Out of the Ashes, Part 6

Out of the Ashes by Misty Meenor A Comic RetCon Universe Story The Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian characters are the property of DC Comics. Heatstroke nodded in satisfaction as he stepped back and extinguished the bright flame that had covered his form. A thin, finger-width scorched black line outlined the edges of the huge vault door on three sides, pitted and scarred by rivulets of melted steel. Part of the bottom edge still glowed cherry-red, slowly dimming as it cooled. The room was filled with an acrid smoke, uncomfortably warm. Fifteen minutes, right on schedule. His associate spoke. "Phase two complete. Beginning phase three. Five minutes."

---

None of Dan’s usual contacts could shed any light on where the Bone Fists might have gone. I was waiting in the alley behind the bar for Benny the Bouncer to come out for a smoke break, when a voice spoke in my head.
*There is unusual activity on police communication channels in your vicinity. Jade suggested I contact you. Are you able to investigate?*
Jade had given me a replacement for Dolores's friendship ring, but normally I only thought about it when I shapeshifted. When I was Megan it looked identical to the original I kept safe at home, when I became Miss Mars it resembled Jade's ring. Most other times it was easiest just to make it invisible.
This was the first time it had spoken to me. I tried thinking at it as I stepped into deeper shadow and shifted from Dan to Miss Mars.
*Yes, of course. What's happening?*
*A security alarm has been triggered at a research laboratory. Local authorities were alerted from the company headquarters when a security alarm was triggered and then canceled. Normal protocol requires a telephone confirmation in case of false alarm, but this did not occur. On-site security is unresponsive, but I have intercepted one cellular phone call for assistance, claiming an attack by a paramilitary force, estimated size twenty. Objective unknown. Multiple casualties. Police and SWAT are onsite, but taking fire and unable to approach.*
I was in the air before I realized I didn't know where I was going.
*Ah… I'm going to need directions.*
*I can do better than that. Hold the hand with the ring out in front of you.*
I held my hand at arm's length, and a green beacon appeared in the distance, on the outskirts of the city, like an emerald spotlight pointing straight up into the sky.
*This is a low-powered projection directly onto your retinas. Nobody else will see it.*
*Very impressive. Kind of like Google Earth, with the real Earth.* I took off for the beacon, and damned if the smartass thing didn't start labeling the streets for me as I went.
Less than a minute later, I had a bird's-eye view of the scene. Light and dark made no difference to my new eyes, and I could see with a clarity of detail that would give a hawk eyestrain.
A long, well-lit road cut through manicured corporate parkland; at one end was the gatehouse; at the other end, garishly lit by their red and blue emergency lights, a pair of SWAT trucks and an assortment of squad cars and other emergency vehicles. The cops were taking cover behind their vehicles, unable to approach because of the gunfire coming from the gatehouse.
Skewed across the road, blocking it halfway between the two ends, was a squad car, obviously the first on the scene. It was in pretty bad shape; pockmarked with bullet holes, and the windows shattered. Two officers lay behind it, both bleeding badly, one lying prostrate, the other applying pressure to a hole in his partner's chest, heedless of his own wound.
The SWAT guys had sent a pair of men into the darkness on each side of the road, attempting to approach the gatehouse from the sides, but there was little cover, and their approach was slow. Judging from the occasional gunshot from the side doors, the gunmen knew they were being flanked; possibly they had a night vision scope.
*Can you put me in contact with the SWAT team?*
*Speak into the ring*
"This is Miss Mars, I'm a -- an associate of Jade's. Get the medics ready to move. I'm going to take out the gatehouse."
I landed in front of the gatehouse. It was bigger than it seemed from above, one of those places with a small office area and a service counter where visitors could go inside and register. Inside, five men braced their weapons on the counter, pointed at me; they thought they were hiding inside in the dark, but to me they might as well have been standing on main street at noon.
I wished I had a commanding pose to strike; but I was uncomfortably aware of my appearance: a girl, a kid really, very green, in more than one sense. Wearing a very skimpy, [very] form-fitting costume, with kinky thigh-high leather boots. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but I was becoming uncomfortably aware that I was probably the next centerfold of Pedophile Monthly.
At least the football team can't see me now. 9 out of 10, easy.
"Ditch the weapons and come out of there. If I have to take them away from you, you’ll regret it!" I tried to say it with as much authority as I could muster, but it still came out sounding more like a babysitter than a superhero.
Yeah, I probably would have laughed at me, too. But it still hurt. Then they opened fire.
The bullets pinged harmlessly off me as I came in through the window they'd smashed, and tore the counter out of my way. The men moved like they were stuck in molasses as I blew threw them, tearing the guns out of their hands, crushing the barrels, and tossing the guns into one pile and the men into another.
The dead guard gaped at me, still in his chair, with half the back of his skull missing. I didn't worry so much about being gentle after that. I tossed everything loose I could find onto the pile of men, starting with the counter, two desks, and a row of filing cabinets. Hopefully that would hold them till the cops arrived.
I spoke into the ring. "Gatehouse is clear. Get moving."
I picked up the squad car and tossed it off the road, clearing it for the SWAT trucks. The cop on the ground was unconscious and pale, breathing shallowly with kind of gurgling noise. The other one was doing his best to stem the flow of blood from his partner's chest, despite losing a fair bit of his own blood, from a wound in his thigh.
He looked up at me, a kid barely out of the academy, tears streaking his face, too intent on his task to show any surprise at the flying girl. "He's not going to make it."
The paramedics must have started sprinting as soon as I provided a distraction to the gunmen, because they arrived a moment later and immediately set to work treating their patients.
The SWAT trucks were finally moving, roaring past us into the facility, followed by several black-and-whites, with full sirens and lights. The men who were attempting to flank the gatehouse rushed out of the darkness, and burst in through the side doors, weapons at the ready, intent upon on doing it by the numbers. I couldn't really blame them for not taking the weird green girl's word for it, but I did smirk to myself when I heard them trying to lift the filing cabinets.
I was about to lift off to follow the SWAT team when the paramedic sighed and shook her head. "I've stopped the bleeding, but he's twenty minutes away from a hospital. I don't think he has five."
I glanced towards the facility, but I didn’t have to make any choice at all, there was only one possible decision. "I can get him there. Which hospital would be best?"
The woman looked startled, she'd been so focused she'd managed to forget I was even there. "Ah, um, the Trauma Center. At the University."
I pointed to the radio clipped to the woman's vest. "Contact the trauma center, tell them I'm coming in the door, right now." *I'll need a beacon.*
I picked up the wounded cop as gently as I could -- I had to cheat and stretch my arms, a five-foot two-inch girl just doesn't have the reach to pick up a full grown man -- and took off after the beacon.
I met the ER team just inside the doors of the hospital.

~o~O~o~
Heatstroke nodded in satisfaction as he stepped back and extinguished the bright flame that had covered his form. A thin, finger-width scorched black line outlined the edges of the huge vault door on three sides, pitted and scarred by rivulets of melted steel. Part of the bottom edge still glowed cherry-red, slowly dimming as it cooled. The room was filled with an acrid smoke, uncomfortably warm.
Fifteen minutes, right on schedule.
His associate spoke. "Phase two complete. Beginning phase three. Five minutes."
As the two men rigged a forklift to pull the heavy steel door open, two more descended in one of the freight elevators, carrying a number of empty backpacks between them. They slipped into the vault as soon as the opening was sufficiently wide, careful to avoid the hot edges.
After a short time, one of the men ran out to set a pair of much heavier, much fuller backpacks into the freight elevator, then ran back into the vault. A moment later he’d repeat the trip, one man filling the packs, the other carrying them to the elevator.
There was a brief crackle of static over the radio. "SWATs are arriving. No response from gate team."
The leader cursed. "Pull half the men inside, put the rest under cover, but keep them moving, keep the cops uncertain about how many of us there are. They’ll need to sweep the area, they can’t be sure we’re all in one place. Wait for them to open communications. Do NOT let them inside the fence." The leader nodded to Heatstroke and jerked his thumb to the second elevator. "Get up there. Be ready, in case we need you early. And stick to the plan."
After a few more trips, the two men left the vault, laden with the last of the packs. "That’s that last of it."
The leader followed them to the elevator. "When we get up top, empty five of the packs and distribute the stuff between the others. Looks like the gate team won’t make it. As soon as you’re done, start passing them out."
"Phase three complete. Phase four starting. Every man inside gets a pack. Once you get a pack, trade places with a man outside. One at a time, keep it casual, we’ve got an audience. Don’t spoil the surprise."
~o~O~o~
By the time I got back to Terberon Research, the cops had settled around a building at the back of the campus, isolated from the rest by a tall chainlink fence. It was pretty easy to spot all the flashing lights from the air; the vehicles had been parked behind other buildings, out of direct line of fire. The SWAT team had posted snipers on nearby rooftops, and they were observing the activity inside the fence, reporting it to the command center down below. Other men had spread out to secure the gate, using whatever cover they could find. Red flashing alarm lights over the doors on every building made the shadows dance eerily.
Inside the fence, two parcel delivery box trucks were parked haphazardly, with a number of commando types guarding the area. The men were making use of available cover, wherever possible, but they weren’t staying put -- instead, they seemed to be rotating from positions on the perimeter into the building. Each man came out wearing a backpack strapped to his shoulders. All the men were dressed identically in black, even their heads and faces covered; it was impossible to tell if the building held two men, or twenty.
I hovered invisibly in the darkness overhead, trying to figure the gang’s plan, and failing. There was no way those trucks would get past the cops. I tried to figure how I might help the situation: I could disable the trucks, but so could the snipers. I was pretty sure I could disarm the men outside the building, but I had no clue how many more were inside, or if they might have taken hostages. Anything I might do could conceivably make the situation worse. At the moment, it seemed the cops had the upper hand, so I waited.
One of the men stepped out of the warehouse and burst into a brilliant flame, illuminating the whole area. My heart stopped for a moment. I shouted at the ring, "That’s Heatstroke! He killed the cops at the museum! SWAT Team, take cover! Get your men off the roof! He’s going to blast their way out! Normal bullets won’t get through his flame..." I realized I was starting to babble, and with an effort, shut up.
What was happening to me?
My pulse was racing, I was breathing fast and shallow, out of control. My mouth was dry, and the bottom had dropped out of my stomach. I was trembling all over; my hands would not stop shaking. A full blown panic attack.
I was afraid. More than afraid, I was terrified. I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the scene as I could, yet I was immobilized, afraid he might see me, like a mouse in the shadow of a hawk.
Why am I feeling this way?
Heatstroke lifted into the air and blasted out a section of the fence at the side of the compound, away from the cops. Inside the fence, the commandos swarmed around their trucks, lowering the back gates and setting down ramps, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the fiery form of the man who had killed me. As he turned slowly to face the SWAT team, I knew what was coming next.
Those men are going to die.
There was no thought, no hesitation; no matter how afraid I was, I could not remain paralyzed and let those cops be killed. I dove at the blazing form from above, blindsiding him in a -- literally-- flying tackle that would have brought tears of joy to my old football coach, driving my shoulder into the flames and wrapping my arms around him, slamming us onto the roof of the materials warehouse. The impact forced us apart, and we tumbled like ragdolls across the roof, stunned.
Red flames. I can’t breathe. Pain. For a few moments my dream overlay my vision, fire washing across the roof, before it resolved into the red flashing alarm lights, but the smell of burning flesh remained.
And the pain. The pain from my dreams, only this part was very real. I climbed slowly to my feet, staggering as the agony crashed over me, threatening to drag me down into unconsciousness. I looked at my hands and arms; my green alien flesh had become dark, hardened and cracked, like abused leather. I suspected my face and shoulder looked the same way, and I realized I was only seeing through one eye. My fingers and arms were stiff, almost immobile; I had no sense of touch. I could will them to bend slightly but the effort was excruciating, and I had to stop trying and wait for my vision to clear. I tried to envision healthy skin, and shapeshift it into being, but nothing happened.
Do something, or he’ll kill you again.
On the other end of the roof, I could see Heatstroke, his flame extinguished, beginning to stir. I tried to lift into the air, to gain some distance, but I could only lift a foot or so into the air before dropping back to the roof. I staggered, fortunately recovering my balance before I fell onto my burnt hands. I hid behind an air conditioning unit, panting with the effort, leaning my back against it for support. What was wrong with me?
I closed my eyes -- my eye, and tried to calm my breathing, to force the pain into the background. I thought maybe I could feel my strength returning, slowly, unless it was just wishful thinking. Nearby there was pole sticking up from the roof, some kind of antenna, maybe 10 feet tall. Breaking it off without using my hands required some creative thinking; finally I was able to prop myself against the air conditioning unit and push at it with one foot until it bent and snapped. It took more effort than I would have imagined, but I doubted any normal girl would have been able to do it, so I must have some residual strength left.
Picking the pole up was much harder. I slipped my right hand under the pole, and used the left as kind of a paddle to bend bend my fingers around it, then pressed them tight. I bit my lip and whimpered with the effort. Before I could change my mind, I pushed my left hand against the roof to curl the fingers into a loose claw, with which I could grasp the pole. Thus armed, I peered around the air conditioning unit to try and spot Heatstroke.
He had regained his feet, although he looked somewhat unsteady. He spun in a slow circle, scanning the dark roof. The only illumination was below, at ground level, and from the sliver of the moon. The ventilation units and other rooftop devices cast long shadows across the roof, deeper than the surrounding darkness. For a second he looked right at me, as I peered out at him, and my fear rose in my throat, before he turned away, still looking.
He can’t see in the dark the way I can. That was something, anyway.
It had all happened pretty fast, I wondered if he even realized what had hit him. For all he knew, somebody was still out there someplace, getting ready to smash him again. He’d ignite as soon as he could manage it, it was his only protection. Seconds after that, he’d be in the air -- and he’d light up the whole area, I’d have nowhere to hide at all when that happened. I had to hit him before he got off the roof.
He was facing away from me, looking out into the darkness; it was now or never. Gritting my teeth to stifle the scream at the pain, I rushed across the roof as quietly as I could, clutching my weapon like a club.
He ignited before I was halfway there, which was very bad, but in the short term the sudden roar of flame probably kept him from hearing my approach. I screamed as I forced my tortured arms to swing the pole as hard as I could. The sudden shriek from behind startled him, and he turned, in time for the pole to catch him across the face with a solid thud, but his flame cushioned the impact, although it knocked him off the building.
It wasn’t nearly enough. I’d only pissed him off. I pried the pole from my crippled hands. My only chance of escape was to jump off the building, and hope that what power of flight I might have left would cushion the fall so I could find a place to hide. My feet had barely left the roof when he caught me; intense flame erupted around me, eating at my flesh. My back arched as my muscled convulsed, and my last breath came out in an agonized scream, my nightmare come to life.
I didn’t know I was falling until I hit the ground, and then I knew nothing at all.
~o~O~o~
Tony Carpaci stood nervously at the end of the boardroom table, facing the wall of video monitors. The room was large, but in darkness; the sole illumination coming from a small spot lamp that shone straight down, dividing his face into contrasting regions of overbright and deep shadow. He dabbed at his perspiring forehead with an already damp handkerchief.
The video displays flickered to life, revealing a single huge face, stern and unforgiving. "What is it, Mr. Carpaci?"
"Director, you asked to be kept informed. We have acquired a new supply of the raw material, and will resume shipments within the week. We expect to make up the backlog within 90 days."
The face nodded, once. "Make up the backlog in forty-five days, and you’ll be back in my good books, Mr. Carpaci. How long will this new supply last?"
Tony Carpaci coughed. "Ah, well, if shipments continue at current levels, possibly six months. We are trying to find alternative sources, but as you know, the material is highly regulated --"
"Do not presume to tell me what I already know, Mr. Carpaci. I will forward you what intelligence we have on foreign sources. Do what you have to. What is the status of your tame metahuman?"
Tony Carpaci stiffened at the sudden change of subject. "Ah. Well, he was injured slightly during the acquisition operation, but he heals quickly. There was another meta, but she has been eliminated."
"We are watching this with interest. Metahumans could prove very useful, but ultimately control is a serious concern. If he turns on you, the consequences will affect Intergang. That will not be allowed to happen. Consider chipping him."
Tony mopped his brow. "Certainly, Director, but not until the chances of success are higher. Otherwise we risk damaging him, or provoking the very change of allegiance we are trying to prevent. His ability to heal elevates the risk --"
"Make sure you can control him, that’s all." The screen went dark.

~o~O~o~
The darkness spat me out again.
I woke to the familiar comfort of my own bed, and the familiar comfort of a warm body next to mine, softly snoring. The curtains were open to the early morning sunshine, and wafted gently in the cool morning breeze.
There was no sign of the pain, in fact I felt wonderful, like I’d had the most perfect night’s sleep. Had I been medicated? I lay still, half afraid to move in case the pain came back. My memory seemed pretty complete, up to the fall off the roof; more precisely, the end of the fall. After that, nothing at all that would explain waking up in my own room with Dolores trying to steal all the covers.
Tentatively, I wiggled my toes. They felt like they moved, and there was no pain. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. So far, so good. Finally I slipped my hand out from under the sheets, and examined it, flexing my fingers. My skin was covered in a dark ash, flaking off in places to show my usual green skin underneath. I covered one eye, then the other. Both seemed fine.
I shifted slightly, so I could turn my head and watch Dolores sleep. She was on her side, her hands pulled up to her chest, just touching my arm, with her top leg entangled with mine, as if for reassurance that I was there. Her hair had fallen over her face, but I let it lie; she was perfect as she was. It came to me that this was the second time I’d done this to her. I was glad at least she’d been spared seeing it happen, this time. She didn’t deserve any of this; she deserved happiness and children and a husband who didn’t keep putting her through the wringer.
Her eyelids fluttered and opened. We spent a timeless moment just looking into each other’s eyes. "Morning," she whispered.
I smiled sadly. "Morning, baby. I guess I did it again. I’m sorry."
She brushed the hair from her face, and gave me a reproachful look. "Well, I admit it was rough at first, but Jade promised me you were healing. Once you started breathing again, it was just a matter of when you’d wake up."
I rolled over on my side to face her directly. "Hold on. Jade was here? I wasn’t breathing?"
She grinned, taking pleasure in my confusion, although with what I’d put her through, I couldn’t begrudge her whatever enjoyment she could find. I just never suspected she had such a vindictive streak. "Well, first she had to get you away from the feds, they wanted to dissect you. Of course, they thought you were dead. Not that it would have mattered, I suspect. She had to promise to give you back if you didn’t revive. And since you did revive, a different set of feds want you. Just to talk. Jade says these ones are okay, I think she used the one set to pry you loose from the other set. Of course, the YouTube videos helped. I don’t know if Jade had anything to do with that or not."
She wanted me to suffer; the least I could do was suffer for her. "Two sets of feds. YouTube. I-I was dead?"
Dolores gave me a fragile smile, her eyes taking in my face intently, relishing my confused state. Then she closed her eyes and nodded, "Oh, yeah. You were very d-dead," she whispered shakily.
Eventually, after a long shower together -- we were both covered in flakes of my charred skin -- and cleaning up -- ditto for the sheets -- I managed to weasel the story from her in some kind of coherent form. Some of this she got from Jade, some from the news, some from friends in the police department.
I’d fallen from the roof, blazing. Heatstroke put up a wall of flame along the fence, incidentally melting the fence, but making it opaque and impassible, driving the SWAT team back.
In the meantime, the purpose of the cube vans was revealed: each of the commandos entered a truck, and rode out on a motorcycle, an off-road bike, which they drove through the hole in the fence Heatstroke had opened originally, escaping cross-country in the dark with the aid of nightvision goggles. The bikes were later recovered all over town, no two in the same place.
Heatstroke then incinerated one of the SWAT trucks, resulting in an explosion that injured several cops, two of them critically, but was driven off when he was hit by one of the snipers, who had loaded armor-piercing rounds. That made sense, AP rounds had tungsten alloy cores, which made them very hard, with the additional benefit of making them much more difficult to melt. Unfortunately, Heatstroke’s wound was in the leg, and wasn’t thought to be serious.
That was about the time the Feds finally arrived, nobody was quite sure what department they were from, but there was no doubt they were legit; their credentials checked out all the way back to Washington. They shut down the whole scene, and sent the cops packing.
Shortly after that Jade showed up, looking for me; apparently in the commotion everyone had forgotten about the Crispy Kid. Apparently my ring had notified her that I was down but was insisting there was some residual brainwave activity. The Feds gave her a hard time, first accusing her of trying to remove evidence from a crime scene, and later, when they realized what I was, trying to lay claim to my remains, the logic being that if I was still alive, I couldn’t have been human. Since only humans can be citizens I couldn’t have been a citizen and so was not entitled to any rights. Not that citizenship ever kept the Feds from something they wanted badly enough.
Well, it seemed Jade is on speaking terms with a different group of Feds. Those Feds were also interested in the heist, and were already en-route, but, being located in Houston, they were still in the air. She managed to get her Feds to make the other ones back off. After the fact, since by that time she’d already whisked me away to the medical bay of her Starcruiser.
Which verified what my ring had been detecting. Apparently my cells were spontaneously regenerating, slowly at first, but accelerating exponentially; one healthy cell split into two, two cells made four, then eight, then sixteen. Before long it was obvious to the naked eye, from one hour to the next. According to the ship, the healing would have happened on its own, but it was able to devise a nutrient formula that provided exactly what the cells needed, for an optimum rate of regeneration. For forty-eight hours I was suspended in a vat of the stuff. Finally I started breathing again, and my brainwaves lifted from not-quite-flatline to normal deep sleep, and Jade thought it was safe to bring me home.
"There’s some of the nutrient stuff in the fridge, made for drinking. Apparently you should have some every few hours till it’s gone," Dolores finished, as she was folding an omelette over some diced ham and cheese.
I finished setting the table, and opened the refrigerator to find a generic plastic jug. I opened it and sniffed at it experimentally, then chuckled and poured some into a glass. I took an experimental sip, and smacked my lips. It was oddly satisfying, easing a craving I didn’t even know I had. "I think Jade’s ship has a sense of humor, this stuff tastes like Tang, the astronaut’s drink. So, what’s this about YouTube?"
"Apparently some photographer was riding with the cops when the alarm went off at the facility. He grabbed some stills of you at the gatehouse, and a video of you going in and coming out. The video’s kind of Blair Witch stuff, jerky and not much to actually see, but there’s a few frames where the muzzle flashes of their guns kind light up the inside. You can see there’s five of them, and they’re shooting at you. But the stills, they’re hot, babe. There’s one with you holding that squad car over your head, and another of you carrying that cop to the hospital, just as you were lifting off. Movie poster stuff. He probably sold those to every news outlet in the world." She shudders. "There’s some stills from your fight with Heatstroke, too. Video of you tackling him that’s just hard for anyone to watch, it’s clear you were burning. God, the pain you must have been in! And one... just l-lying there, all burnt, not even a sheet over you...
"Anyway, he was there when the first feds were arguing with Jade about jurisdiction. He had the stuff up on YouTube almost immediately, with a note about how the Feds wanted to d-desecrate your corpse. The outrage was unbelievable."
She was growing upset talking about it and I wrapped her in a hug for a few moments, just holding her. "I hope that’s not how you found out."
She shook her head. "No. Jade called in the middle of the night and said you’d been hurt, but you were safe. You were right about her, she’s really nice. Of course I was frantic, and couldn’t sleep a wink; but in the morning, once she was sure you were improving, she came and got me." Her eyes went wide as she recalled. "That was... surreal. I mean, damn! I’ve been to the moon!
"I sat next to your tank for a little while, keeping you company. Oh, hon, you looked awful -- but I could see you slowly healing, right in front of my eyes! I felt better, just being there. Jade and I chatted for a bit, I get the impression she’s kind of lonely. After a few hours, she brought me home. That’s when I saw you on the news." She counted back on her fingers. "The heist was Monday night, so it was Tuesday when I saw you. Yesterday afternoon Jade called and said you were breathing on your own, and ready to come home. So she brought you home."
I had a mouthful of omelette when the date clicked. "Mmmph. Today is Thursday?"
Dolores nodded, "Yes, why?"
I slumped in my chair and slapped my forehead. "Oh, crap. I missed the algebra quiz yesterday. I’m going to need a note."

~o~O~o~
We were cleaning up the breakfast dishes when I heard a cheery voice in my head.
"Your ring tells me you’re awake, how are you feeling?"
I spoke out loud, hoping my ring would get the hint. It was connected to the ship’s A.I., after all. "Jade! I feel a hundred percent! I recommend your spa highly." I shared a fond look with Dolores, who was looking at me like I was some fool talking to voices in my head. "I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. For both of us. "
Jade’s voice erupted from thin air, and I grinned as understanding came to Dolore’s eyes. "I’m just glad I was able to help." Her voice grew introspective. "One of these days I won’t be able to help, and I’ll lose one of you. I just want to put that day off as long as I can."
My heart went out to her, it was an awful responsibility. Some of Jade’s heroes were just kids. Dolores’ arm went around me as she spoke up. "Jade... I can’t imagine doing what you have to do. It must be a terrible burden to have to bear alone. I just want you to know, if you ever want to talk, or if there’s any way we can help, we’ll be there. I hope you’ll count us among your friends."
I nodded emphatically, and entwined my fingers with Dolores’, holding her arm around me. "Absolutely."
Jade was silent a few moments. "Dolores... Megan... Your offer means a great deal to me. Thank you. And I would be honored to count you as my friends." She hesitated. "Ah, there was one tiny thing you could do..."
I chuckled. "Name it."

---