die first, Theo decided.

"Spider-Man doesn’t kill, and neither do you kid, so—" He paused as Theo reached up, his movements deliberate, slow, his hands stopped shaking as a coldness seemed to fill the spaces between his bone and marrow. He pulled the mask from his head, letting it drop to the ground. They could see how tightly his jaw was clenched, the angry narrowness of his eyes. One of the men stepped back, startled.

"Redback doesn’t kill, but Theodore Parker does." They only had a second to process that, and then he lunged. Theo spent so much time holding back, restraining himself so he didn’t actually kill anyone, let alone hurt them more than a short hospital stay could warrant, but he let it all go. In that moment, with the coldness of this rage, self control meant nothing to him. The man who had smiled blinked down, stunned by the arm that was embedded in his chest. There was a gurgle, a gasp, the buzz in his head that warned of danger, the sharp bang of a gun. He lifted the man easily, shifted him to take the impact of the bullet, and ripped his arm free. The body thudded to the ground, the man didn’t make another sound, it did nothing to soothe his anger.

All of them had to die, nothing else would make any of this better. He didn’t know who they were, who they worked for, all Theo knew is that they’d hurt her. The thought kept repeating like a broken record, and he was trying desperately to not look at Myla. He caught the fist of one of the men as they swung on him, not even looking at him as he squeezed until the sickening crack of bone splintering filled the room. He threw him, the man’s back impacted with the edge of the window and Theo heard the moment it snapped. He was already moving on, dodging another bullet with an agile flip, twisting on his hands and kicking out with his left leg so the heel of his foot impacted with another man’s jaw.

"Fuck, Charlie? Man, get up, get—" His neck snapped beneath Theo’s hands, a simple twist and he was dead. That left only one, and the one downstairs. He straightened out, turning toward the last man who was scrambling for a discarded gun. He was shaking, crying, and all Theo could think was good. He stepped over the bodies of downed mercs, advancing on him slowly, grimly enjoying the panic that was overriding the fear in the man's features.

The gun raised, cold metal kissing Theodore’s forehead, but his hand struck out faster than he could pull the trigger. There was a screech as the weapon crumbled between his fingers, falling uselessly to the ground as his other hand closed around the last man's throat, lifting him up into the air, tightening his gasp until the man was gagging and gurgling for air. Part of him, the cold angry pieces, wanted to enjoy watching the life drain from him…but Myla was hurt, and she was more important. Cartilage caved in on itself, bones cracking, blood stemmed from between his clenched fist, and the last man fell with a thud that had been just as lifeless as the others.

Theo was more contained than he had been mere seconds ago when he kneeled beside Myla, hands hovering uncertainly over her. "Myla? It’s me, I’m here." Where did he even start to help her? She looked like hell.

The high pitched screech drilled so deep that even after it stopped, Myla’s ears continued to ring beneath her hands while blood trickled between her fingers. Her senses were slowly coming back, but not fast enough for her to have any bearings beyond the migraine that ripped through her skull. When she felt the warmth of hands hovering close to her, whatever reserved energy she had left sent her into overdrive. She couldn’t scream, but she still tried. Her throat was raw and cracked like the desert floor. Only a scratchy wheeze came out. She tried to stand but her leg buckled under her weight and she fell on all fours. Bloodied knuckles punched the ground in defeat.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. The sobs were building in her throat but she tried desperately to swallow it back. She had to be strong. Myla refused to look weak. That’s what they wanted.

She took a deep breath and steeled her emotions. Myla’s expression of cold fury masking the defeated exhaustion behind her eyes. When she finally turned her head toward her attacker, his voice cut through the ringing and she caught the faint minty scent of his shampoo. "Theo?" Her brave wall shattered like glass as she dove into his arms. She couldn’t tell if he was real or not. She didn’t care. She clung to him like a lifeline, her grip so tight like anything less and he’d disappear in a puff of smoke. Her hands trembled as the adrenalin began to wear off and the fatigue kicked in. "I’m sorry," she croaked. Her voice was dry and hoarse, barely able to be louder than a whisper. "I should have listened to you. I’m so sorry." The tears she had been holding back ran down her cheeks leaving a trail through the blood on her pale skin.

The rage began to thaw, the fact that she could sit up and wrap her arms around him was a good sign. Theo wasn’t much of a field medic, he healed too fast to usually have to worry about injuries but it was different with Myla. He pulled her into his arms gently, supporting her weight, his hand rubbing softly across her shoulderblades. "Shh, no Angel, don’t apologize for this." He knew they ought to leave, get away from this place before more men showed up, get her some medical attention, but all he wanted to do was hold her and feel her heart beating. She was alive, she was alive.

His relief was so blissfully sweet that Theo kissed her before he even realized what he was doing, it was just a desperate press of his lips, a shuddering breath leaving him as he soaked in the moment. "What do I do? Where does it hurt worse?" He pulled back, an edge of anxiety creeping into his voice. The anger had been refreshingly easy to deal with, it had washed out everything else and let him focus on the battle. This was so much worse, knowing he could only do so much to help her now, he resolved to take some first-aid lessons once they were both safe.

Myla’s hands moved to Theo’s cheeks when he pressed his lips to hers. Five minutes earlier she thought she’d never see him again and that she was dead. The last thing that crossed her mind wasn’t her dad, or Foggy… But him. The fact that he was there, that he came for her nearly made words saved for death slip from her lips. She wanted to stay in that moment, ignore her injuries, and everything that just happened. But while her anxieties began to fade, Theo’s heart raced as his panic at the sight of her set in.

"I… I don’t know," she answered as she slowly pulled away. Myla hadn’t given herself the chance to think about the pain. Her thoughts were on surviving, persevering… Killing. Not pain. Her brows furrowed as the rush began to fade. Everything hurt.

Theo attempted to take stock of her many, many injuries. The cut on her thigh seemed like it needed immediate attention, her hands were in bad shape too, and there was bruising around her throat…he sucked in a sharp breath, pulling back further to tug off his shirt. The fabric ripped beneath his hands, and he adjusted to wrap it around her thigh with trembling hands.

When he pulled away, she knew what he was doing. Myla wanted to protest about him shredding his shirt, but at that point it was a bit hypocritical. She could feel her head getting dizzy and knew that she couldn’t risk more bloodloss, so she didn’t argue. "Wait," she held out her hand to stop him, just for a second. Her hands fell to her thigh, slipping beneath the torn slit of leather where a black strap was fastened around her leg. There was the rip of velcro and a quiet thonk as a blood covered billy club fell on the ground. She blinked slowly as she picked it up and set it in his lap. "I’ve… been recording since I arrived at the tower." A guilty, yet exhausted smile tugged at her lips.

"I’m sorry." It was the only warning Myla got before he tightened a sloppy tourniquet with the strands of his shirt, crimson blooming across the white fabric at the concerning rate. Her arm was next, but he couldn’t do much for her side other than apply pressure. "Fuck, Myla. First-aid kit? If not, I need to get you to my house, my mom can stitch you up."

Myla groaned and let out a whimper of pain. Her hand grabbed his bicep, squeezing until her knuckles went white. Her chest heaved beneath the tattered sweater. Every time her lungs expanded she winced as it tugged at the cut on her side. Her other hand fell to his as her tone became more serious between ragged breaths. "We can’t stay here." Her brows furrowed as she closed her eyes.

She parted her lips to say something else when a voice rang out from near the entrance. "Myla? Mimi!?"

Theodore’s body had gone tense for a moment as an unfamiliar voice rang out, he’d half twisted toward the door, wrist rising, webshooter primed and ready to go, but he froze at the sight of a man in a suit. None of the other men had been dressed like this, and his approach meant the watchmen had likely fled the scene.

"Foggy…" His name fell from her mouth with a relieved sigh. "Foggy!" Using Theo’s shoulder, and likely against his wishes, Myla got to her feet and limped toward the entrance of the den as fast as she could manage. She made it to the doorway before she had to lean against the wall to support herself.

"Thank God." Foggy dropped his briefcase by the door and hurried over to her, weaving and sidestepping the damage and dead bodies. When he reached her, he gently tilted her head up to get a better look at her face. "Are you ok?"

He went to pull her in for a hug and Myla stopped him. "Your suit—"

"Fuck my suit," he said with a deadly seriousness before pulling her into a gentle hug. Tears filled his eyes as his left hand cupped the back of her head. "I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you and your dad."

He felt like he was intruding all of the sudden, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Theo didn’t watch their exchange, instead he took count of the many bodies splayed all around them. Some were still alive, breathing but unmoving, others were luckier and deceased. Would he have time to finish the rest of them off? The idea sent a thrill down his spine, one of his hands curling into a fist. This wasn’t like him, he usually wasn’t so cruel, so murderous, but knowing that every single one of these men contributed in some way to Myla’s current state had flayed his nerves. One of the men, the one whose spine Theo had broken, was wheezing by the window…he didn’t feel bad for him.

It was only when Foggy started to pull away that he noticed Theo, shirtless, standing somewhere behind Myla. Not knowing who he was, Foggy’s expression hardened and he took a step forward. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Foggy," she begged. She limped backwards, putting herself between him and Theo. Her knee went weak with her last hop and she stumbled into Theo, bracing herself against his bare chest. She could be embarrassed about that later. "Foggy, this is Theo… Redback," she emphasized knowing all the pieces would click together.

Myla’s eyes closed slowly as she took a deep breath trying to find a reserve of energy. "We can’t stay here," she reiterated.

"We need to get you to the hospital," Foggy resolved, as he slotted himself on the other side of her to help support her weight.

"They’ll expect that," she groaned, shifting her weight off her injured leg.

"My mom has medical training," Theo blurted, feeling weirdly flustered at being caught shirtless and covered in other people's blood but he steadied Myla easily, hands impossibly gentle as they curled around her arms. He startled some, realizing that not a single speck of it belonged to himself, before mentally shaking himself to focus on the conversation. "She took some night classes when my dad…anyways, she can help."

He paused, a strange look flickering over his face, and then with a careful hand still on Myla to keep her supported, he offered Foggy the hand that wasn’t liberally covered in blood for the most awkward and brief handshake of his entire life. "Theodore Parker, my father was…is Spider-Man. I'm sorry I couldn’t get to her faster. I won’t make that mistake again, sir." It was clear from how his tone was as hard and unyielding as a rock that he meant that with every fiber of his soul. He’d made the split second decision to trust this man, because if Myla trusted him then so could Theo.

Foggy returned the handshake with an expression of immeasurable gratitude. "Franklin Nelson. Foggy. You saved my niece’s life. Don’t apologize. That’s more than I could do." His hand lightly rested on Myla’s waist trying to help support her.

"It’s not far, but we shouldn’t stick around too long. I don’t know how much blood she’s already lost, and we don’t keep transfusions in the fridge." He felt torn, half of him wanted to stay and make sure none of these men survived, the other half wanted to get Myla as far away from here as possible and once she was stable, he wanted to keep running with her until they were safe. Nowhere was safe though, not anymore. Fuck, was his mom even safe? He was going to get a migraine.

"I need to finish packing," she adjusted how she stood, turning her head toward Theo slightly. Myla pointed down at the billy club that slipped from Theo’s lap and laid on the ground. "We can’t forget that… It’s the only evidence we have."

Foggy carefully slipped out from beneath Myla’s arm, trusting Theo to be able to support her weight. "Go, help her," he said as he leaned down to pick up the bloodied club. "I need to grab a couple things."

Myla draped her arms around Theo’s shoulders trusting him to support her and not let her fall. "My room is down the hall to the left," she said quietly. She felt bad having to rely on him so heavily. The stubborn part of her would have made her way on her own but she knew he wouldn’t let her get a foot without his help. While she could be stubborn and headstrong, he was the one person she was comfortable to lean on, literally and figuratively at the current moment.

"I’m packing for you," Theo whispered, moving his arm to carefully wrap around her waist, mindful of the injury on her ribs, so he could support her better. There were a few times where he simply lifted her completely, stepping over prone bodies until they maneuvered successfully to her room. Theo paused in the doorway, eyes automatically sliding to Roger’s body. His arm went stiff around her waist, but after only the shortest of pauses he let her gently down onto the end of the bed.

He let go, making sure Myla was sturdy, and stepped away. There was another pause, and then she could hear the distant sound of Theo’s foot snapping through bone, the sound of something wet squishing beneath his shoe. Once, twice, four times, and then he stopped. He was breathing heavily, hands trembling at his sides. The man’s face was…gone, blood and brain matter was splattered across the floor and wall, and he felt no remorse. "Sorry," his voice was gruff and hoarse, and he moved back toward her, scooping up the discarded clothes she’d pulled out earlier and shoving them unceremoniously into the duffle bag. "If I could, I’d bring him back just to kill him again. Bastard." There was so much uncharacteristic venom and hatred in Theo’s voice, residual anger making his body movements more sharp and jerky than he’d usually like.

Myla felt the change in his body as they ducked through the broken door and stepped over Roger’s lifeless body. She didn’t say anything as he guided her to sit at the foot of the bed. After he released her, she rested her hands on her knees, and focused on her breathing. The initial crack of a bone startled her but she didn’t stop him. Her head fell slightly and eyes closed as she heard all the pent up anger within Theo unleash and brutalize the dead man. Most people would have been frightened at the outburst, but Myla mostly felt guilt. She couldn’t help but blame herself for passing on her darkness to him. He was supposed to be the yin to her yang, as radiant and warm as the sun. She hated that she did this to him.

Then there was the selfish fucked up part of her hidden within her darkness that found something about it unbelievably attractive. Theo didn’t kill, yet the moment she was in danger he flipped on a dime to keep her safe. She had never been protected like that… Cared for like that. Myla hated herself for it. If there was a way for her to rewind time and make sure she killed every last one of them instead of him, she would have. But what’s done is done. All she could do now was appreciate him for the passionate way he defended her, which she did, more than words could explain.

It was in that moment that Myla truly realized how deeply she had fallen, how much…

They did need to go, but giving him solace was important too. They could spare twenty seconds. Myla slowly reached out her hand to wrap around his wrist, stopping him in the middle of aggressively packing her bag. With no strength to fight him, she hoped he yielded to her touch. Her hold on him was gentle as she guided him closer until Theo stood in the small place between her knees. She wanted to cup his face but she could barely raise her arms above her shoulders, so she settled for resting her palms against the bare skin of his waist.

Her touch was enough to soothe him, it seemed that was all Theo needed nowadays to calm down. He relaxed as her delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist, conceding to her wishes and moving closer until the palms of her hands brushed along his waist. The muscles in his stomach reflexively tensed, breath catching in his throat as he realized how close they were, how vulnerable the position was. If she wasn’t severely injured right now, he would—Theo mentally shook himself like a wet dog, clearing the inappropriate thoughts before they could fully form.

"I am sorry I didn’t listen to you," she said resolutely, every word emphasized by a tender squeeze of her fingers. "I’m even more sorry that you had to kill for me. I wish I could take that burden and carry it for you." Myla’s head fell to rest her forehead against his stomach. She took a deep breath before continuing. "Our lives are not long enough for me to adequately show you how grateful I am for what you did for me and how much you care about me." Her voice caught in her throat but she forced herself to push through the vulnerability. "But I’m going to try."

His hands were trembling, his heart thundering like a galloping horse within his chest. The words he wanted to say, knew he ought to say, knew that he meant them, got caught in his throat. It felt too soon, and if he said it now, when she’d been on the verge of death and was bleeding all over the place, he’d feel like it was rushed for all the wrong reasons. In time, he reasoned with himself, in time he would tell her how he’d felt and how he’d felt this way since the day she’d saved his life. For now, this was enough.

Maybe it was the lack of blood lowering her inhibitions or the fact that over the last year, together, they had been through more life altering events than most people ever experienced, but Myla’s thoughts continued to pour from her before she had the sense to stop. "And in my own fucked up, delirium addled mind," she added, tilting her head back so she could face him. "It was really hot." A guilty smile tugged at her lips as the pads of her thumbs ran along the dip in his hips. "If I wasn’t bleeding out…" She let the words slip away but the reddening of her cheeks and spike of her pulse spoke her meaning. She nodded her head like she had gotten everything off her chest and slowly released her hold on him.

Theo leaned toward her, one of his hands pressing into the mattress beside Myla’s thigh, the other brushing softly along her cheek. They couldn’t stay here for much longer, and he knew he needed to finish packing for her, but everything she’d said…it was only fair that she knew how he felt too. "Only you," his lips were as soft as his words had been, and he kissed her so gently it felt illegal. He’d never get tired of tasting her, of being so close he could hear how her heart fluttered in her chest. "I’d only kill for you, and I don’t regret it. Myla I…you’re my life now, without you I would be lost. Don’t feel bad, don’t apologize." He kissed the corner of her lips, teasing her more than anything, before pulling away to finish packing.

Myla’s heart quickened when his hand rested on the bed beside her leg. It probably wasn’t the best idea for her pulse to be so elevated while she was literally bleeding out, but she also forgot to give a fuck about it for like ten seconds. It was fine. She wanted the kiss to be deeper, longer… She wanted more but they had to discipline themselves. Time wasn’t on their side, among other things. Still, Myla gave herself a few more seconds to live in his confession, words said and unsaid. Then her lips scrunched into a weak, but playful grimace at the tease of another kiss before he pulled away.

Once Theo had returned to packing her bag, Myla’s hands rested on her knees again. Her fingertips tapped against the bare skin of her legs as a way of grounding herself and not letting herself slip away. Somewhere in the haze of bloodloss, an entertaining thought crossed her mind, causing an exhausted laugh to scratch against her raw throat. "I shot him in the dick. Roger." She turned her attention toward Theo as her laugh grew slightly. "Before I killed him, I shot him right in the dick." She nodded her head, proud to have made him suffer in his final moments. "Screamed like a little bitch too." She laughed one last time and then sighed. Myla was undoubtedly somewhere between delirium and shock. It was only a matter of time before it all crashed down and the panic set it but she’d continue to repress it for as long as she could until they got somewhere safe.

Her words startled a laugh out of Theo, he’d just shoved the last of her clothes and a few pairs of shoes into her duffle bag. The fabric was bulging at the sides as he forced the zipper shut, struggling with the bag for a moment. "Good, he deserved it. If he’d still been alive when I got here…" Theo let out a small whoop of victory when he got the bag closed fully, throwing it over one shoulder before unceremoniously scooping Myla up into his arms. He was gentle and mindful of her injuries, but didn’t give her a chance to argue against him holding her like she was a princess. "The tracker has a microphone in it, I didn’t think it mattered to mention it earlier. I’m sorry, it’s the only reason I knew how bad it was, though."

Myla tried her best not to wince when he picked her up. There was no real way to carry her without hurting something, but she didn’t need him feeling worse about something out of his control. "It’s ok," she spoke softly as she let her body lean into him. "I don’t have any secrets from you." Well… There might have been one but it wasn’t the time. Not when she was bleeding out. The last thing she wanted was to sully the meaning with the delusion of nearly dying and their heightened emotions.

He carried her back out into the living room, pausing a few feet away from Foggy. The logistics of how they should continue made him pause. Did the other man have a car? If not, he could carry him on his back…Myla could try to hold onto his waist…it would be a struggle, and sort of awkward, but…

Foggy met them near the entrance with a bag of his own, his brief case, the billy club, and something beaded clutched in his palm. "Your dad’s rosary," he commented quietly, as he tucked it and the billy club with the recording into a side pocket of her duffel bag. "Take her," he said resolutely like they both knew that was what needed to be done. A taxi wouldn’t take her looking like that. The last thing they wanted was a fare bleeding out and dying in the back of their car. "Give me her bag and your address. I’ll meet you there."

"Foggy…?" Myla’s voice cracked. She didn’t like the idea of him traveling alone, but deep down she knew it’s what they needed to do.

"I’ll be ok, Mimi. Theo will look after you." He leaned forward, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead then nodded toward Theo in silent understanding.

Theodore hesitated, nodding once at Foggy before handing over the bag and rattling off his home address. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other man, it was more than he didn’t want to leave him alone either. If something happened to one of the last people Myla cared for…he wasn’t sure if he would be able to forgive himself. In the end though, he was faster swinging through the city than sitting in traffic could be. Worst case, he’d double back for Foggy while his mom worked on patching up Myla.

"We’ll see you soon," he promised, before adjusting his hold on Myla and leaping out of the window. The movement was graceful in a way that spoke of familiarity, it was no secret to her that he spent a fair deal of his free time pitching himself from high places. The first web caught on the edge of a rooftop, and soon they were soaring over the city. He worked extra hard to make sure the transition between webs was as smooth as possible, knowing each jarring movement likely put strain on her injuries. It took him ten minutes to get back to his house, a drive that would have likely taken them twenty, and he swung them directly into his still open bedroom window.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

Descendants

^{#375a87 ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

"Think I’ll get a drink… and go for a swim,"

Well, that sounded like one of Imogen’s best ideas to date, though she was piggybacking off of June’s teasing earlier. Not that she was going to complain, the liquor in her veins was already causing enough of a haze that she knew she could get away with some fun before she had to head to Gotham for…not fun. She was half turned, primed to follow Imogen, when another voice cut through her happy haze. "Ms Wayne, I believe we have an appointment before you set off to your more carnal activities."

She sighed, hanging her head for a second so her hair created a curtain that blocked out the rest of the room. She’d nearly forgotten that Alfred planned to sew her arm up, she’d planned to just let it heal on its own, but he’d caught her in the gym this morning trying to stem the bleeding when lifting weights didn’t go in her favor. He tried to understand her aversion to all things first-aid related, she knew he tried, but even Alfred had limits.

June followed him quietly, throwing a glance toward Jim before she slipped into the elevator. This was the first time in her life she’d felt so out of sync with him, but it felt like it was a direct result of how they were both handling their grief and the powerlessness that came alongside it. They were both very similar in how they coped, barely sleeping, not eating, functionality had become a more distant idea than anything either of them put into practice. She couldn’t fault him for occasionally lashing out, but it was the way he targeted people that were by all rights innocent of his rage that sat like a rock in her stomach.

The infirmary smelled strongly of antiseptic and disinfectant, the sterile white environment gave her the chills. It felt like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees once they’d cleared the doorway, but she didn’t complain as Alfred led her behind a curtain and onto one of the many beds. The soft fabric of the blanket rubbed against the exposed skin of her calves as she slipped onto the mattress fully, tucking her feet beneath herself to preserve her warmth. Alfred was busying himself with getting the supplies he’d need, so June pulled off her outer shirt and waited patiently.

The cut on her arm was throbbing and red, angry and likely one day away from infection despite her borderline obsessive use of rubbing alcohol on it. She stared down at the surgical cut silently, face carefully impassive. She was trying to grow familiar with the new stretch of her skin there, of knowing that something small and cylinder shaped by her own design now lived beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. She startled some when Alfred reappeared by her side, as calm and reassuring as ever.

"May I numb the area, Ms Waye?" He smiled indulgently at her, already knowing the answer before he’d even asked it. June shook her head, shifting on the bed some, and he nodded to himself, pulling out the disinfectant instead of the syringe. She let her eyes slip shut, trying to block out how sharp the sting was. Alfred worked in relative silence for a few minutes, the drag and pull of her skin being sewn back together more than a little uncomfortable.

"You can just say it, Alfred." She sighed, cracking open her eyes to catch a glance at his face before hastily looking away. She felt like a child that knew they were about to be scolded, unable to look her parents in the eyes. Only…Alfred wasn’t her father, he was just the closest thing she had left to one. Juniper swallowed harshly, and clenched her hands to keep them from shaking.

"I’m worried about you, June Bug." His voice was very soft, and it broke her heart a little to hear the open concern in his tone. It was valid, she’d changed drastically in a very short amount of time, but she…she felt numb to the guilt of it. There was nothing June could do differently, her father and brother disappearing had changed who she was on a fundamental level. It was something her mom didn’t understand, or maybe she didn’t care to understand, and June had made her peace with that. She needed Alfred to understand though, because without his support she’d feel truly alone.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, eyes sliding up to the ceiling. One of those stupid robots was above her bed, primed and ready to take over if either of them said the word. "I just— I can’t, Alfred."

"I am not judging you," he hushed her before she could go on, before she could spiral any further and unravel across the bed like a sweater being unmade by a loose nail. June used his tone to steady herself, to pull in her emotions until they were a small ball in her chest. "I have seen this before, you are more like your father than even Thomas is."

She took in a sharp breath, and her eyes jumped to his on reflex. Suddenly, all at once, all she needed to know was what Alfred meant by that. June had never seen Bruce Wayne in herself, she had always been too soft, too artistic, too free spirited. Her mom had insisted she took after her grandparents, rather than either of them. It had hurt, in the strangest of ways, to think she was so far removed from her immediate family. Before the disappearances, June had never felt called to indulging in the fight for justice. She’d wanted a life away from fighting crime, but fate was cruel and it did not care about what any one person wanted. She had a role to fill, a part to play, and if she didn’t it wouldn’t spare her regardless.

"What would you have told dad, if he was here and I was missing?" The question rose out of her unbidden, before she could crush it like she crushed so many other senseless and useless inquiries. This was why June preferred to lock herself away from the others, it was easier to control her thoughts and emotions when she didn’t have someone in front of her directly influencing it all by making her aware of how it felt as if there was a gaping hole in her chest.

"Grief has a way of making you look behind you, even when you know there is nothing there. Your father went through this as well, always reaching back until he learned how to focus on what was in front of him. I was always worried he would succumb to that darkness, he walked the edge of that abyss every night, but he never fell in." Alfred drew the thread tight, and snipped it with a small pair of scissors. The simple sound seemed to ricochet in her head, bouncing around in the silence of the room. "I am now worried that you'll fall into that abyss instead, Juniper."

"What if I do?" This question came just as quickly as the last one had, her heart thundering in her chest at the implication of what the metaphorical abyss could have done to her dad, what it could do to her.

"It would not change anything, not for me. We fall so that we may pick ourselves up again, and I will help you do so." His answer was resolute and gentle, and it made her well placed walls crumble. Her bottom lip wobbled, but she tried to hold it all in, her grief was turning into something too violent for tears, crying over it felt wrong now.

"I’m not the same person anymore, Alfred. You don’t know me like you used to, no one does."

"Then I will get to know you once more."

Her breath caught in her throat, and June squeezed her eyes shut. Sometimes, her grief felt like a kitchen that had once been full of light and life. It had gone cold and desolate though, and she felt as if she was left sitting alone at a darkened table, waiting for everyone else to show up. She was not ready to process it, and her mom did not care to try and help her with it all. She was alone in the kitchen, and grief was setting the table for her.

Alfred was there too, though. So was Imogen, and so was Jim. She wasn’t totally alone, even if it felt oppressively like she was more often than not. June’s shoulders shook with how she tried to hold in the sudden swell of emotions, but Alfred pressed a gentle hand to her shoulder. "It is not a betrayal of yourself to reveal to others how you are feeling, you do not have to hold it all in for my sake."

It was funny to think about how a few months ago, she was juggling college deadlines and trying to come up with art pieces for her portfolio. Now, June was becoming overwhelmed by trying to process the disappearance of her father and brother, the two people she’d been closest to. She had been normal, just another college kid trying to make it in the big wide world, she’d set down her family mantle and tried her best to outrun the demons that being Batman’s daughter could dredge up. It had all been for nothing.

She let the tears fall, because Juniper knew there would come a time where she had no more tears left to cry. She didn’t want to harden herself to escape it all, but it would happen naturally in the same way it had happened for her father. They were very alike, afterall, even if she’d never wanted to admit it. Alfred’s arms were warm as they wrapped her up, and she hugged him back, pretending, for just a second, that it was her dad holding her one last time. "I know the grief you’re feeling is heavy, Ms Wayne, but please. Don’t give up hope, we will find them."

They stayed like that for some time until Alfred pulled back as her sobs subsided, and June swiped at her face, forcing her emotions back down into that little ball in her chest until her tears were nothing but shining tracks down her face. She hadn’t given up on the idea of finding them alive, even if it was becoming more and more daunting everyday. June, late at night when it was just her and the quiet darkness, liked to imagine a world in which her and Thomas’s roles were reversed. Where he’d chased his dreams, and she’d followed her fathers shadow. There she was the one who vanished, and he was left to pick up the pieces. Lately, she often felt as if she were at a crossroad; the violent and insane urge to survive no matter what at war with the exhausted edge of indifference that clung to her throat like a knife.

"I don’t think I can do this, Alfred. I’m not as strong as dad or Thomas, I—"

"You have your fathers will, you are just scared of embracing it. Trust me, Juniper. You will find it in due time."

She had no reason not to believe him, Alfred had changed her diapers, he’d been a constant in her life since the day she was born. If anyone knew about her will, about what she could accomplish when she set her mind to it, it was him. There was the slightest hint of doubt within herself still, she was too tired to believe him fully, but Alfred had planted to seed. Sometimes, that was all it took. Her eyes slid down to her stitched up arm, and June was…relieved for the stitches. It felt like a physical manifestation of her feelings, and that despite them, she could be put back together again.

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Always, Ms Wayne."

He moved away to wash his hands, and June pulled out her phone, taking her moment of brevity to text Jim and invite him to the pool. It was an olive branch, of sorts, after the argument he’d had with Imogen and then earlier in the lobby. June didn’t care about any of it, she just wanted to spend time with her best friend, to forget everything else even if it was only for an hour.

^{interactions ....|.... juniper, imogen, alfred............... mentions ....|.... jim, imogen............... collabs ....|.... none}

Descendants

^{#00674f .....|..... sentinel .....|..... outfit ............... #217c85 .....|..... jinx .....|..... outfit ............... #cdb6d6 .....|..... ronin .....|..... outfit ............... descendant tower}

Zaria had gotten more sleep than James thus far, even if the ‘sleep’ on the bike was barely that. She’d managed to doze off for that half an hour before the meeting started, stretching across the couch and James alike in a manner that was more catlike than anything else. She hadn’t been eager to wake up, not from the warm and comfortable place she’d found (i.e. James, pillow extraordinaire), but the meeting itself had been enlightening if not anxiety inducing for her. She still wasn’t sure if she belonged in this group, life felt a lot easier when she was simply committing credit card fraud and bouncing between hotels.

She was here now though, and backing out felt like a worse idea than committing. She stretched, elbow bumping against James, before springing to her feet like she wasn’t going on very little sleep and sheer willpower. "I’m going to pick a…house…thingy," she frowned for a second, puzzled over the name. Penthouse was odd, she was familiar with terms like apartment, house, castle…but a penthouse? At least there was a housekeeper, the idea of trying to use a broom was still daunting to her. "Then I’m going to sleep for fifteen hours, see you in the morning Judge, James."

She gave a mock salute before heading for the kiosk, humming under her breath softly. Aria got there just as the man—Tim? Tito?—stalked away angrily, leaving behind…damn. Zaria’s eyes bounced from the woman's chest to her face and then away, a soft flush coloring her cheeks as she resolutely smacked her pointer finger against the screen, pausing the squint at the shattered glass on the table around it. Had it always been that way…? Whatever, didn’t matter. She just had to pick a…house. Yes, getting a free house was nice.

Ronnie stepped aside letting the woman sidle up to the kiosk and browse the available residences. While her mood might have been soured by Theo’s outburst and very rude acceptance of her timely reappearance in his life, a hot blonde had a wonderful way of perking up her spirits. Speaking of perky… Her gaze unabashedly trailed down the woman’s body, following the silver chains of her necklaces and caressing the black stitching of the snakes whose heads perfectly masked her nipples. Ronnie’s mind wandered to what lived beneath the embroidered reptiles and what it’d be like to capture the pink flesh between her lips.

She cleared her throat, watching the woman stare at the screen perplexed by all her choices. Ronnie reached out and took the woman’s hand in hers. "You should choose—" she guided her finger to press Floor 18, which coincidentally was one floor above her own, "—This one." She met her hazel gaze with an impish grin. "I love a woman on top." Ronnie’s voice was soft like velvet, her words were warm and caressed the girl’s skin as her lips hovered dangerously close to her ear.

Smooth, cool fingers curled around her wrist and Zaria felt her heart do a little flip in her chest. Their fingers overlapped, and she let her hand be guided as warmth pooled low in her stomach. She didn’t even look at the screen as she chose the room, turning her head instead to meet the beautiful woman’s eyes. The blush to her cheeks darkened as warm breath fanned over her ear, and it took everything in her to not shiver.

She felt at a loss for an eloquent response for a moment, eyes slipping from the woman's gaze to her lips and then back again, a coy smile dimpled one of Zaria’s cheeks. "I always enjoy the view from on top." It was a little more blunt than she’d have normally liked, but she had a running list of things she wanted to do before she inevitably was dragged back to her father’s side and this woman had just made the top three.

Zaria subconsciously wet her lips, taking great effort to turn toward the screen and not stare at the woman's fingers. The photos provided for the…house were quite nice. Not anything like her castle, but close enough that she’d feel more in her depth for the first time in a very long time. The listed dimensions didn’t mean much to her, though she brightened a little when she spotted that an indoor garden was listed for the room. She’d always wanted to try growing flowers. "I’m Aria, I didn’t catch your name."

"Veronica, Ronnie," she replied as her gaze trailed along Aria’s bottom lip hungrily before flitting back to her eyes. "But you’re welcome to call me whatever you’d like." The tip of Ronnie’s index finger rested on the black trimming of her current fixation’s revealing bra. Her touch slowly followed the fabric until it reached the convergence of material and the dagger necklace. She gently grabbed the small knife charm and gave it a light tug. "Did you match me on purpose or are you just happy to see me?" She laughed softly at the playful twist on an old corny pick up line. It was cheesy as hell, but if it made Aria laugh then she’d call it a success.

A soft laugh pulled from Zaria, and she could feel all of her earlier tension bleeding away for a new sort of tension, her bottom lip catching between her teeth as Ronnie’s finger trailed across the hem of her bra, heat rolling down her spine. She could think of several things she’d be calling her by the end of the night.

"Maybe she was matching me?" Jules slipped in on Zaria’s other side, her left hand quickly tapping at the console screen to begin selecting her own penthouse. The choice was simple, as she slid to the bottom-most available floor and tapped it to confirm. It was a simple suite, with lots of space and reasonably furnished. She preferred something more minimalistic, despite her current means of dress. Satisfied with her selection, her gaze shifted towards the two women. She stood a little too close behind Zaria. She did not bother to hide her thorough scan of Ronnie’s outfit. Her gaze slowly lifted from her tights to her straps, lingering on her figure before settling on her lips. Jules’ flashed a devilish smirk. "Though I’d be concerned if you were… Mine isn’t exactly showing at the moment." Jules wrapped an arm over Zaria’s shoulder, reaching down to grab at Ronnie’s free hand. She lifted it up to her own lips, planting a delicate kiss on the back of it. She was interested to see what reaction she could get out of the woman if she matched her energy. "You can call me Jules."

The smirk grew across Ronnie’s lips as her hand was stolen and brought to another woman’s lips. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the growing collection of stunning blondes. While she was a firm believer in the more the merrier, she only had two hands and liked to give every beautiful creature the attention they deserved. Both of the lovely specimens before her deserved just that. At the mention of a third snake hidden from view, Ronnie didn’t attempt to hide her wandering gaze as it scanned Jules’s pin striped pant suit, imagining all the creative places a slithering reptile could live on that body. "Is that an invitation?" She asked with a raised brow. "I’ve always enjoyed show and tell."

Zaria had been stuck between a rock and a hard place before, but only figuratively. She floundered for a second as the heat of a second body radiated behind her, an arm curling over the delicate slope where her neck and shoulder met, the curve of the woman's hand brushing over the cusp of her breast as she caught Veronica’s hand. A shaky exhale escaped her, warm breath fanning over Ronnie’s hand as it grazed her cheek on the way to Jules lips. She mentally refigured her to do list, her blush spreading across the exposed skin of her chest.

"Well," the pitch of her voice gave away how flustered she was, but she was proud of the fact that she wasn’t squirming yet. Zaria hadn’t had nearly enough sleep in the last forty-eight hours to be as composed as she’d like. "I can’t say I’ve ever quite been in this position, but you won’t hear me complain." She tilted her head back ever so slightly, catching a glimpse of blue eyes and soft, ivory skin. Christ, was everyone in this tower a smoke show, because it sure as hell seemed like it.

Her flusterings were adorable and endearing. Ronnie let Jules keep a hold of her one hand while her other brushed some of Aria’s blonde hair behind her ear tenderly. What was she just saying about two hands? "I can think of a few positions I’d enjoy putting you in," she commented plainly, her gaze intense yet challenging as she looked between both women with a welcoming and tempting smile.

Jules was always fond of a challenge. She met Ronnie’s gaze, before looking towards the back of Zaria’s head. A smirk crossed her lips, as Jules shifted her head to Zaria’s other side. She helped to stroke back the loose strands of blonde with her left hand, sliding in a touch closer so she could speak directly into Zaria’s ear. Her volume was just loud enough for Ronnie to listen, making eye contact with the woman as she spoke. "I hope there’s room for one more in those positions." Jules brushed the tips of her fingers along the back of Zaria’s neck, tracing down along the back of her shoulders. "I usually prefer a glass of wine before a meal, though. And at least two before I show you all of my ink."

Well, if she hadn’t been squirming before she certainly was now. Zaria’s breath hitched, and she found it suddenly very difficult to keep eye contact with Ronnie. She hadn’t expected to get this far, especially not in a place like this. She’d been certain it would be all business here, very little pleasure, but apparently she was wrong. "I think—" her voice caught in her throat as fingers softly trailed across her shoulders, back arching ever so slightly at the gentle touch as it skimmed across her sensitive spine. Her chest brushed against Veronica, and she hastily tried to correct her posture as the warmth of Jules lips grazed her earlobe. "Wine, wine sounds good."

Zaria instinctively reached out to the table to steady herself, these two women were like a whirlwind that she’d gotten caught up in. If James was still in the room, he was most certainly judging her. Her fingers brushed across loose glass, and she jerked her hand back, shooting a traitorous look down at the damned shattered tabletop. "I’d imagine I could have a bottle or two sent up to my…penthouse." Her accent snuck through as she spoke the unfamiliar word, an edge of uncertainty in her tone at the end of her sentence. Really, what did penthouse even mean? It just sounded strange, but she had much more important things to focus on.

Ronnie’s smirk only grew as she watched the beautiful blondes before her flirting and sending their own glances her way. Her hand that brushed Aria’s hair behind her shoulder slowly slid down the woman’s arm and snaked around to rest on the small of her back. Were others watching them? No idea. Did she care? Not in the slightest. "Wine does sound quite good," she agreed as her thumb slipped beneath the hem of Aria’s jacket to stroke the bare skin of her back. "Give me twenty minutes to get settled and into something… more scandalous and I’ll meet you there."

Then with her arm still around Aria, Ronnie gently took Jules’s chin between her thumb and index finger and pulled her in closer. Without a care for others in the room, she gave the woman a tender peck on the lips. While keeping her close, Ronnie turned her head and did the same to Aria, feeling the girl’s racing pulse through her supple skin. When she pulled away a devious smirk grew across her lips. "See you lovelies very soon." She flashed them both a wink, letting her hand wander a little south as she stepped away and headed for the elevators.

Beyond flustered, Zaria had to squeeze her thighs together to try and temper the sudden heat that collected there with all the intensity of her thundering heartbeat. Her eyes had automatically slipped shut as soft lips pressed to her own, fleeting and swift but still expertly gentle. Her eyes snapped back open when she felt Ronnie’s wandering hand, feeling off kilter as the woman took her leave and left her alone with Jules.

Jules shifted her hand over the woman’s coat as she slowly walked around her prey. She kept it firmly on the woman’s back as she came into view, speaking softly to avoid further attention. "I just need to move my car down to the garage, and then I can meet you up on…" Jules craned her neck just in front of Zaria’s face, getting a look at the screen. "Floor 18." She turned back, their lips tantalizingly close as her half-lidded eyes met Zaria’s gaze. "Would you like me to change into something more comfortable first, or… " Jules slid her hands up the lapels of her suit jacket, "Do you want to take this off me?"

"Take it off of you." Zaria’s face burned at how quickly she answered, and then she decided…fuck it. Her hands curled around Jules’s jacket, and she tugged her in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was less tender and more senselessly passionate. She pressed into the other woman's mouth without waiting for permission, groaning softly at how sweet she tasted, before pulling back just as quickly. A lazy grin adorned her face, and she slid her hand up Jules throat, thumb rubbing just beneath her bottom lip. "I’ll see you up there, sweetheart."

And with all the poise and confidence she could muster, Zaria turned on her heel and sauntered to where she’d left her bag, and James, by the couch. She grinned brightly at the man, giving him a thumbs up as she hefted her back onto one of her shoulders. "Change of plans, see you in the morning boys."

A slight blush had filled Jules’ cheeks, but she remained otherwise unphased. She smoothed out the creases on the front of her suit, giving a quick glance towards whoever remained in the lobby. Her eyes briefly trailed over towards Zaria, getting a better look at the rest of her. A smile returned to her lips, soft and warm, before she turned back to the kiosk. She looked over the floorplan briefly, making a note of the bar's location. She turned on her heels, and quickly made her way out towards her SUV.

She pulled it around to the garage entrance, noting how it seemed to open automatically. The Stark kid clearly worked quickly. She drove down the ramp, and rolled the car into the nearest spot next to the elevators. She was going to have a hell of a time moving everything down to the armory and up to her room later. She had a much more fulfilling engagement, and one that seemed far too sudden for most. This was just another assignment for Jules, though the perks were far more appealing here than in some run-down safehouse in Berlin. A small part of her hoped the job would never end, so she would never have to leave. She sighed, turning the car off and hopping out to head on up.

She made a pit stop at the bar, opting for a nice bottle of lambrusco and a bottle of champagne. She wasn't optimistic on a drop touching any of their lips before the tryst began, but she could be surprised. She stacked them on a server's tray, along with three wine glasses and three flutes. She topped it off with a triangle-folded napkin in the center. She carried the full tray with ease to the elevator, and began her ascent to the 18th floor. While in the elevator, she made a show of wobbling the tray slightly before setting it down to rearrange its contents. Crouched over the tray, she slipped a hand under her jacket and unholstered her sidearm. With a quick and flawless motion, she tucked it into the napkin and set it back on the tray. By the time the elevator doors opened on the 18th floor, Jules was back upright and ready to serve in more ways than one.

Her penthouse, though it was more like a very fancy apartment, was perfect. Zaria had paused once she stepped off the elevator, taking a moment to simply soak in the idea that she didn’t have to bounce from place to place anymore. How long would this last? Did she really get to call a place like this home? She wished, desperately, that Logan was here with her. He would have hated everything, but he would have stayed.

She shook herself from her reverie, tossing her bag into a corner of the bedroom and made a beeline for the shower. Riding a motorcycle for as long as she had left her in strong need of a shower, and she’d been so excited to get under the hot water that she’d forgotten to get her soap and a change of clothes. She crossed back into the bedroom, water leaving glistening trails down her body that steadily got cooler without more heat. By the time Zaria made it back to the shower she was shivering and muttering under her breath, feeling like she didn’t have enough time before two very attractive women would be arriving in her suite.

Fifteen minutes later saw Zaria in the single most questionable clothing choice she owned, a tight fitting slip with black lace trim. It left very little to the imagination, the lace on her sides open wide enough that her skin was visible through the loosely tied fabric. Her hair was still damp by the time the elevator opened to her floor, and she half turned from where she was standing in front of a fully stocked refrigerator with raised eyebrows.

Ronnie slipped into the elevator and rode it back down to sub-level 10. She half expected to see someone else emerge up from the water similar to how she did considering there were little to no security measures. But it was still just as empty and silent as it was when she arrived. She made her way over to the bat-sub and carefully climbed on top. With the flip of a switch the hatch opened and she retrieved the large duffle bag she had stashed there earlier. Trying not to be a total ass, she at least closed the sub before making her way back to the elevator.

She rode the lift up to the seventeenth floor. When Ronnie stepped out into her flat, she took a second, maybe two, to appreciate the view, then she was onto bigger and better things. She discarded her bag and heels less than a few feet inside. Her hands made quick work unfastening the buckles of her harness and dropped it somewhere near her shoes. Rather than fuss with the zipper to her dress, she simply pulled the entire thing over her head and added it to the pile of her belongings. Luckily, Ronnie never left the house without her best lingerie, all black and matching, as always. She even opted to keep on her snake tights held up by her garterbelt. They had to compare, after all.

Rather than wait on the elevator, Ronnie slipped out into the stairwell. She couldn’t give a rat’s ass if someone saw her entirely nude, let alone in her lingerie. She looked good and it was a shame not to share that view with others. They could look as they pleased… As long as they didn’t interrupt her plans of a multicourse meal with two very attractive blondes.

She didn’t bother knocking and let herself into Aria’s apartment. She was half surprised to find the woman recently showered, still dripping water in a very thin nightgown, standing in front of the fridge. Ronnie crossed the room with a devious smirk and unwavering eye contact. She ran her hand along the door, pushing it shut slowly. "The snack I want isn’t in the fridge." Click. The fridge closed softly as Ronnie slid herself between it and Aria. "Since we’re one shy… How about an appetizer?"

The fact that Zaria hadn’t eaten in nearly two days was almost instantly forgotten as she caught sight of the hunger in Veronica’s gaze, the muscles in her stomach tensing in anticipation and excitement as the woman closed the distance between them. The desire for a snack suddenly felt very, very far away when someone as stunning as this woman was lavishing her with attention. Color flooded her cheeks as she realized exactly what the other woman was wearing, or what she wasn’t wearing. "You’re beautiful." The words fell from her lips before she could stop them, a touch of awe in her tone, her accent strongly prevalent because she hadn’t had the split second of logic to hide it. Beautiful was the sweetest way she could phrase it, but there were certainly other words she’d have used if she hadn’t been so stunned.

Ronnie’s smile grew to something a little more genuine and soft at the compliment. "As are you." She didn’t wait for a word of confirmation about the appetizer. She’d refrain if asked, but she had a sneaking suspicion that ‘stop’ wasn’t part of the girl’s vocabulary. Her arms slipped around Aria’s waist as she closed the distance between them. The tip of her tongue flicked teasingly against the woman’s lips as her hands ran along her bottom and hooked around the upper part of her thighs. Her grin grew just before she hoisted Aria up and set her on the counter. Ronnie slotted herself in the space between her thighs and trailed the tip of her nose up the curve of her throat and along her jaw until she was able to capture the woman’s earlobe between her lips.

Zaria gasped as she was so effortlessly lifted, hands fluttering up to Ronnie’s shoulders as a rush of arousal to her core left her suddenly desperate for the other woman’s touch. Her head instinctively tilted, giving her better access to her neck when she felt her lips ghost over the sensitive skin there, goosebumps rising, nipples pebbling beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. A soft, needy groan dragged from her throat. This was, most certainly, better than sleeping.

Ronnie’s hands rested on Aria’s knees, easing her legs open before slowly gliding her touch up her thighs. She relinquished the earlobe in exchange for pressing her lips to the blonde’s with a passionate hunger. Aria’s lips were soft and timid, but her tongue danced at the intimate caress. The kiss was broken when Ronnie seized her bottom lip in a soft bite. She flicked her nose against hers with an excited and ravenous smile. "Lay back," she instructed while pressing her hand against the woman’s chest, gently pushing her backwards onto the counter. Ronnie leaned in, guiding Aria’s leg over her shoulder as her face disappeared beneath the folds of her damp nightgown.

The kiss left her breathless, skin flushed, she could still taste the sweetness of Veronica on her tongue. The woman tasted addictive, like cherries and dark chocolate, and she had no objections as she was eased backwards, back arching some as the cool wood pressed against her warm skin. Her heart was fluttering in her chest erratically, trying to beat a tattoo against her ribcage, as her hips shifted and jumped. A moan, one full of surprise and unbridled desire, pulled from Zaria and she clutched at the side of the counter with one of her hands as her head tilted back. Damp hair spilled over the edge, and she caught sight of the front door opening with a lurch in her stomach.

Jules was unsurprised at the lack of patience in the two women, though she had a suspicion on which one had escalated things so quickly: Cat burglars were not well known for their discipline, after all. But Jules maintained eye contact with Zaria, shaking her head and clicking her tongue softly as she set the tray down on a small table near the front door. She removed her jacket, revealing her white shirt and gray vest more fully. She removed her shoulder-holster with ease, and placed both on hooks near the entrance. She picked up the napkin, turning back to face her coat as she slid her sidearm into her coat pocket, and then proceeded to pick the tray up and stalk her way over.

The eye contact was more flustering than what Ronnie was actually doing, Zaria felt vulnerable beneath Jules gaze, the fluidity with which the woman moved to remove her jacket, and then the empty holster, was enchanting. There was an air about her that screamed danger but it only made the heat in her core turn into an inferno, a noise between a moan and a whimper catching in her throat as the distance between them closed at a leisure pace.

Jules set the drinks away from the action, weary of Zaria's more wild movements. As she stepped close to where the woman's head was, Jules slowly began unhooking her cufflinks and setting them down on the counter next to a smattering of wet blonde hair. "Had I known you two were so impatient, I would have skipped getting refreshments." Jules was rolling up her sleeves now, and positioned herself so she was hovering over her face. When her sleeves were up to her elbows, she placed one hand on Zaria's neck and the other at the top of her head. She lowered her face close to Zaria's, close enough that every minute movement of Jules’ lips threatened to make contact with the Latverian's. Only Jules’ firm control over Zaria's head movement denied such contact. "After all…" Jules leaned away, and slowly guided Zaria up just enough to guide her gaze back towards the movements beneath her thin gown. "I don't think she needs more to drink, do you?"

A thrill shot down her spine as calloused fingers glided across her throat, eyes fluttering and breath stuttering. Her legs were trembling over Veronica's shoulders, and Zaria bit her lip so hard she almost broke the skin trying to keep in the sounds that were trying to pull from her mouth. She’d never been so goddamned aroused in her life, she felt trapped between the two women and it was driving her crazy. She opened her mouth to say something, maybe to beg, but she was cut off by lips crashing against her own.

Without waiting for an answer, Jules guided Zaria's head back to the counter and stole a ravenous kiss. Her tongue teased its way along the woman's lips and wrestled with hers, their joined mouths capturing beautiful moans. Jules' hands were rough as they rubbed along Zaria's chest. Just as in the lobby, Jules broke the kiss swiftly and without warning. She stepped back, grabbed the bottle of champagne, and held the cork between her thumb and finger. With a quick motion, she popped the cork of the bottle and let loose a spray of white foam. She tilted it slightly in Zaria's direction, the small rush of liquor further dampening the fabric. Her brief, sadistic smile to the woman was sign enough that she had every intention of licking up every drop she had spilled. But in the meantime, she filled one of the flutes and set the bottle back down. She carried her beverage over towards Ronnie.

Fuck. She hadn’t realized how out of her depth she was with these two until this exact moment, the way Jules looked at her was like she was prey that had unwittingly fallen right into her hands. She looked like she wanted to unravel Zaria, and by the end of the night she very well might. The entire experience was clearly awakening something in the young woman, because she was eating it up like a starving dog. She jumped as some as champagne sprayed over her, darkening the white fabric of her nightgown in splotches so that her skin was visible beneath the thin fabric.

Jules ran the fingers of her left hand up Ronnie's spine, plying through waves of blonde hair. She squeezed the woman's roots at the back of her skull, and slowly eased Ronnie's head away from Zaria's lower half. The movements were slow, ensuring she did not strain either of their muscles too much with sudden jerking. While Ronnie was still crouched, Jules took a sip of her champagne. She made a show of licking her lips as she set the beverage down on the counter. "Now, now… there's no need to rush things, darling." Jules smirked softly as she hooked two fingers beneath the knot of her tie, shaking it slightly to loosen it. "Especially as it looks like I'm a bit overdressed, don't you think?"

A chuckle reverberated beneath the nightgown as Ronnie felt fingers snake their way through her head. She conceded and let Jules’s grasp guide her head back, forcing her to look up into the woman’s blue eyes. "I’m afraid there is a dress code," she purred in response as she slowly spun around to face the woman. As she slowly stood up, Ronnie’s chest brushed along her body, hands running up the side of Jules’s legs. Standing eye to eye, she seized the necktie from the woman’s grasp and draped the tails over her shoulder and out of the way. "That can stay." The warmth of her words ghosted across Jules’s face as Ronnie’s fingers slowly… patiently began unbuttoning her vest.

Zaria groaned in frustration, her head thumping back against the countertop as she pouted up at the ceiling. That was so unfair, she’d certainly been enjoying the pace of it all. Though, she wasn’t opposed to finding that snake Jules had mentioned. She felt wobbly as she sat up, leaning forward to snag Jules’s glass and take a long sip from it as she enjoyed the show. "Slower," she sighed, setting aside the glass and leaning forward so her fingers could press against Ronnie’s hips, one hand rising to sweep aside her hair, lips dragging along the back of her neck. "She wants it slower, so make sure you only give it to her slowly." Her lips tilted up into a rouge smile as she kissed down the side of Veronica's throat, eyes holding Jules gaze with a teasing, challenging light in them.

A soft sigh escaped Ronnie’s lips as a hand rested upon her hip and another brushed her hair off her neck, fingertips ghosting along the tender curve of her spine. The faint touch sent a thrill through her body, prickling along her skin and stirring the embers of arousal deep in her core. "Mmm," she mused as her head tilted, caving to Aria’s will… and lips. "Yes, slowly." Her gaze fell, drinking in Jules’s body. Even clothed, the way the rolled cuffs hugged the muscles of her forearms and the tailored cut of her pants accentuated her form just enough to leave them wanting more.

Ronnie’s fingers brushed along Jules’s throat, teasing a caress as she loosened the necktie the tiniest bit more. She carefully slipped the fabric from beneath the pressed white collar, letting the fabric of the tie lie against the bare skin of her neck. She left a trail of unfastened buttons down the woman’s torso, slowly revealing more of her porcelain skin and the supple curve in the dip between her breasts. When she reached the end of the line, two of her fingers curled around the hem of Jules’s pants, ghosting along the sensitive skin and scalloped edge of her undergarments. "If I were a snake," Ronnie spoke barely above a whisper as her thumb eased the button through the slit in the fabric. She took hold of the zipper pull and guided it down slow enough to make her shutter from anticipation. "Where would I hide?"

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