Foolish Hope

[Ambrosia_64]

“I was s-slow.” Aimee said, a quick glance to the wound. “But h-he missed the artery.” She was infinitely more concerned for him than she was for herself, and it showed. She held the patch in the hand against his chest as they moved carefully down the stairs. Luckily for them both, he was mostly supporting his own weight. “Okay, I'll...I'll c-call Compiler. Y-you need a d-doctor.” She said anxiously, but she wasn’t sure that would fly. It wasn’t like they could pull up to General Hospital, and Charlotte was out of town for the night. He had been drugged. Seemed almost drunk. He was still conscious, and that was probably a good sign-but what if he slipped into a coma and stopped breathing? What if he died? What if-

She helped lean him against the wall to apply the patch. Her hands were still trembling a little, but she was trying to stay focused, taking a few deep, calming breaths. “Thank...thank you.” Concerned Citizen. She was...she was Concerned Citizen, and she was getting them out of here. Both the bad guys were down for the count. Nobody had to die.

She tapped the earbud, swallowing. Everything was going to be fine. It’d be okay.

“C-compiler.” A hint of irritation at the last, final stutter, a soft shake of her aching head. Concerned Citizen got Nightwatch off the wall again, heading towards the elevator she had glimpsed earlier. Didn’t want to risk more stairs in his state. It again occurred to her how big he was, solid. She...she hadn't really thought he could be hurt or downed-larger than life. Him being drugged, him having been unable to save herself-it bothered her, made her feel more anxious. Nightwatch was just a man. A skilled, established hero who had done amazing things in his career-but just a man, and...and they had almost killed him. Before she could help any of that hurt in him, try to make things a little better, somehow, someway.

He deserved so much more than he was allowing himself. She almost hugged him again-but then the doors slid open, and she helped him inside, another lean against the wall, her small hand on his chest just in case. She had roughed up her knuckles, punching Thunderstorm in the face like that. Jesus, that had been awful. Brutal.

Her other hand fumbled with the sliced material of her vest. But he would have killed them both. Wasn’t that the whole point of her training? Desperate measures? Krav Maga was violent and brutal for a reason. She couldn’t afford to be anything else, at her size. Still-she had gotten lucky. So very, very lucky.

“I’m sorry.” She said to Nightwatch again, though what she was apologizing for wasn’t entirely clear. She was worried, looking up at the reflective, opaque mask as they waited for the elevator to descend, for Compiler-and then her gaze moved to the lit numbers on the buttons.

Out into the vacant lobby on the first floor, through the door. She was parked in the alley two buildings over. Slow going, but they were making it. Quick fumble for keys, unlocking the doors. "Just stay awake, stay with me." She said to him as she was buckling him in. Aimee leaned back out of the car, moved around for the driver’s side. God her head hurt.

 

[Armphid]

Nightwatch shook his head, "Nuu dock tar." Going to a hospital would be disastrous. For them and everyone there.

Her earbud buzzed, "Compiler. Glad you called, CC. What's going on?" The technopath sounded relieved to hear her. "I've got your location. Nightwatch is there too, have you made contact with him?"

Once she'd explained the situation, he swore, "Shit. Thunderstorm too? That's on me, CC. I'll make it up to you. Sending you an address. You can't take him to a doctor or a hospital. Way too much that can go wrong; word gets out he's there and we just turned that place into a war zone of crooks trying to be the guy who kills Nightwatch."

There was the sound of typing on keys. "He can be mad at me for it but the only safe place is his place. The address is for a building; luxury high rise, the penthouse and the two floors beneath it are his." The whole building was all Danny's actually but those were the floors with his equipment and facilities. "On the southeast corner there's a private garage with an elevator for the penthouse; I'm hacking it and the rest of his systems to give you access. He'll have medical supplies and equipment; we should be able to use those to see if we need to call someone in."

"Talk to me here and ask questions away. Keeping you from going into shock is part of this too. Do you have any injuries? First rule of rescue, you can't save anyone if you go down."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Her brow furrowed at Nightwatch, but she gave a reluctant nod to him.

Compiler came on the line. “Hello-” She greeted, lacking her usual cheerfulness-sounding anxious and a little dazed. “I...yes, I have him-but I think he was drugged. Trouble speaking, moving.” Another anxious glance to his masked face. “We’re...we’re getting out now. I thought he’d been shot-there were gunshots, and then glass shattering. I didn’t...I hadn’t thought anyone would be there. Recon, not...I...” Her story was a little disjointed, unnecessary details.

Concerned Citizen. She was Concerned Citizen.

Her voice lost the daze, more controlled, focused. “Killian was busy mocking me-needs medical attention.” Yes, facts. Facts were good. “Thunderstorm showed up. Showed back up. Nightwatch had already fought him. Thunderstorm was...he was going to kill him.” While he was down and helpless. Thank God he hadn’t. No. Out onto the street. “I...I guess I beat him up. Will also need medical attention.”

Buckled Nightwatch in, quickly moved around the car and slipped in on the driver’s side. Her seat would be significantly more forward than his-she wasn’t very tall after all. She locked the doors before entering the address and into her phone’s gps. She didn’t bother removing her hat or vest-she had an entire vigilante in her car, no real point. She pulled the visor down on both their sides.

“Okay-no, we can’t have that. No hospital.” She confirmed to Nightwatch as much as Compiler. She started the car and got going, her hands at three and nine o clock on the wheel. Her brow furrowed as he told her about the building, unsure if it was his home or an outpost of some kind, a base like the Orrery-and hoping he wasn’t really going to be angry with either of them.

He was scary when he was angry.

“Injuries?” She repeated, then felt stupid for doing so. She...she had been hurt, but she was alive. “I...I got lucky. Thunderstorm was weakened, dismissed me as a threat...can’t blame him. Vest saved my life, but my leg was slashed. Hurts, but could have been worse. Headache, but I deserve that one.” She was silent for several seconds, eyes on the road.

"Everything was awful."

 

[Armphid]

"You beat Thunderstorm?" There was respect, even a little awe in Compiler's voice. Holy crap. Whether he'd fought Nightwatch first or not, that was damn impressive. "That's a hell of a win, girl."

At her recounting of her injuries, Compiler nodded. "He always liked his knives. If you're bleeding, make sure you get it stopped before anything else. You lose consciousness and that might be it for both of you." Her silence had him concerned but when she spoke again, it made him smile and his heart ache. "Yeah. It can be like that. But you saved him and yourself. You're both still alive. And I've got the cops heading to that location so you got two bad guys too. Serious bad guys."

Nightwatch could hear her speaking. She'd called Compiler. Good. Her face was conflicted, hurt even. It had been awful. She wasn't wrong. It was awful. "Thass why we fight," he managed to get out.

Not knowing what the other man had spoken, Compiler went on, "It's ugly out there, you know? And when you get into it, it can be bad all over. But that's why we're- why you're out there. Trying to make it even a little bit better."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee blinked. She...she had beaten Thunderstorm. Thunderstorm. Concerned Citizen had put him down, hard. If Aimee thought about the insane skill level difference between CC and the infamous mercenary for too long she might throw up. She could still taste the fear, remembered the certainty of death. That she would fail Nightwatch and then he would die.

Aimee wished she could feel more like she had when she decided to...to what? To win? She almost laughed, but nothing to do with mirth or humor.

Luckily, Compiler's talk was easing her away from the edge of either a nervous break down or tears- made keeping herself together a more manageable task. Something to focus on. Yes, they were both still alive. She was immensely relieved, grateful-no punk, no bullet today. Thank God.

She just...just had to get him safe and hope he would recover okay-that he was still awake was a good sign.

"I...I only used the force necessary to resolve the situation." She slowly agreed, justifying the violence, albeit only for herself-no one was judging Aimee but Aimee- but the words made her feel better. Given the situation, taking Killian down the way she had was necessary. Nothing for it. Thunderstorm...it had to be all or nothing. He had made it clear he'd kill them both, and remorselessly.

She looked at Nightwatch, and listened as Compiler unknowingly added on to the vigilante's struggled but clear enough words. "We're the good guys." She murmured, and then immediately felt a little embarrassed, snapping her eyes to the road. They were on Sixth street. No drug dealers on the sidewalks-no one around, really. "I-I mean, we can make things better. Things can be better. You both already do." Mixture of hope, appreciation, and that spark of naive idealism. More like herself, even if slightly dimmed, strained.

"The city is hurting and it's hard to know where to start, but...but it's not all ugly. There’s potential for more, there’s some beauty, there are good people here.” She clearly believed that, and with all her heart. “Killian...Killian isn't the norm. He’s...he’s not.” Sold children. Enslaved people. What...what was wrong with him? With Frank West? Irredeemable and...awful. Evil. They were...they really were. Not like the people she was trying to redirect, turn around. Far, far, far flung from the innocent children they preyed upon. Evil.

Killian’s enterprises here-they were done. She didn’t know how to end them, yet, but it couldn’t continue. He wouldn’t run it from prison, and no one was going to take over. No more. Nightwatch would know what to do. Charlotte could set something up for the women they rescued. Something...something would be done, even if she had to do it alone. They were pulling up to the high rise now. “I’m sorry for...for inviting myself over Nightwatch.” She said apologetically, anxiously. To Compiler, she said “We’re here. I’ll check back in soon?”

The adrenaline and the sort of...shocked numbness was wearing off. She ached from the force of the failed stabbing, the punch to her ribs, the slice to her leg. Worst was the splitting headache-but she was still more concerned with Nightwatch. Worried.

 

[Armphid]

Compiler gave a relieved sigh, "Okay, good. Just pull into the garage and take the elevator; I've taken over and disabled all his security, I'll turn it on once you're in there." He shook his head, not that she could see it. "Yeah, check in with me later, please. He and I, we've had some tension and I feel like I don't know him sometimes but...he's one of the only people I have left. Thanks, CC."

The little blue beetle pulled into the little private garage, the door closing behind it and lights coming on inside. The street was well lit for the city but here the comings and goings of the residents went deliberately unnoticed. Inside the garage there were a few sets of tools and parts along the back wall and a high grade motorcycle that she had seen before; the one Nightwatch used to get to and from their sessions at the Orrery.

Nightwatch managed to get out of the car partway on his own before she got to him. He hated that he needed her help but he couldn't deny it. There was no way he could have gotten out himself. As in Killian's lair, she braced him and helped him walk. Then they were at the elevator. It had few buttons and after a few clumsy, fumbling tries, he managed to hit the button for the penthouse. The motor whirred to life and they were aloft in moments. Nightwatch's head lolled over to look down at the petite blonde supporting him. She'd changed his life, given him a faint, foolish hope to leave a legacy of good even if he knew he was part of the problem. Now she'd saved his life.

"Prud." He frowned and shook his head, "P-roud. Yu did writ, right." The elevator finally slowed and locked into place, there was a soft bell tone, and the doors slid open. The pair limped across the short distance of the personal hallway that led to the elevator to the door of the penthouse. The door should have been electronically locked but thanks to Compiler, it swung open at a touch.

The penthouse was strange. It was almost like walking into a show home. It was a place where someone lived but at the same time it all felt staged. In the front entrance and then the lobby, one could see into living and dining rooms that had furniture but it was clearly just...there. Unused. The kitchen was full of appliances and cooking equipment, tools, but all of them were there simply to be there. Most were not even plugged in. Everything was in grey, black, and white. There was no color. The library and the office were the only place where there was any; simply from the covers of some of the books present. The library also contained a small lab and set of forensic equipment. There was a powerful cray computer in the dining room abutting the kitchen, along with a huge television. There were two bedrooms, one clearly the master, and each with it's own bath and walk in closed. There was a terrace balcony on two sides and one of them had a covered pool and hot tub; neither ever used but kept clean. It was a sterile place. A place where no one lived; just where things were kept.

Things like Nightwatch. Kept until night fell and he went out into the dark, stinking city to punish the wicked pointlessly.

"Bed," Nightwatch pointed. "Puhht meh down, can...test can...luhbrery has tools," he managed. He was feeling weaker. Sleepy now. And warm. So warm. "I...need...want...face, my face...mask off...then can leave me."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"Of course-of course I will Compiler. You're-you're welcome. Thank you." Nightwatch definitely needed to talk to Compiler more, for both their sakes-Compiler had lost friends too, the same friends. They both just...deserved all the good in the world.

Into the elevator, worriedly watching him fumbling for buttons-not wanting to take over the task because he seemed irritated-which was probably another good sign. He could sleep this off and be okay. Everything...everything was okay.

His first utterance brought her head up, puzzled-and then he got it and her eyes widened a little, a faint bit of color coming to her face. That mattered to her, he'd be able to see it in those expressive, Caribbean blue eyes of hers-and then the doors opened, and she helped him off the wall. Last week's snarled words had hurt-but she hadn't realized just how much, or why.

Because she had wanted him to be proud of her? Maybe-she'd been working hard at everything he taught her, and so very, very hard on Safe Places.

But this, this he thought she'd done right. Aimee held fast to that, like a locket.

"I'm sorry I was all there was." She said softly. He had deserved a better defender than her, but thankfully she hadn't failed him. Thank God she hadn't failed him. "But I...I'm glad I was enough. Glad you're alive." His training had helped. That, and his previous encouragement. Aimee may have been terrified, but Concerned Citizen found her footing and had gone for broke.

She pushed the door open, helping him inside-and feeling a little...uneasy, though she did not, immediately, place why. "Right, okay-I think you're safe to sleep. Everything'll be okay."

The can-the thing she picked up! So that WAS what Killian had used. Good, they could confirm its contents-though she felt more confident it was nothing deadly, or at least-that he was going to be okay. Hopefully the tools were either googleable or idiot proof-she didn't have a lot of experience in a lab setting.

There was nothing hanging on the walls, she noted. And...zero clutter. Even his bedroom was just...this must be an outpost. Right? No blankets, no pillows on the bed. Just a sheet.
Grey sheets. Everything bare and...barren.

She could feel Nightwatch leaning more into her, heavier. It was a difficult thing to sit him down on the bed and not flop him onto it, but she managed, a steadying hand on his shoulder, and a bit of breathlessness. He was just...too big. Very solid. Goodness-good thing he had stayed awake on the trip, or he would have been sleeping in her car.

Then he brought up the mask, and concern flashed through her eyes. "I-what?" He wanted her to take the cowl off? It didn't look very comfortable to sleep in, but she-it- “So you can sleep? I can-um-I can turn the light off, and then-then help ypu take it off and leave it right here for you?” Then he could put it right back on when he woke up-she felt bad enough for being here, who knew what he would remember in the morning-he hadn’t seemed upset to come up with her now, but he was under the influence of...something. She didn’t want to somehow wrong him or take advantage, fail to protect him from himself, in a way? Seeing his face may not be something Nightwatch wanted her to do.

 

[Armphid]

Every step was more solid and slow. Whatever it was that Doctor Toxic had dosed him with was putting him to sleep. Would it be for good? Maybe. Maybe. Probably not. Killian was a strange one; utterly ruthless in most ways but he was never a killer, even with his gasses. He had others do his killing for him. So he would probably live.

Too bad. But good too. He wouldn't want that on Concerned Citizen's conscience.

He sat down heavily on the bed, managing not to fall over. Her reaction to his request was almost surprising but then he remembered her little niceties. And he was drugged. She probably thought she might be taking advantage of him. She might be but he didn't care. He felt hot in his costume. It was heavy and stifling. He would breathe easier without the mask.

"Is hot, hev hey, nn, heavy." He reached up to try and remove it himself, his clumsy fingers tugging it about but unable to find the manual dexterity to remove it himself. "Okay if you s-see, true. You true. Tryst, trust you. Won't know face nyway."

And suddenly he wanted her to see his face. That was almost certainly the drug but he wanted it. Wanted her to see and make him human, make him real. He hated his face. He'd broken the mirrors so he didn't have to see it. But now...because of her, he wanted it seen. Even if only by her. "Ples," he said in a voice just above a whisper.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee wasn't sure he understood what she was saying about the light. Of course she wasn't going to make him sleep in his mask if he didn't want to. But he either he didn't understand or he wanted her to see him-which suddenly seemed more likely as he told her he trusted her. Aimee felt that warm twill of her heart again.

"I-thank you. I won't-I won't let you down, Nightwatch." And she meant it with all her heart. "And that's why I'm going to turn the light off first, okay? Right now you may be okay with showing your face, but-"

She had already turned partially away and taken a step back when he spoke again, barely audible-and her heart nearly broke, eyes snapping back to him. They reflected compassion, worry, conflict and softness, that please striking right for her heart. Like when he had told her to run, that he couldn't see 'it' again. She would have given him anything he asked for in this exact moment, just to comfort him even a little-no matter what it was or what she'd have to risk to get it. As much as she wanted to ensure she was doing good by him, the right thing-she couldn't ignore him, or the feeling of wrong if she DID ignore him. She'd rather an angry, sober Nightwatch tomorrow than a suffering drugged one tonight.

"Okay, I'm sorry-" She was all panicked movement, wanting to make it better, and now. Her hand came up to grab hold of her own mask, peeling off the spirit gum on the one side and pulling the bright red mask that concealed a good portion of her face off with a fast, quick movement, incidentally tipping the hat back on her head. "Look, I'll take mine off too, keep it off until tomorrow so it's equal okay?" That seemed like a good compromise between her internal arguments.

She sort of tossed it on his bedside table before carefully brushing his hands aside to help him with his. She lifted if off just as carefully, as if worried she'd catch his ears-and there he was. Holding the mask in front of her, she blinked at him. He had ice blue eyes, and strong, masculine features that matched the rest of him. Perfectly normal looking, if strikingly handsome. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, exactly. To be honest, it had been hard to even imagine him without the mask.

But this solidified it. Nightwatch was a man under the there, behind his larger than life legend. And he had almost died. Thank God he hadn't, was okay-if in need of a sobering rest. Her heart was getting to that unsure, rabbit pace again, like in the alleyway, the impulsive hug. "B-better?"

As for what Concerned Citizen looked like without her bright red mask-well, she looked like a pretty, kind young woman in her very early twenties. Previously concealed, faint freckles were dusted across the tops of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, those bright blue eyes looking even larger without the loud red around them. In fact, the Caribbean blues seemed just a shade too large for her face-but lent a youthful, fragile quality to her that was rather arresting. Innocent. She certainly didn't look like a woman who would take risks, certainly not in a mask late at night. And DEFINITELY not the face of a woman who could hold her own in a fight, and brutally so when necessary-though her bruised, cut forehead near her hairline could attest to that, currently.

 

[Armphid]

The mask came off and he took a deep breath. He felt...lighter. Not just in the manner he expected. Her taking his mask off, revealing the man underneath, that act itself had meant something. Changed something. He wasn't sure what but he felt it. Perhaps it was just the drug...but part of him felt certain it wasn't.

He would never be Nightwatch the force of nature, the idea, again to her. She had seen the man under the mask. She didn't recoil or seem repulsed. She seemed sad...and anxious, almost frantic. The corners of his lips twitched into the ghost of a smile for a few moments. "S'okay."

"Betr," he said, shaking his head and nearly toppling forward. "Suh tired. 'M sorry..." Daniel raised his left hand to point at the master bath and then back out to the kitchen, "Med cash...catch...cache...med-i-cal sup-lies. Treat yer..." He looked up at her, his eyes widening and blinking owlishly as he realized her mask was gone. His glazed eyes stared into those Caribbean blue orbs for a moment before dancing over the rest of her features. He gave a weak smile, "...wow...beaut...in an' ouuut."

He crumpled back onto the bed, thumping softly onto the mattress. His eyes were shut and his breathing regular; the drug finally robbing him of consciousness and sending him into sleep.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Thank goodness, because she was blushing furiously. Aimee stared at him for several moments, then looked to his mask and cowl, then back to him. Her heart was beating fast, her headache and leg suffering for it-but...goodness. And he'd smiled at her.

He was drugged and none of this meant anything, she reminded herself. She was supposed to be a professional, also. But...still, he hadn't fallen asleep upset, and she was grateful for that.

Smiled at her.

She set the mask carefully on his nightstand, half on top of her own-then moved around to the end of the bed, picking up the sheet and folding it over him, being sure not to cover his face. No blankets, but this would do. He wasn't entirely on the bed either, but she didn't think she could do much about that. His back was fully supported. His breathing sounded fine. He...he was going to be fine. She remembered the canister and pulled it out of her vest pocket, the small metal cylinder cold in her hand. This first. Once she knew what the hell he'd been hit with, she'd feel a lot better. Her injuries could wait.

Aimee didn't turn the light off, intending to check back in on him, make sure he was still breathing-because despite her self assurances, Aimee was a worrier. She paused once outside the bedroom door, the empty suite more than a little spooky. She turned on another light-but that made it seem worse, somehow. She turned it back off, heading for the library. At least in here, there was some color-even if just the spines of the books. Aimee relaxed a small, tiny bit. She loved books. This, at least, felt 'normal'.

Aimee booted what looked like a central hub up, investigating a tray similar to a disk drive in the front of it. She opened a drawer and found small petri dishes that fit the tray. Okay. So far so good, maybe. The can was similar to pepper spray, a flip up lid and then a nozzle. She unzipped her vest a little, tucked her chin in, and then zipped it back up to cover her nose and mouth, just in case. Just a quick hit in the petri dish, slid the tray in-then she started to hunt for whatever software she might need-but the computer started analyzing automatically. Oh. Good, idiot proof then.

She should make sure there was water and maybe some advil on the nightstand, for when he woke up tomorrow. Back out and into the kitchen. Something just...felt wrong. The quiet, empty place felt oppressive. Looking for a glass, she found protein powders, various vitamins and supplements-but not really much of anything else in the cabinets, at least the ones she happened to open in her search. Maybe he didn’t come here very often? The faucet sounded loud in the quiet. She found herself glancing nervously over her shoulder at the barren space, then the counters in the kitchen, the unplugged appliances. He didn’t even have a breadbox. Aimee wasn’t sure why that stuck out to her so much-the counters were bare, but the lack of a bread box is what she found the most unsettling? Why would he have a bread box in an outpost? Shaking her head, she turned the faucet off and headed back to the bedroom-he was still breathing just fine. She set the glass of water on the nightstand, then went into the bathroom he'd indicated-stopping short to blink confusedly at the broken mirror.

Aimee turned the light on and stepped inside- her eyes immediately catching the second broken mirror. Aimee moved towards it, a hand pressed to her mouth and her brow furrowed. Stunned eyes shifted between the floor length mirror and the vanity mirror, the crater and cracks. She moved closer to the vanity, frowning at her own shattered reflection a moment-and then tentatively, she lifted her hand over her head, trying to approximate Nightwatch’s height. It was eye level for him, she guessed. Maybe...a manifestation of survivor's guilt? Or...her eyes dropped to the toothbrush, a blink.

He did live here.

She found the Advil, increasingly worried. Back into the bedroom, she set the small bottle on the nightstand after popping two herself. She doubted it would help much with her splitting headache, but still. He was still breathing fine. In his empty bed, in his empty room, in his empty suite. Nightwatch was big on punishment, out there. Maybe this was...punishment for himself? Or just...maximum efficiency? Both?

"And in the end, all you’ll have left is the mask."

Oh, poor Nightwatch. She cast another glance around the room, then headed back for the computer-which wasn't done yet. She felt gross, but also too vulnerable in the empty suite to take a shower-she didn't have a change of clothes anyway. And...well, that seemed kind of rude to do, for some reason.

Every time her thigh tensed or flexed she felt a hot stab of pain and it was still trying to bleed despite the higher tech patch. It might need stitches. Charlotte would take care of it-but Aimee wasn't relishing explaining how she got the wound. But if she didn't get it looked at, it might leave a bad scar or get infected... She frowned down at her slashed leg, the dried blood and ruined shoe. She needed to clean up, treat that a little better. Maybe Nightwatch had some butterfly strips or something that could function for now.

Computer still analyzing. Aimee checked in and Nightwatch was still breathing steadily.

She fixed herself up as best she could, careful not to bleed on anything, also avoiding looking into the broken mirrors. He did have the butterfly strips, but the gash would probably need stitches anyway, if she wanted to minimize scarring. She wrapped her leg up with new bandaging and tied that off, a shake of her head.

The top of her forehead had gotten a little cut up where she'd broken Thunderstorm's helmet thing, and some nasty bruising was already forming, looking rather-well, terrible. She might have to invest in some more makeup-she never really wore the stuff before. The attempted stabbing had only cut her a small amount-the vest had stopped the blade nearly dead in it's tracks.

She sighed at the hole it had left in her suit, then frowned at the torn leg of it. The slash and matching hole in her red vest, her stained shoe, her poor hat-she was a mess. Her entire costume was just...a mess. Her ribs hurt too where she'd gotten hit hard.

She was grateful to be alive to hurt, though.

She rinsed her bangs and hat out in the sink. Applied peroxide to her forehead and her left hand, a few bandages for the hand. Paper towel, soap, and water to clean up the dried blood on her arm and leg. She wrung out the hat and hung it on the doorknob for now. That took care of everything, pretty much.

Aimee turned the bathroom light off and returned to the library, texting her sister. She needed a sub for tomorrow, and Trisha would be on the steps after school alone. Charlotte could call pretending to be her for the sub, and would probably be willing to sit and wait with the child for the hour or so it took her mom to get out of work. The computer made a noise-identifying the substance as Rohypnol.

Aimee tapped her ear. "Compiler?" She'd wait for the line to pick up. "Hi again-" She sounded tired but better than earlier, much more herself. "Nightwatch is asleep, and is going to be okay-I wanted to be sure and tell you that as soon as possible." She started, the good news first, and the most important.

"Looks like he was hit with Rohypnol, and given how long he was able to stay awake, not a lethal amount. So we are out of the woods there, thank goodness." She was relieved, sinking down a little further into the chair, a hand to her aching head. "We'll just have to see what he remembers tomorrow. Bad news is: Killian has somehow turned it into an aerosol. A dose strong enough to bring Nightwatch down would be a lethal dose for someone like me, and no doubt most women. I'm...I'm not sure if that means he's killing people with it or if he specifically had it in case of a larger threat-or if he had lighter versions for his...awful business."

Had to shut it down. Shut it all down. Find Miss Johnson.

 

[Armphid]

The line picked up at the first tone, "CC! Am I glad to hear from you." The relief and anxiety in the former hero's voice was blatant. He shut his mouth to listen then. She could hear keys clattering away as she spoke. He breathed a sigh of relief at her report on Nightwatch's health. Then he grunted at her report of Killian's new weapon. "Might mean to use it for both. That old bastard was always clever as well as smart."

"I've got good news and bad news too. The cops actually did their job for once. They hit Killian's place and cleared it out. Thunderbolt's in medical at Hermitage Prison right now, pending transfer to a higher security facility. Killian was gone when they got there. I'm keeping my feeds looking out for hospital admittances for the injuries you described city -wide and seeing if I can find a digital footprint for him."

"Now, don't think you messed up somehow. The truth of it is sometimes you can't catch every bad guy, stop every crime, or write every wrong." Compiler sighed, "You did good. Hell, you did great. Clean up and get some sleep. I'll stay on top of this and send you what I find."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Daniel floated in the warm embrace of her soft flesh. His lover kissed his neck, her lips soft and sweet, sending tingling delight through him. Her hands caressed his weary shoulders, rubbing his pain and fatigue away. The sweet softness of her breasts pillowed on his chest. Her hips moved, working him within her, their joined bodies sliding together over and over. "Been so long," he whispered. "So tired, so much pain. Finally...something good. Real. Alive."

"Alive. Alive?" Her voice...it was familiar but...no, her voices. Over a dozen women's voices, all speaking together. "Like me?"

He opened his eyes to stare into the empty sockets of Francine's unbreakable skull. Her fleshless skeleton embraced him, her fingers sinking into his shoulders, her cold bones stealing the heat from his body. Blood poured from him as her fingers dug deeper into his flesh. Daniel tried to jerk away but he couldn't rip himself free of her grip.

He held cold, clammy hands on his back. Tomoko came into view on his left, naked and bruised, her head hanging at forty five degrees on her crushed neck, "Like me, Danny?"

Gwen, nude, bloodied, her neck purpled and eyes bulging from the final strangulation that killed her, slid up against him on his right, "Like me, kid? Partners always, right?"

Wendy, Blue Streak, her tattered costume hanging from her bruised body, hugged his left leg, "Like me?"

Karen, the beautiful and buxom White Flame, embraced his right leg, the ragged hole in her chest somehow smearing blood on him still. "Like me, champ?" There were shadows moving around him and he caught sight of the others as they circled. Rosita, Elaine, Leticia, Sarah, Linda, Corinne, Regin, more, and more. All nude, all used, beautiful bodies ravaged and ruined.

They pulled him down through the city. He sank through the clouds and buildings, the stink of air and street, the filth of the gutters piercing his flesh and pouring into him. He heard the laughter and cheers of the people of the city, the world, as heroine after heroine was murdered. He heard the panting in dark places as they watched the videos and jerked off, their reeking seed staining him further. Their corpses pulled him down to his coffin. "You can't live without us," their voices screamed, "You don't deserve to live! We deserved it more than you"'

Nightwatch's empty costume was as cold as the grave as they pushed him into it. His living prison closed around him, the mask sliding over his head and face. Nightwatch took in a deep breath and growled out, "I know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~​

He fidgeted and twitched in his sleep, sweat on his brow.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee’s heart sank. Thunderstorm being captured was safer for them maybe, but Killian was the one selling children.

“...that is bad news.” She said softly. She wasn’t out there to punish people, but Killian would actively victimize and victimize until he was stopped. Stopping him protected the innocent. Goal One.

She realized with a jolt she hadn’t ziptied either man. She’d lost focus, she’d...gone back to being scared, nervous Aimee Summers once Thunderstorm was down instead of the hero she was striving to be-and she had failed to secure the bad guys. A bad guy who had a dangerous weapon, might intend on mass producing it. Compiler let her off the hook, but Aimee felt terrible. Worried for Nightwatch or not, that was a monumental mistake. She was poorly qualified, she was trying her best-but trying didn’t help Killian’s future victims. Her best had to be better.

She leaned forward and dropped her throbbing head on the desk. “...Thunderstorm going to be okay, do you know? No brain swelling or...?” Brutal. She had had to be brutal. Thunderstorm would have killed Nightwatch. Just like that. All he had done, all he had sacrificed, and he would have been just as dead. She couldn’t let it happen. She hadn’t let it happen. Lucky. So, so lucky.

She moved on to the bigger problems.

“In the meantime, we have to shut down his enterprise. Ensure there’s nothing to come back to, and help the people he’s hurt, is actively hurting.” She sounded a mixture of resolute to topple Killian’s empire and heartbroken for his victims. “And hopefully, we can find him before he can slip off to God knows where and rebuilds there. If the police haven’t swept the place, I also need to check his house for the missing woman I was originally looking for...her brother is heart sick.”

“Thank you Compiler." She said sincerely. "Please, get some rest too. You certainly deserve it. Thank you for helping me...us. Goodnight.”

Concerned Citizen sat there for several moments, oddly calm-the mask was good for her, she was less...helpless. Even in the face of this, she was forming a plan, she was deciding on what actions to take. Nightwatch would help. He would help her make it right. She would probably have to continue compartmentalize to be of any use, but she would be careful enough not to develop problems. CC was someone she was pretending to be-a stronger, more confident version of herself, someone who could do more than she ever could during the daytime. A mascot who could rally the good people and help them make the city better, make it a city they deserved.

Charlotte would do the rest. She was politically savvy and would lay the groundwork for a better future for citizens who wanted it.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the back of her left hand, the bandaging and abrasions from punching Thunderstorm in the face multiple times. She curled it into a fist, idly staring at the small size of it, her delicate fingers, the slim wrist and toned arm.

She reflected on the mercenary’s flippant mockery and intent to kill. Killian trafficking people. She didn’t understand what was wrong with them, the utter lack of empathy and their disregard for others. Frank West, also with a history of human trafficking, trying to kill his ex wife, planning to burn his own children to death in a tub of gasoline. Nick Pistorus and the lawyer, blowing up one of the few community centers for money, nationalistic hatred, racism. Encouraging the elimination of witnesses. Irredeemable people. She tightened her fist. They couldn’t add anything but awful to society, the community. In regards to them, Nightwatch was right. Maybe that was where the “Them” mentality came from. He’d seen too much awful, and now everything he saw was awash with it.

Aimee shivered. But...the monsters weren’t the norm. They weren’t all there was in the city. There were good people, and there were people who had the potential to do good, people she hoped to reach and help somehow. She knew it, and Charlotte knew it too-and Charlotte was much smarter than she was-and much more cynical.

But their plans could work. They had to work. They just had to show the way. They just had to get them to hope again-and then the people, the community would make things better than they were now, and maybe, someday-as good as they could possibly be.

She relaxed her fist, looking instead to her palms. She would do whatever she could. Whatever she could offer, she would gladly give it. And Nightwatch? Aimee slowly straightened, rubbing her eyes. She would find a way to help him too. Aimee would find a way, even if she did it half or all through Concerned Citizen.

She should go check on him. He was fine, she knew that, but she felt compelled to anyway.

Aimee stood, wincing from the motion, the flex of her wounded leg. The broken mirrors...the colorless, empty penthouse, the words he had said and the things he had done, good and bad-it didn’t have to be this way. He deserved better. He should allow himself more than...existence and brutal vengeance for real and sometimes imagined victims. No...not imagined. It wasn’t imagined victims when he dealt out excessive punishment-it was displaced vengeance for the very real victims of the Mask Killer.

It made a lot more sense, now. It also made her heart ache for him. Loss, guilt, trauma-that please. Both those pleases. Tough as he was, he was just a man, and a hurting one.

She pushed the chair in, borrowed some paper, and turned the light out before moving back into the oppressive emptiness. She turned the light on, looking at furniture that had probably never been used-and set the papers, her phone, the pouch of jumbled items on the couch. She found it better to sit out here than to use the other bedroom without permission. Not that she really intended to sleep.

Aimee ducked her head in his bedroom, expecting the steady, reassuring sound of his breathing-but it was faster, labored as he twisted and turned. Aimee was halfway across the room before she had realized she’d even moved. His expression was awful-a nightmare. “Hey, it’s alright-” She said soothingly, carefully smoothing over his forehead, her other hand light on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay...” She said that so often, she almost believed the words carried a guaranteed self fulfilled prophecy. She hurt for him. More than the headache, more than her leg-her heart just hurt. He had suffered through so, so much. She remembered the night of her web charting, the lists of heroes becoming shorter and shorter as names were crossed off.

“I’m here with you.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The next day would find Concerned Citizen half curled against one arm of the couch, a pencil still in her roughed up hand and her little notebook on the floor, apparently having slipped from her fingers when sleep finally took her an hour or two before. She had been busy, the borrowed blank sheets of paper now filled with small, delicate hand writing, notes on women’s shelters, hotels near the addresses Compiler had provided, names of missing women and even entire families-single mothers and their kids-notes about Rohypnol and its dosage recommendations in countries outside of the U.S., as well as it’s illegal use within the states, aerosol can manufacturers, notes on Dr. Toxic-all information she clearly had spent the rest of the night and the post dawn hours pouring over and researching.

She was without her mask and hat, but still in the torn up spandex suit and the sliced, damaged red stab proof vest with the yellow CC patch. Little red ankle socks, her bright yellow shoes removed-one of which had an unfortunate blood stain on most of the side and back-neatly under one corner of the coffee table. The banged up heroine looked rather small and out of place amidst the colorlessness of the suite, her wavy, fluffed, and flower scented blonde hair yet another pop of color, caught up in that perky ponytail of hers-the elastic red, of course.

As out of place as she was, the pink blackberry phone on the coffee table was even more so- soft Christmas music was playing out of the device, of all things.

 

[Armphid]

Compiler smiled, not that she could see it on her end. "He's got a concussion and some major contusions, torn muscles in his left shoulder, broken nose, hairline fracture of the jaw. He'll live, CC. Nothing he can't rehab from." She was worried about the man who'd have killed her without a second thought. She really was the real deal. No wonder Danny was so determined. "You're right, we have to stop Killian and we will. I'm in the cops system and I'll get you everything I can about his other resources. I know Killian from the old days; he's not leaving. Not unless he's sure he's lost. We'll find him."

After she signed off, he leaned back in his seat. She'd thanked him again. She has told him to get his rest. God, she was such a sweetheart.

He had to do all that he could to help her. "I'll sleep when I'm dead, CC." There was work to do, for now and for the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

At her touch, Nightwatch's thrashing slowed. He didn't wake nor did he speak. After she spoke, his breathing began to still and normalize. Within a minute, it seemed the nightmare had passed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Nightwatch crouched atop a twisted gargoyle statue and glared down at the city. It glared back at him, around him, and under her, but most of all on top of him; pressing down with all the weight of square miles of concrete, brick, stone, wood, steel, asphalt, and sin most of all. It was crushing him slowly but surely. But there was no escaping it. This nightmare world was all there was and he was part of it.

The dead urged him on. Their lost voices his ears, their phantom touch on his body. They were part of Nightwatch as well. His crimes, his failures, all trapped with him in this costume that he had become.

The city rose up like a tidal wave, ready to crash down on him. Bury him alive.

Then light pierced through the darkness and the city receded down to become just the city again. The voices of the dead stilled. The light approached him; shining from a petite feminine form that reached down to touch his forehead. His costume peeled away from him and Daniel looked up into the bluest, truest blue he could imagine. "It'll be okay. I'm here with you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

He woke with daylight coming into the bedroom from around the drawn curtains. He sat up slowly, groaning. His body was oddly sore, his head pounding. "Hnn...what.
.."

There were flashes of memory. Killian. Thunderstorm. He was weak, stumbling. An image of Concerned Citizen standing in front of the dark clad killer.

He sprang up from the bed. She- No. No! Had he blanked it out? He looked around for his face, his mask. He had to get out and-

Daniel saw Nightwatch's mask on the nightstand and resting with it was hers. He picked it up with a slight quiver to his fingers. She was alive. She'd brought him here. She'd seen this place...he didn't want anyone to see this place, to see him.

But she was alive. She'd won. He thought he could remember...but it was hazy and there were missing pieces.

After taking off his gloves, Daniel took the medicine she'd laid out for him and left, looking for her. She was easy to find. The music caught his ear first. Her red and yellow was brilliant in the stark monotones of the penthouse. She was sleeping on the couch in the living room. He looked her over as she slumbered. She looked so innocent and pure, so wholesome. Her blonde hair was mussed but still in the perky ponytail. The dusting of freckles on her cheekbones and nose added an element of cute to features that were otherwise beautiful. But they made her all the more appealing. Her slender yet curvy form was well displayed by the black spandex garment and he forced his gaze away before he considered that avenue further.

But the image of her there would linger.

She was injured. She'd treated herself but likely needed that leg looked at by a professional. She also needed to get clean. He was sure she'd cleaned her injuries but overall cleanliness would help make sure there was no infection.

He had a shower she could use. Machines to clean her clothes. He knew well how to get out bloodstains. Daniel stepped away from her and sank down to sit on one of the chairs nearby. How...did you wake someone up...nicely? Should he touch her? No. No. He wanted to, so no.

"Concerned Citizen." Without the cowl and it's neck piece, the voice distortion no longer modulated him. He was also not speaking in the lower tone he used in costume but his natural voice; a warm baritone. "Wake up. No, that's...I mean...good morning." He said the words haltingly, as if unsure of them.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The hand gripping the pencil drew closer to her chest, stirring a little when he spoke, slowly nodding her head against the arm of the couch. “Good morning.” She said thickly and with a sleepy smile curving her lips-not quite fully awake, her eyes still closed.

Wait.

They snapped open, alarmed to hear a man’s voice in her bedroom-before she remembered where she was, a blink at him from her half curled position on the couch. He wasn’t wearing his mask. She wasn’t wearing her mask.

Aimee pushed herself up on her arms, feeling sore, hurt, and a little stiff-but mostly awkward and unsure what, exactly, to say-if she should apologize for being here, for his unmasking, for the night before. What did he remember? “I um, I-good morning.” She repeated, another blink and then an embarrassed expression as she realized what was still playing on her phone. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She definitely hadn’t meant to be caught playing Christmas music in September, last night’s bid to cheer herself up a little. Face feeling a little warm, she sat up to hit the pause button on her phone and avoided looking at him while doing so, for a moment. “I must have...must have fallen asleep, I'm sorry.” She said softly and a little uncertainly, eyes trailing over her notes, the pencil in her hand-which she set neatly down on the table.

“My...my name is Aimee." She offered, looking to him again. "Nice to um...nice to meet you." It was nice to see his face, his eyes. She was honestly surprised he hadn’t redonned the mask-and felt a little heartened by it. The least she could do was tell him her name. It would feel weird to be unmasked but go by Concerned Citizen, anyway and...she thought he should know her name, even if he didn’t reveal his own.

Without masks, both of them seated in the living room and the papers on the coffee table, it felt slightly less empty here. More normal.

Her awkward shyness shifted back to concern. “Are you okay? Do you remember anything? Or...or what day it is?”

 

[Armphid]

He felt a lurch in his chest at that shy smile, the flush on her face as she scrambled to stop the music playing on her phone, her sweet greeting. His ice blue eyes looked her over, taking in her injuries and state. "You should have used the other bedroom; you'd have gotten more restful sleep, which your injuries need." His voice wasn't chiding or assertive but simply instructive. "You don't need to apologize, for anything."

He frowned, "I seem to be fine but my memory is...fragmented. I remember bits and pieces. You...you fought Thunderbolt, didn't you? You must have. You won.". That ghost of a smile existed briefly, less than a second. "You'll have to fill me in on the details. My memory can't be trusted."

He stood up. "You need nutrients to heal. I...can make something. You should get clean. I can wash your costume; I know how to get blood out." He shivered at the thought of this young woman, nude and wet in his penthouse, and then he felt ashamed. It was wrong to think of her that way. "I have shirts, a robe, you can wear those while your costume finishes."

He started to walk towards the kitchen and stopped. "You saved me. Thank you. I...you shouldn't have told me your name. ...But it's a nice name. It suits you." His shoulders were tense. "I...my n-name...Nigh-" He cut himself off. "Daniel."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"I um, I didn't want to be rude." Aimee said of the bedroom, nearly apologizing again-she had a habit of doing that.

Sliding to the edge of the couch cushion to gather her various notes into a neater pile, she nodded slowly. "I-I just finished him off." She said, absently touching at her aching head. "The two of you had already fought before I showed up-but I found you with Killian, not Thunderstorm. Y-you might remember more over time, but I can give you the rundown." Hopefully he wouldn't remember how terrified she'd been facing the mercenary-or Thunderstorm's taunts to her about being on the verge of tears. Aimee would be convienently leaving both things out. Along with the things he said under the influence. That was more for him, though.

"A shower would be wonderful-" with Nightwatch awake and sunlight coming into the suite, she felt less anxious about the place. Less vulnerable. "I-I can wash my clothes after, if you show me where the laundry is? My costume's ruined, anyway." Concerned Citizen's costume was ruined. The right leg was torn where she'd been slashed, a smaller hole just beneath her rib cage where his knife had made it through her vest a few millimeters. Matching hole in her vest, and a slash along the front that exposed the stab proof material underneath. It had happened while the vest was zipped, and ran across her stomach. Either attemot would have killed her if she hadn't been wearing the vest. Given the sporty nature and down 'quilted' look to it, the stab proof material might be a surprise. Probably had been to Thunderstorm.

Mostly, she really didn't need Nightwatch, or anyone for that matter, knowing just how committed CC was to the red and yellow color scheme. She colored a little, but quickly dismissed the thought. Wouldn't happen, because she would die of embarassment "M-maybe we can save my poor shoe though?" There, good cover!

Aimee also stood, the motion irritating to her leg but good for her stiff muscles. She glanced at her phone-she'd slept for two and a half hours.

She looked back up as he spoke from the kitchen. He was probably right, but Aimee...Aimee didn't regret it.

His comment made it all the more surprising when he gave her HIS name. Holy crap! Also-why did that make her feel so instantly happy?

"Then extra nice to meet you, Daniel." She said with some surprise-and also warmth, trailing after him. "A-and of course. I...I wasn't going to leave you alone there, with...with him."

So lucky. So, so lucky she had managed to beat Thunderstorm. She wasn't sure she'd ever been more grateful for anything in her life. Daniel. Nightwatch had a face and a name and was real under his mask. She wanted to just hug him. He was alive and okay and not even mad at her.

Her heart was getting a little too fast again. "...I better take that shower i-if that's okay? And borrow a shirt or...something? Please? Sorry."

 

[Armphid]

"You beat him. Don't steal your own victory from yourself," Daniel chided. Or was he acting as Nightwatch now? It mattered though he wasn't sure why. Nor did he know which identity he spoke in currently. "It's something to be proud of. I...don't remember the fight," he said, his voice frustrated. "We'll have to go over it later. Assuming you can stay. I know you still have a life outside of...this."

He shook his head, "Shower first, re-treat your injuries, get nutrients first. I'll wash your clothes and costume while you shower; don't worry the water will stay hot even with the washer on." He went into his bedroom to the walk-in closet; if she followed, she might see that most of the clothes there had a visible bit of dust on the shoulders. He dusted off a button down and t-shirt to offer her, not knowing what she would prefer.

He led her to the other bedroom and set the clothes down on the bed. "The bathroom has everything you might need. It's all clean, everything gets washed weekly in case the main bathroom breaks down; cleanliness is essential to operating at maximum efficiency. Leave your clothes by the door and Ill tend to them." Daniel walked to the room door and looked back at her, "Is...there anything else I can...that you need?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee felt conflicted. She had done what she had had to, but she didn’t relish having to hurt people. She was about to repeat her statement from the night before, that she had used only the necessary force to end a dangerous situation-but didn’t want...to ruin it?

Nightwatch had claimed to be proud of her. Compiler had told her she had done great.

But when she thought about it, she mostly felt a little sick, because everything could have so easily gone much, much different. Remembering that awful skull bashing, the cracking of his helmet and his knees going weak...that didn’t make her feel very good either.

She wasn’t proud. Grateful, but not proud. Hurting Thunderstorm was worth saving Nightwatch’s...Daniel’s life, obviously-but she didn’t feel proud for having beaten Thunderstorm up. But...but Thunderstorm was going to be okay, Compiler said. She hadn’t done permanent damage to him.

Concerned Citizen had done exactly what she had been trained to do-eliminate the threat. It saved both of their lives. Aimee shouldn’t feel...ashamed? For it having happened.

“Assuming you can stay. I know you still have a life outside of...this."

That made her feel a little sad. “I can stay. I called a...I mean, I called off work. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” About the clothes washing-she was running out of ways to politely decline. Maybe she could just hand over her costume and not...but wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of her shower? She felt banged up and dirty. She probably, for all she knew, looked gross.

Aimee had been sort of trailing along after him, partially following him into each room. She had noticed the dust. She wondered if he ever...wore...his clothes? He did go out sometimes, right? Not in costume?

Nodding along to his “maximum efficiency” line politely but her blue eyes looking mildly concerned, Aimee watched him begin to leave, another mention of the laundry and a halting final question that was...well, very nice. He was nice.

She guessed she would have to just...handwash her underthings in the shower or something, and leave just the costume by the door-but then what if he thought she didn’t wear anything under her costume?! Aimee’s eyes widened, her face getting hot as she anxiously tried to figure out which was worse-being thought to scandalously wear nothing under her costume or being found out to wear under garments that matched her costume. Nightwatch wasn’t thinking, and she couldn’t-she wasn’t- this kind of situation had never come up before, she didn't know what to say! She wasn’t very good at saying no, but she had to spare BOTH of them from embarrassment, somehow.

“Thank you but I really d-don’t feel comfortable with- s-sorry, I c-can wash my own clothes. Please, very sorry, thank you-” She didn’t move into the bathroom so much as she darted into it, closing the door as fast as she could without slamming it.

Maybe she should just stay in here until dark because she was looking like an idiot.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Aimee felt a little more put together after the shower. Time to think, calm down. She felt awkward being in a man's house putting on one of HIS shirts-in fact, this would all be rather...inappropriate under normal circumstances, wouldn't it? Aimee frowned as she buttoned the shirt up to her throat. They were just making do as best they could.

And Nightwa-Daniel probably didn't have company very often...maybe...ever? She didn't want to run out on him until she had to. The brothels, the missing woman, Killian's escape- there were a lot of things for nightfall. But for now-she was just Aimee, and he was just Daniel. Which was kind of nice, a small break before...before they got to work on some of Killian’s awful, hopefully.

The bedroom door opened and the petite blonde stepped out holding her costume, everything folded up neatly inside her zipped and folded vest. Her blonde hair was still a little damp and had curled slightly due to being wet-a departure from the usual waves-and was down, the red elastic tie around one of her slender wrists. She seemed a little more awake, refreshed. His shirt looked a little silly on her smaller frame-she had rolled the sleeves up several times just so her hands weren’t swallowed up in the long sleeves. There were conservative dresses shorter than where his shirt fell on her legs so it wasn’t entirely scandalous; but she looked...good in it. Maybe a little too good. It was probably for the best she didn't realize how good she looked-she might not have come out of the bedroom, shy as she was.

“Thank you so much-I feel human again.” Aimee said with relief and gratitude. The night wasn't truly over until she had gotten a nice hot shower-despite it being the middle of the day after last night, she still felt better, more complete and partitioned.

Her usual end of the night shower always helped clear her head.

 

[Armphid]

He stared at the closed bathroom door, his expression baffled. What was that about? She'd gotten as red in the face as her vest before all but bolting into the bathroom and shutting the door with surprising force. His brow furrowed. Had he said something to make her uncomfortable? Had she noticed or disliked his wicked gaze on her?

A thought occurred to him. Had she not wanted him to see or touch her underthings? It wasn't as if he'd never seen or even handled those kinds of things before. Embarrassment, maybe. A pure and proper soul like hers might find it shameful to have them handled by a strange man. Of course, he was curious about her measurements...

He snarled at himself. How dirty he was. How vile. He balled a fist to pound it against his thigh hard, pain stinging up through him. Those thoughts, those feelings were for other, better people. Certainly they shouldn't be directed at someone like her.

He turned away and stalked into the larger section of the penthouse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

When she emerged, her blonde hair damp and slightly curling from the wetness, her skin gleaming bright against the dark color of the button down. Her legs were bare from just above the knees down; showing off a lovely expanse of toned, shapely thigh. The shirt was far too large for her and thus hid her body quite effectively but he was aware of it nonetheless. She looked...good. She looked very, very good.

His heart stirred, as did a lower impulse. Did she have even the faintest idea how radiant she was? How effortlessly lovely and innocently sexy? No. Not a bit or she'd be blushing scarlet again and fleeing.

"I'm glad you feel better," he said after a moment. He had changed out of his costume, it rather removed the primary layer to just leave the few millimeter thin undersleeve. The black material clung to his body like a second skin. He had worn them so long he wasn't really aware now of how snug it was. It ended just below the elbow and below the knee.

"Here." He slid a glass of a thick skate that was a pale brown color, along with a protein bar. "This is...I don't have anything else. It's everything the body needs. Good fuel if not...food."

He turned away from her then, now feeling ashamed himself. Like her being here was overturning a rock under which he'd lived his furtive, desperate life. "You may want to sleep after you...eat. Sufficient rest is essential to operating at maximum efficiency."

He stood there then, not knowing what to do or say. After a moment, "Do your injuries need tended or re-cleaned?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

He’d removed parts of his costume. Aimee pretended not to notice this, just as much as she tried not to notice how tight it was on him, his arms and chest. She had to pretend very hard, or she was going to turn scarlet. He was just, just very handsome and solid, and all of that was none of her business, goodness.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She assured him, distracting herself from his shoulders by peeling the wrapper off the protein bar. “It’s a reversal, right? It is Wednesday, only you made something for me instead. Thank you.” Aimee sounded genuinely thankful, cheerfully soothing. She certainly hadn’t had time to make that cider and twisted donuts. Knowing about this now though, she wished she had.

Good he wasn’t starving, but...food was just nice. She would probably die without strawberries-she loved strawberries. To deny himself even the simple pleasure of food...well, at least she’d been making him things. Somehow though, all those cookies, cakes, breads and muffins didn’t seem like enough.

“I still have to tell you about what happened.” She said in response to his suggestion for sleep. She was a little tired, but she’d gotten the nap in and the shower had helped-mostly she didn’t want to leave him alone. It was so...empty here.

Plus, she had a lot to tell him, aside from filling him in on the night before.

The shake was...well, it wasn’t gross, but it didn’t really taste like much. He could maybe blend frozen fruit up with it, that might be nice. She bet she could do that with fresh fruit and then send him home with all that-it’d be a slow switch to something...less bland. More subtle than trying to send him home with a slow cooker of vegetable soup or something. “I think I got ‘em. I might need stitches for my leg so it doesn’t...scar as bad, but other than some scrapes, soreness and a headache, I’m okay.”

He was still turned away from her and Aimee drank at least half the shake to avoid being rude or make him feel more off-it also wouldn’t do any good to be hungry, later. She went to get the various notes she’d written, coming back to the island. “Does your head hurt? It was Rohypnol that...that put you down last night.”

She was across from him, the island between them as she tapped the dosage and weight information on the section of her notes about the drug. “Killian has somehow aerosolized it-which is a little terrifying, given what people use it for in the States. And a strong enough dose to affect you would have flat killed me. Given his...his awful business, I think he might have made it as an insurance FOR you. The can is in your library. Y-you had me test it last night.” She didn’t want him thinking she had been snooping and using his things without permission.

A worried, remembering gaze. “When I got there, he was standing over you but starting to leave. I was drawn to the office by shots and the sound of glass shattering not long after, so when I saw you on your hands and knees, I-I thought he was armed and had shot you somehow.” She frowned. “I let him think my nervousness about you being injured was fear of him-and he was too busy making fun of me to realize I was moving in range to attack him.” Yeah, bet that had been an unpleasant surprise for a man who sold women and children.

“...so that didn’t go very well for him.” She said in a slightly firmer tone.

 

[Armphid]

He listened to her speak, half turning back to face her. God, she was do wholesome but so alluring right now. That oversized shirt, the bare leg he could see, knowing she was bare under it...

Don't think about it, you slime.

The tall vigilante leaned on the countertop and drank his own shake while she spoke. "Minor headache. I took the medicine you left. Thank you." Those little ritual phrases still felt foreign in his mouth and hollow in his ears. But he knew it was appropriate. And she liked them. "You're right about that spray. ...Good work on your research. You're good at it." He thought a moment. "We need to.go back to that building and destroy what's there, any chemical notes and records. The cops probably won't search it but they'll have secured it. The DA and the Commissioner won't want them to find anything. Killian won't be there...he'll have gone to ground but he'll still he in the city."

An expression came to his face that was like a smile without being one. A baring of teeth that was savage delight in aggression and pain dealt out. "You used your appearance and his assumptions against him. That's well done. Something to be careful with but it can be a good tool in your arsenal." He looked into those achingly blue eyes. "Doctor Toxic and Thunderstorm in one night. And you saved me. You should be proud."

He cleared his throat and the looked away. "I can patch your costume for now. If you have a spare at your...base of operations, you can go get it if you wish or just put the old one on when it's repaired and cleaned. It'll get you through today, at least." A drawer was pulled open as he spoke, "I got this ready while you were in the shower. It's the information for the account. This is what it's for. I understand your refusal before but I'm sure you can't keep replacing equipment on your day job's pay alone. Take it. Use it to be Concerned Citizen...I...this city...it will turn on you. It will hurt you. All of that is still true. But it also needs you."

He set the envelope down on the counter. "Think it over before you say no. Now...I want to hear how you beat him."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"Of course." Aimee said to the thank you, the petite blonde feeling vaguely embarrassed, particularly when he went on to tell her she was good at research. Humble and modest, Aimee never did know quite what to do when given praise. Particularly from people she had immense respect for, such as Nightwatch. One of those pretty, small nervous smiles, embarrassed but flattered. “Thank you.”

She nodded as he spoke, a twinge of happiness somewhere in the seriousness of the planning as he used the word “we”. “Yes. That makes sense. I’m looking for a missing woman-it’s what kickstarted the whole thing, for me-I wanted to check his house, both for him but mostly for her. If he’s hiding somewhere else, she could be there hurt and now alone.” All of it. All of it had to be taken care of.

“A-and the brothels, they can’t stay either. I don’t...know what to do just yet, but it has to stop. Killian has to be stopped.” She felt a little...unsettled by his expression. Again with the pride, but…it had been so awful, fighting Thunderstorm. Brutal. The attack on Killian had been simple, quick, and effective. Only what was absolutely necessary. The fight with Thunderstorm...Aimee couldn’t quite remember how she had felt during the fight, once it had started. Resolved, yes. She wasn’t going to let him kill Nightwatch. But...Concerned Citizen had also been...angry? Not...quite, but aggressive, brutal. Unthinking once she had begun to execute her plan of attack. She had done what she had to. Just enough force...except the desk. She’d slammed him into the desk, after he was already, potentially, passing out. Broke his nose.

Had Concerned Citizen done that in anger, or had she done it to ensure the fight was truly ended? With a bit of dismay, Aimee realized she didn’t know. Almost as soon as he was down, all that resolve, all that aggression had left her. And then she failed to secure the two bad men.

Did he know it was her fault Killian was out there, had gotten away? She would have to tell him. She had messed up, and it didn’t feel quite right to...keep that to herself, she felt like. Needed to be better. She had to be better.

“It won’t work again, should I run into either of them. I...we need to spar more. Harder.” A slow nod. “I have to be better at...at not being afraid, and better at engaging from the start. I wasn’t afraid of Killian, but Thunderstorm-I got lucky. Your training saved us both, is what happened. I would have locked up completely not that long ago.” Even then, if Nightwatch hadn’t of been in trouble...would she have been able to find that resolve to win?

She shook the firm, serious thoughts away, that mindset of the hero she was trying to be, the mask’s personality. Just Aimee, during the day.

An amused smile played around her lips when he used the term base of operations, a small, pretty laugh. The trunk of her car and the tupperware container above the kitchen ceiling tile in her tiny apartment? Yes, very glamourous. “I have a backup costume. It’s slightly different, what I originally had in my trunk before I switched to the vest and spandex. It’ll work tonight just fine.” The museum fire had ruined her previous spandex suit and her shoes. Now she’d bled on the replacement pair. The vest...maybe she could do something with the material underneath-her costume was...was homemade enough, she didn’t want the only professional looking piece to be scraggly.

She’d get the older design. It wasn’t so bad, after all. She needed to check on Sophie anyway-she hoped the kitten hadn’t been too lonely, last night. The little fluffball also liked to knock over her water dish, so… “Once I’ve gotten my leg looked at, fixed up-” And the lecture she would no doubt receive, poor Charlotte. “I’ll pick that up, before dark later today.” Plus, Charlotte would be able to arrange the help and support the women would need, once they shut down the brothels. And maybe...maybe be able to spur police action.

...this city...it will turn on you. It will hurt you. All of that is still true.

Before she could tell him she was willing to risk it, he finished the words and Aimee blinked, her heart picking up pace, that spark of hope. There it was again. His encouragement, unexpected and surprising. Something she would tuck away with the other bits and pieces. She could help. She would help. But all that self doubt and worry felt a little less powerful with every small bit of faith he showed in her.

But she couldn’t take his money. He said to think about it, but she didn’t need to. Aimee wanted to be friends with Daniel. He was helping her immensely as it was. She was so very grateful, and he had assumed they would work together tonight too, without her having to ask for his help. That was more than enough.

He said he had understood her refusal before. Hopefully, he would understand it now. She placed her delicate fingers on the envelope and slid it back towards him, a grateful, warm, and disarming curve of her lips.

“Most of my equipment isn’t very expensive. The vest and the baton are the only ‘professional’ parts of my costume, along with the earbud you gave me.” She’d made her sap herself, even. “So, thank you, but you’re already doing enough.” More than she had ever expected, certainly. She had thought she’d have to hide from Nightwatch, in the city. He’d sought her out almost immediately though, tried to get her to quit. He could have made life difficult, could have tried to force her off the streets. They could have been adversaries.

She was so relieved it hadn’t played out like that. That he had been so kind, even if he probably didn’t see it that way. “You...you really are.” She finished, admiration, respect, gratitude, camaraderie-all of that in those Caribbean blue eyes of hers, meeting his ice blue ones.

Aimee would make a very good, very loyal friend.

Aimee took her hand off the envelope and counter and picked up the neatly folded up vest containing her costume pieces. “I can show you, maybe you’ll see things I should have done differently. And it might help you remember, if...if you wanted to remember it.” Hopefully not her terror though. “Where is your laundry area first please? I’ll throw my shoe in too, hopefully it’ll come out okay.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////

Once she’d started her laundry-relieved to have avoided embarrassment on either front, thank goodness-she returned to where he was. Gosh he was so tall, and even without the outer parts of his costume, just...big. He made her feel even smaller than she usually did, more feminine. She had to stay pretending not to notice the expanse of his chest or the way the muscles on his back lined his spine, meeting strong, broad shoulders. It wasn’t easy. It was...it was rather unusual, uncharacteristic of her to be noticing, to have somewhat disrespectful thoughts about a man. Any man, really. Aimee had grown up in a close knit family, that little triangle of safety with her father and sister. She’d been too busy in college for such things and admittedly a little sheltered, still living at home with her father, much too shy for dorms and too practical to want to pay for an apartment while studying. She hadn’t sought company. Hadn’t really thought on it, and was too shy or oblivious when people did show an interest. And now-too busy. Her schedule was chock full of volunteer activities, her night life, and teaching. Strict time management that didn’t leave time for socializing.

Nightwatch was a valuable ally. It wouldn’t do to go messing with that. Professional. Had to be professional.

And Daniel needed a friend. She could be that. And just that, she couldn’t...Concerned Citizen didn’t need further distractions, and certainly not ones that could potentially harm or impede her goals. God only knew how much time she had, she had to get as much done as she could-and...and she couldn’t do that to him, either. He’d suffered too much already.

Aimee shivered, dismissing the thought. Don’t think about Him. Please, just don’t think about Him.

“S-so, Thunderstorm.” She started, adjusting one of the cuffed, folded up sleeves on his borrowed shirt. “A-and he’s okay-Compiler said he’d be fine. I did what I had to to end the threat-he had made it clear he was going to kill you.” The disclaimer didn’t really make sense. Nightwatch was not going to be concerned about that.

But it made her feel better to say it, to remind herself. “I...I knew about him, so it wasn’t...a good time when he showed up.” She looked down at her open palms, delicate fingers and wrists. “I thought I was dead.” She admitted. He’d see she’d paled a little. "Just...dead. But...I wasn’t going to leave you there. So...I stood to face him anyway.”

“I could see he’d been in a fight with you. You may have thrown him through the glass paneling, I’m not sure-but he wasn’t in top form, thank God. He had a stiff, possibly injured shoulder and had taken a few hits to his face, was cut up. Just what I could see visually. He spent some time being...rude. Didn’t think I was a threat and wanted me to know it, and you to know it, too.” A frown. She didn’t mention the extent of his mockery, or the creepy “sacrificial lamb” comment he had made. The back of her neck prickled just thinking about it.

“He made it clear that with you already down, I...I was just in the way. Of Thunderstorm.”

Jesus. How was she alive? How were either of them alive? Thunderstorm! Concerned Citizen couldn’t handle Thunderstorm! So lucky, so very, very lucky.

“But you’ve been working with me, and...” She tried to remember how it had felt just before she took up her stance, when she resolved to end it. She’d been terrified and then…? Her hands curled into fists and she looked up at him, echoing his previous words. “And I wasn’t going to let you die.” She said with finality, a nod. Color returned to her face and she seemed to shake off the remembered anxiety and fear. She had clearly been very, very afraid.

“He had a sword but opted for a knife. Good. He laughed before coming at me. Also good.” Concerned Citizen straightened her shoulders before dropping into the mixed stance she had used. Boxing, Krav Maga. It was different than what he had seen before at the Orrery-then again, she always seemed anxious she’d hurt him.

“My goal was to take control of the knife and stay on him. I couldn’t give him room to draw the sword, should he decide I was more dangerous than he thought. I moved to meet him, keep him away in case he decided to go for you first after all. He’s got the knife like this-” She pulled his right arm carefully up in an attacking position, palm up. The sort of pose someone intending to swipe up for the throat or face would have.

She brought her own right arm up and pressed against the outside of his, stepping towards that side of him and turning, pausing with her left hand up, as if she had been about to grab the arm with it. She certainly was a smaller woman. “I smack the arm aside like that, hoping he drops the knife- but disarming is not my primary goal. I want the entire arm. I want control.” A small wave with the paused left hand. Her tone was matter of fact now, far from her earlier anxious one, no longer reflecting the ghost of her fear-but also still not prideful. Telling him how it happened, nothing more.

“But I’m too slow-he’s already twisted to follow me, like this-” Turning him be facing her again. “And he surges forward, trying to tackle or pick me up-nothing I want. Nothing I can afford. Not like with Frank West.” She dropped a little lower and sorta pulled him down too, her right forearm crossed partially over her chest, up and pressing into his shoulder near the crook of his neck. Light on Daniel, but she must have shoved hard into Thunderstorm. “I’m keeping my hips back so he can’t grab me. My arm is shoved into the stiff shoulder from the fight with you. And then I hit him from underneath. Alot.” A gesture to the empty space beneath them with her roughed up left fist.

“That’s when he tried to stab me.” She said, gesturing to an area just under her ribcage. “The vest stops it mostly, but the force nearly lifts me up off my feet. Can’t stay there, he’s realized the vest has stab proof lining. He hits me hard in the ribs with his other hand and I move with the force of it to get out of the way-shove him. He’s moving forward because I’m not there resisting, and I pull the baton. Had been my back up plan if I can’t get his arm. But I don’t get to use it, he’s fast and is aiming for my face. Catch the knife with the baton-lucky-and try to kick for his knee as the baton starts breaking-too slow, and he pulls back and slashes me.”

She acted part of this out. Both she and the mercenary were fast. It made sense he had tried to slow her down by going for her legs. He had saved his knee and struck, and she in turn had managed to avoid worse injury by stepping sideways quick enough.

“Something is different. I think...I think he’s starting to realize he’s more worn than he thought. He tries to grab my hair-get control of my head-but I duck and let him slash my vest-” Aimee ducked under his arm and turned sharply, now on one side of him, outside the arm. “Like this.” She said, feeling a little, a little bit of triumph as she led into the next part. She had stayed focused on her original goal, on how she would win the fight.

“And now I’ve finally got him. Two on one control-” Krav Maga. Her small hands wrapped around his arm from underneath, one near the elbow and the other a little higher up, closer to his shoulder. Pulling him down a little with a twist of her torso and curling her arms to press his just under her throat-it would put him in an awkward, bent stance, uneven footing. Her height was actually an advantage against taller opponents in such a move. Even if Nightwatch had wanted to, he would not have been able to straighten up-he would have had to move down or into her, bowl her over against the natural instinct to pull away. “He’s realizing I’ve got control of him. He tries to punch me but can’t, the arm has to move across his body and I’m pressed into his side.” Something she did not entirely mimic here, given their state of dress.

“It’s over.” She said firmly, still no pride, but finality, that small, tiny hint of triumph. “Soon as I have him, I come in hard like this to...to hit...um...h-hello-” Aimee blinked at him. They were both very, very close, like the spar- and he was looking at her since she was explaining to him what happened. A heart beat. Then two.

She released his very solid, very warm arm and stepped back a few paces, bumping into the kitchen island. “S-sorry.” Stuttering blush, widened eyes that were suddenly very interested in her notes again, retreating around the counter to pick them back up again, hiding just a little behind them.

“I b-bashed my skull into him.” Facts Aimee, facts. “H-he was facing forward and down though, t-trying to snap up but-I kept hitting him hard in the temple, breaking the thin material of his helmet.” A wince. “Got him four, five times. He drops the knife, he’s going down-and then I slammed him into Killian’s desk and accidentally broke his nose.” She said in a slowly devolving rush behind her notes.

“It was...it was pretty awful. Worth it to get us out of there, but awful.” She laid the papers down, a shake of her head. “And then I really made a mistake-” Killian had escaped. She wasn’t looking forward to admitting how at fault she was for that.

“I messed up. I just-he was down, I wasn’t dead somehow, and then I moved to help you. I left both of them unconscious but unbound." The guilt she felt was obvious, all over her face, reflected in her eyes. "And then...Killian wasn’t there when the police arrived. Just Thunderstorm. I let him get away." And now he was out there somewhere, doing God only knew what to innocent people. Had to do better. Had to be better.

 

[Armphid]

Her retreat was fortunate for them both. He had focused on her during her explanation of the fight. She was correct, she had gotten lucky. But she was also underselling her part in the victory. That was a battle for another day. As was the bank account. Perhaps he'd just start using it on her behalf; get a few extra costumes made. Baldrick or Kate could scan her for an accurate fit at training. Then he could contact-

Her face was inches from his. Those achingly blue eyes stared into his for a fee beats after her commentary had stuttered and broken. Her eyes were so deep. Her lips so pink, soft looking. Her face flushed. Her body shrouded in that thin bit of cloth was so close he could almost feel her warmth. He managed to keep from groaning as his body reacted the way that of any healthy male who hadn't had any sexual release in four years would she so close to a healthy female that he found attractive.

It felt dirty for that to happen.

It felt good too. He didn't want that; didn't need it.

But her retreat put her on the other side of the island. He capitalized to move himself fully behind it. God damn his weakness, his dirty soul! How dare he react in such a vile way?

But he pushed his inward fury away. He had to focus on her. Her concern over what happened. It was endearing but also dangerous to her already shaky morale. "Good account. A few points. One, that's not how you've moved or fought in training. If that's your real style than you need to practice that. If you've been play fighting all this time...you'll regret it next time we're in the ring." He felt bad as soon as he said it. "Two, you were right to hit his head against the desk. If he wasn't fully out, one stab in the right place would kill either of us. Third...this is the hard one."

He sighed. "You can't catch every one of them. Sometimes you have to make it choice. You could have bled to death in the time it took to secure Killian. The gas used on me was poisonous and I needed immediate medical attention as far as you knew. You prioritized our lives. That's not a mistake. If you had secured him and I choked to death on my own vomit...how would you feel? You chose to save lives. Don't regret that."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"Don't even say that! That would have been awful!" Aimee reacted to the rhetorical question with wide eyed horror. "I was so-I was so scared. I forgot just long enough to beat Thunderstorm, but as soon as he was down-I didn't know what Killian had hit you with, if you were going to be okay. It was scary." She dropped the notes and ran a hand through her hair.

"I-I'm so glad you're okay. You're...you're right, I just..." A shake of her head. She couldn't have known what he had been hit with, the vigilante had been her greatest concern. She was...she was maybe using hindsight unfairly against herself. Nightwatch probably would not let her off the hook if...if she was as responsible as she felt.

Still, Killian was out there. They had to find him, they had to shut down the brothels and track down as many kids as they could. And Miss Johnson-she was out there too. Concerned Citizen would bring her home. They...they would both bring her home.

Aimee rubbed her aching head, absently staring at, but not really seeing, her notes. She was tired. There was a lot to do both tonight for Concerned Citizen and then tomorrow morning for school. "...I might take that power nap, if that's okay? And then I'll go get my leg looked at, grab my spare costume-and meet you at the home address?"

Another thought occurred to her, a slight furrow to her brow. "You...you might want to call Compiler. He was-he was very worried for you too, last night." Vibrant blue eyes lifted from the paper to his icy ones. "He...he seems to be a very good friend, Daniel." She said hesitantly, gently.

And then she'd turn and head into the spare bedroom to curl up on one edge of the empty bed. She...she was going to knit him a blanket. She could find time for that.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Jesus Aimee-not much deeper or a little more to the side and you would have bled out-damn near got your femoral artery." Charlotte was not pleased, stitching the cut up as gently as she could-but it was painful no matter what topical anesthetic you used. Her sister had, wisely, decided not to watch. "You should have called me right away." She further fussed, shaking her head. "And what were you doing? If the guy had a knife, why didn't you run? You could have died. It takes minutes to bleed out-you would have passed out from the drop in blood pressure in less than a minute and been dead not long after."

"I-I'm sorry. I was defending someone else, and they were injured. I had to fight." So apologetic, hesitant. Also not giving her very many details. Charlotte had already tried to pump her for more information, but Aimee wasn't talking. It only made the protective doctor more anxious, more angry about the incident. "Did you go looking for trouble?" She demanded. "The injured guy couldn't flee? If you led the knifeman on a chase instead of-" Charlotte wanted to continue to lecture, but bit her tongue as she cast a glance to her sister's troubled expression.

She tied off the final knot with a sigh.

"Alright...I'll bandage you up and then you need to be careful. Don't tear the stitches-I would stay home for a little while..." God, she didn't like her out there like this. "Any more progress on the park kid? Krogers is ready to put a playground in, once we're ready. " She shifted the subject, being kind to end the interrogation. She could see the relief in the blonde's eyes, and then they talked about Safe Places for a while, as well as another vital project on the forefront of Aimee's mind.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Concerned Citizen's original costume design was fairly similar to the final version. Red and yellow motif, of course. She wore the same bright yellow shoes and had donned one of the trademark baseball caps-she had accidentally left hers in Daniel's apartment, hanging off the knob in his bathroom. Luckily, she had several at home, they were ordered in a set.

The difference was just in the clothing itself. Black, tight fitting running capris clung to her legs, and rather than her vest she was sporting a bright red zip up athletic jacket with no hood. The bright yellow CC emblem patch was sewn into the side of each upper arm of the close fitting jacket as well one over her heart. The zipper was partially undone to reveal a bright yellow shirt beneath it. Her bright red mask did an excellent job to conceal her face with the additional help of the base ball cap. She had that belt with the pouch of jumbled items on one hip and her spare-and now only-baton on the other. It was a decidedly sporty look, much like the vest and spandex-if a little less superhero esque. Minus the mask and emblems, she could have just been a woman on a jog.

Which...may not be the worst thing, given she was sneaking through backyards to meet at the agreed upon spot, her car some distance away. As usual, she was early.