Out of the Ashes, Part 7

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. "Hey! Wait! You said you wanted to talk!" I sighed and settled back to the roof. "We have been talking. We’ve been talking about what a bunch of fuckups you are. How you’ve been infiltrated, and you knew it, and you dragged me into this anyway." My voice was rising. "I am not interested in your games. I’m just trying to cope with the shit that’s been dumped on me, live my life, and help out where I can. As far as I can tell, the only thing that keeps me out of your hands is that you don’t know who I am." I folded my arms across my chest. "I don’t know why you asked Jade to set up this meeting. I don’t know anything about your group. I don’t know what your intentions are, or if I should trust you even if you told me. I’m not feeling a lot of government love out there for metas. Some of you guys have already tried to cart me off and dissect me, alive or not. I was lucky -- lucky! -- Jade was there for me. Nobody else was. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t you. Or maybe you’re just plan B."

---

~o~O~o~
I got off the bus and crossed the street to the Starbuck’s, trying to figure out how many of the busy patrons were actually Federal agents. I’d been past the place several times in the last two hours, wearing a different shape each time. I was no stranger to stakeouts, and when you knew what to expect, some things were just obvious.

I’d actually been inside sipping a coffee, posing as a businessman, when the agent I was supposed to meet walked in. She was early, of course. That was par for the course, but something wasn’t right.

For this meeting I’d decided to give them as little information about my shapeshifting abilities as possible; I remained in my Miss Mars shape, although with a more passable skin tone. I left my hair mostly alone, just tying it back at the nape of my neck with a teal scarf that complimented the red nicely, leaving it to hang down past the small of my back. No schoolgirl look for me today, I was going for something a little more mature; designer jeans over calf-length heeled boots, a faded cotton collared shirt, and a suede jacket. A little makeup, some modest jewelry, sunglasses and a shoulder purse completed the look. I caught the bus a couple of blocks away, and rode it back to the Starbuck’s, and staged my entrance.

I ordered a small iced peppermint white chocolate mocha that I had no intention of drinking. I figured my Starbucks preferences would wind up in a database someplace and be analyzed by the  ‘experts’, so I was just messing with them, and it gave me a chance to case the joint one more time. Something was still off.

I carried my drink over to the table where the agent was waiting, and she rose to greet me. Young-looking, despite dressing like a grownup, a little taller than me. Athletic. Very attractive, though she tried to tone it down. She was dressed in typical agent wear; dark suit, nicely tailored. Trousers, not a skirt. White blouse, feminine, but not too frilly. Modest shoes, no heel. No visible jewelry at all, although I expected she was probably wearing a watch. Subtle makeup, competently applied. Long blonde hair, in a soft braid down her back; I wasn’t completely familiar with the dress code for female agents, but that was almost certainly non-regulation. Understandable, under the circumstances. I smiled and extended my hand, she shook it automatically. "Agent Carter, a pleasure. Mind if we take a walk?"

Her lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed slightly. I could see she was reassessing me. Another agent might have tried to regain control of the situation, stay on script, but she’d decided to go with the flow. "No, not at all."

We stepped out into the street, turning the corner and strolling casually down the block. About halfway down, we passed a large van, ostensibly belonging to a plumbing supply shop. I smacked it with the flat of my hand, hopefully loud enough to make the men inside jump. "This one yours?"

I peered at her over my sunglasses; her lips quirked as she struggled to maintain her composure. "Ah, yeah."

I tsk’d. "It’s in a no-parking zone. Cops have been by twice, but no ticket. Sloppy." I crooked my finger and led her a little farther on, pointing across the road and down a side street to another van. Carpet cleaners, this time. "If that one’s yours, then whose is that?"

That one startled her. "I... ummm... I don’t know."

I nodded, then led her a short ways farther down the block, to an alleyway between two buildings. I pointed to the fire escape running a zigzag up the side of the taller one, maybe ten stories high. I’d picked it because it was the tallest in the immediate vicinity. "I really do want to talk. But I’d prefer some privacy. Check in with your team and I’ll meet you on the roof?"

She grinned. "Gimme five, I’ll be there."

~o~O~o~
I stood near the edge of the roof, watching the street for a few minutes, then turned as Agent Courtney Carter, American Dream, stepped off the fire escape. She came up fast, but there was no way she’d sneak up that thing, the metal creaked with every step she took. She must weigh a lot. "Turns out, that van was just a van," she said reproachfully. Ten flights at a dead run, and she wasn’t even breathing hard.

I shrugged, and grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. But you sent five agents to check it out."

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Then she realized where I was standing, at the edge of the roof with a full view of the carpet van. Finally, she shook her head and burst into laughter. "Oh, you bitch. you’re good."

I chuckled, relieved she was able to see the humour. I sent a mental query to the ring, to make sure it was still keeping our conversation private. "Look, I’m sorry about that, but I needed to know something. How many agents did you have at the restaurant? I counted two inside, one out. Was the barista one of yours?"

She shook her head. "The barista wasn’t one of ours. No comment on the agents."

I chewed my lip. "She’ll be gone by now, anyway. There was a brunette in a blue sweater with a big shoulder bag at the bus stop, and a balding guy in jeans and a grey sports coat at a table by the window, were they yours?"

Agent Carter shook her head. "No, damn it. I remember seeing that guy. You sure?"

I nodded. "The two of them were there before you guys showed. They swapped positions about every twenty minutes. I wasn’t positive about the barista, but I thought I caught her making eye contact with the man while she was making my coffee. If they had their own comms van, though, I never spotted it. I’m kind of thinking they didn’t."

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?" She didn’t seem overly surprised at my news.

I twisted a stray lock of hair absently around my finger, trying put my thoughts in order. "Another organization exists, with the ability to put trained agents in the field on short notice. You have a leak to this group; you set the time and place for the meeting, and they were here before you. They were rushed, though, hence the lack of backup. You know about the group, and that there’s a leak; you had agents around that van maybe thirty seconds after I pointed it out to you, and they were ready for trouble. You guys had way more agents in the area than this meeting called for; you sure don’t need their protection, and if you were after me, you wouldn’t have chosen to meet at such a busy location." Plus, you’d need an army.

I held up my hand, wiggling my ring finger. "I assume this is still blocking your comms?"

She nodded glumly. "Yeah. Every time we think we have a handle on it, it changes again. I think Jade’s A.I. is playing games with us."

I frowned, trying to wring the facts out as tightly as I could. "If they didn’t know about my ring’s ability to mess with your comms, the cafe might be wired for sound. You might find something you can trace if you look. If they did know, I’d bet the other agents were lip readers, or more likely capturing video for analysis by somebody who was. So it might be bugged anyway, but with video rather than audio bugs. If you find anything, what you find might tell you what they know about the ring."

I held up the drink I’d bought, studying it. "If the barista was one of them, then this cup is suspect. Maybe they were planning on recovering it and trying to pick off my DNA, or trying to ID me by my fingerprints. Or it has radioactive tracers, or poison, or something." I set it down out of the way, glad I hadn’t ordered something I actually wanted to drink.

That was pretty much all I had. "If they went to the trouble and risk of scrambling their own people to collect data, they probably can’t steal your data yet. Which might indicate the leak isn’t in your computers or your radio transmissions. That’s just me guessing, I doubt you could afford to exclude any possibility. That’s for your security people to decide."

She looked impressed. "You are good. We’d come to the same conclusion on the leak, by the way. Mind if I talk to my team? I want to follow up on those others. And sweep the cafe for bugs."

I nodded and she stepped away, out of the range of the ring. After a few minutes she came back. "The barista’s long gone, the manager says somebody waved a badge in his face and sent the real one home. We found nothing in the cafe, but that doesn’t mean anything; they could have been wearing a hidden camera, or something. We do have the three of them on our own surveillance footage, so we’ll try to work an ID from there."

"Glad to help." I flipped her a salute, and rose into the air. "I’ll be going now."

She looked suddenly worried, and moved closer, like she might try to hold me back. "Hey! Wait! You said you wanted to talk!"

I sighed and settled back to the roof. "We have been talking. We’ve been talking about what a bunch of fuckups you are. How you’ve been infiltrated, and you knew it, and you dragged me into this anyway." My voice was rising. "I am not interested in your games. I’m just trying to cope with the shit that’s been dumped on me, live my life, and help out where I can. As far as I can tell, the only thing that keeps me out of your hands is that you don’t know who I am."

I folded my arms across my chest. "I don’t know why you asked Jade to set up this meeting. I don’t know anything about your group. I don’t know what your intentions are, or if I should trust you even if you told me. I’m not feeling a lot of government love out there for metas. Some of you guys have already tried to cart me off and dissect me, alive or not. I was lucky -- lucky! -- Jade was there for me. Nobody else was. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t you. Or maybe you’re just plan B.

"I risked a lot to come here for this meeting. I’ve already given you more than I’m comfortable with, maybe enough for you to deduce my identity. And you guys screwed up by the numbers. If I’d been dumb enough to trust you guys, we’d be sitting in that cafe and somebody else would know everything we talked about. Game fucking over. The more contact we have, the greater the risk to me."

I sighed, and stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets. "Agent Carter, I don’t want to be your enemy. But I can’t afford to be your friend."

Agent Carter just looked at me for a minute, fuming, her arms crossed under her breasts. "You done?"

I nodded mutely.

"We’re pretty sure your name is Megan Morse, you live on Hillside Crescent and you’re a senior at Joe Shuster Collegiate. Your teachers like you, by the way. you’re shy and don’t mix with the other kids much. We started looking for you when we got the report of a metahuman incident at a mall here. That was you, wasn’t it?"

I slumped and sat down on a ventilation duct. "Yeah. That was me," I whispered, defeated. Oh, shit.

She smirked, "You want to know how long it took to get a short list of suspects? About ten seconds. Anytime a new meta pops up? Look for new teenagers. Piece of cake. The ID bit was clever, that probably would have slipped past us. But when you asked for a new birth cert and SSN card, you might as well have taken out an ad in the paper."

I set my head in my hands, studying the gravel on the rooftop, and nodded. "Yeah, that worried me, after it was too late. I could have had forgeries made with the real data..." I laughed sharply. "...but I wasn’t exactly myself at the time."

She sighed, watching me. "Look. We’ve known about you for a little over a month. What have we done about it? Not one damn thing. On the evidence, we have a powerful meta, who shows up for the first time and saves lives. Even the bad guys knew it. You could have ripped off an arm and beat them to death with it. But you didn’t. What happened after that? You disappeared. You didn’t seek the spotlight, didn’t follow the cops around and stick your nose into normal police business. you’re not a vigilante. You didn’t show up again until the cops were in real trouble. And you did it again. Saved that cop’s life, avoided killing those bastards at the gatehouse. I’m not sure I would have been so generous. You damn near died to protect the SWAT team. Believe me, they noticed."

Rather than stand over me, she sat down next to me, on the gravel, heedless of her suit, wrapping her hands around her knees. "Megan, you’re the metahuman problem we’d like to have. Your file was stamped  ‘Low Risk To Society’ and shoved to the bottom of the pile. I promise, you have nothing to fear from my department."

What she said made sense. Reluctantly, I asked, "What is your department, exactly?"

Agent Carter looked uncomfortable. "Metahuman Information Bureau, MIB. Somebody started calling us the Men In Black, and we’re stuck with it. Under Homeland Security."

I snickered. "That explains the suit, then."

She looked down at her dark suit, fingering the jacket, and chuckling sourly. "Yeah, well, I used to be Army. Then FBI, Hostage Rescue. Now this. It’s just another uniform, you know? Saves having to think about what to wear every day. Besides, it’s hard enough getting the guys to take me seriously without dressing like a kid. Shit, anytime I wear my Dream uniform on a mission, they’re afraid to look at me." She over at me with a grin. "I’ve seen those pics on YouTube. You must have the same problem."

I shook my head ruefully. "Half the time I still can’t even look at myself without feeling like a pedophile. No way do I need a team for that." She was easy to like, despite my initial distrust. And Jade had recommended her. I decided to go out on a limb. "How much time do you have, Agent?"

She shrugged. "All afternoon, if that’s what it takes. We really do need to talk. And it’s Courtney. Call me Court. If you ever call me Dream, I swear I’ll call you Missy."

I grinned. "Give me a couple minutes, Court. Check in with your team, I’ll be right back."

Several minutes later I was back, with a plastic grocery bag. She held up a finger to me, pacing at the edge of the roof, deep in conversation. I whistled sharply to get her attention, and pulled a can of beer out of the bag. I lobbed it to her overhand, football-style. She snatched it out of the air easily with one hand, and I pretended not to notice when she realized what it was and squealed, well, like a girl. I found a comfortable spot on the gravel with my back to a ventilation duct, and pulled another out for myself, popping the top with a loud "Fsssht!" and taking a long drink.

She sat down cross-legged across from me a moment later, opening her own beer and drinking deeply. "I told them I might need the whole afternoon. Damn, I was beginning to forget what these tasted like. All my ID says 21, but nobody believes it," she mourned. "Most places they take one look at me and just laugh." She sighed.

I chuckled. "My old drinking buddies think I’m dead. I figured we could each use a new drinking buddy."

She grinned and tapped her can against mine, then grew more serious. "Must be rough, having to start over."

I tried to figure out how to explain. "It’s hard to say, it kind of is and it isn’t. I miss my old life, a lot. But I don’t think I could have just announced, ’ ‘Hey, I used to be Dan Hunter’ -- ’" I glanced at her nervously. "If you found me, you must have figured out I was Dan, right?"

She nodded wryly. "It didn’t take much work with a calendar to figure you probably used to be Dan Hunter, and you pretty much sealed it today, detective."

I looked sheepish at that. " -- anyway, it’s not like I could just shown up for work the next day like this. I sure couldn’t be a cop. I doubt most of my old life would have survived the change, and it would have been a painful and lengthy demise. This way, it’s a clean start. I’m gonna be a girl forever, I might as well get started." I chuckled, "Believe me, it was nowhere near as easy as it sounds. I don’t know if I could have worked up the nerve by myself. But I think it’s for the best. Somehow, I still have Dolores, so I count myself ahead of the game, all told. Her life has been seriously messed up by this, too, and she doesn’t get super powers to compensate."

I took a sip of my beer. "What about you? It must be tough around those military types, without a dick to swing."

Court’s face lit up and she pointed her beer at me. "Ha! You totally get it. That’s exactly how it is. It doesn’t matter that I could kick any of their asses when I was a guy, and all of them together, now. It doesn’t matter that I had three tours of duty as a Ranger, field experience in Hostage Rescue. Most of them just aren’t wired to take a woman seriously. Worse, a girl. I should keep a big fucking cock dildo in my desk, just to wave at them when they start looking for a dick fight."

I almost snorted beer through my nose at that image, and she grinned for a moment, then studied her beer can, turning it around in her hands. "Most of my old team asked to transfer out, they knew it was the old me, and they really tried, but it was just too much. Not to mention the pity, I couldn’t stand it after a while. It’s actually worked out for the best. The new team has only ever known me as Courtney, and there’s a few women, now, so it’s easier. But they still think they’re taking orders from a kid. Off-duty, the men treat me like I’m jailbait. The women are better about it, but it’s not like we have a lot in common. There was one..." She smiled sadly, then shrugged.

She drained her beer and I passed her another, opening one for myself. "At first, I had a shrink looking over my shoulder almost every day, she hated the idea that I could change into a girl and still be functional. But I could, as long as I had a job to do. I could acknowledge the change, you know? Even if I hadn’t really absorbed it. You know what would have happened if I’d done what you did, and just dove in? They wouldn’t trust me. The dick-swingers’d stamp my file  ‘Unfit for duty’. I’d be back in the lab, a guinea pig while they analyzed their  ‘failure’. No fucking way is that happening. As long as they think I’m still a soldier in a girl costume, I’m an asset, a weapon. I can be trusted. So, I adapt as fast as the shrinks think I should, but no faster."

We spent a few moments in silent commiseration, sipping our beer. "So why did you want to talk to me? You already seem to know everything there is to know."

Court smiled wickedly. "Why does it always have to be about you?" she teased. "It’s about your robbery."

I arched an eyebrow. "My robbery?"

She shrugged good-naturedly. "Whatever. The reason my group has taken an interest is that there were two metahumans involved, powerful ones. You, we can account for. It’s the other guy we want. That part’s pretty straightforward. Here’s what’s not: we don’t know what was stolen. In fact Terberon is denying they are missing anything. And as far as we can tell, our leak didn’t start till we took an interest in this robbery."

My eyes widened. "Ahh. Interesting. What does that have to do with me?"

"Our people will open a file on Heatstroke, and we’ll head home, leaving the local office to follow up. If there’s a leak, that’s all they’ll know. I was hoping you might do us a favor. Look into what was stolen, and why the coverup. Your background as a detective makes you a perfect choice."

"Who were the first Feds on the scene?" I frowned, considering. "They have to be the prime suspects. Why look any farther?"

Court nodded darkly. "They’re almost certainly the ones behind this. What we don’t know is why. They’re the Department of Extranormal Operations, they are extremely well funded, and extremely secret. We don’t know who’s in charge, or even who’s paying the bills. Our best guess is that the various military and intelligence branches are all contributing a share of their secret budgets for this. Terberon receives a number of very lucrative research contracts from the D.E.O., so they’ll jump through hoops to stay on their good side, especially since they’re in the doghouse after letting themselves get robbed."

"So... you want me to figure out what was stolen." I was thinking out loud. "And if I know that, I might know why it was so important to deny that it was. And why it was stolen."

Court nodded. "Plus, who the hell took the stuff, whatever it was."

"Oh, I already know that." I grinned at her stunned expression. "What, a guy has to retire, just because he’s dead? Heatstroke is connected to the Bone Fist Gang. Who work for the Crime Cartel. The Fists have been off the street for a couple of weeks, word was that they were getting ready for a big job. I’m willing to bet they’re back now." I frowned. "I might know where the stuff went, too..." I drifted off in thought for a moment, then shook myself back to reality. "Anyway, what do you know about Heatstroke? Got an ID for him yet?"

She shook her head. "Guys like him can be a challenge. He’s probably getting by with fake ID, no computer trace of him."

"Pffft, you kids these days, think it’s all in the computer," I teased. She tossed her empty at me, I picked it out of the air. "Well, you can maybe narrow it down." I pulled my knees up to my chest and thought about it. "His first job for the Cartel was to kill Hillary Carstairs, she was a grand jury witness. Work back from there, look for any unexplained fires; he had to learn about his powers somehow. I doubt you’ll have to go back far, when I first met him, he definitely had some feminine mannerisms, so I bet he used to be a woman, and recently. If his first gig was working directly for Tony Carpaci, I bet there was some prior connection to the Cartel, as a she. Somebody’s girlfriend, maybe? Otherwise, he’d need to get some street cred first. You don’t just walk in and ask to meet the boss. You have seen the video from the museum?"

"We’ve requested it, but haven’t received anything." Court looked disgusted. "Cops say they can’t find it. The Carstairs killing is news to us, that’ll help."

"Seriously?" That worried me. "Damn, that’s not good. The tape was a video confession implicating Carpaci. I know there was a backup made at the time. That bastard moves fast..." I sighed. "So I’m probably the only witness who’s seen Heatstroke up close and lived to tell about it. Well, except I didn’t. Live. But I can tell about it." I closed my eyes, trying to picture the kid at the museum. "Okay. About six feet tall, scrawny. Maybe seventeen. Pale complexion, freckles, shaggy orange-red hair. Probably looks like a lit match. When he’s on fire, somehow his flame acts as some kind of armor. Normal bullets melt before they can penetrate, although projectiles can get through if fired from close enough. I hear AP rounds seemed to get through. I’ve extinguished him with water, a-and with f-foam from an ex-extinguisher..." I realized I was shaking, and it was hard to catch my breath. "A-and for some re-reason, just thinking about him scares the sh-shit out of m-me..."

I closed my eyes, clenched my hands into fists, and rested my forehead on my knees, and gradually the panic faded.

Courtney looked concerned. "Nightmares, too?"

I nodded. Quietly, she asked, "Have you spoken to anyone about this?"

I rolled my eyes at her. "My health benefits suck." I smiled wanly. "The closest hospital on my plan is on the other side of the moon. I’ll cope, thanks." I realized I’d turned green again, and hastily restored my skin tone.

Her eyes widened at my color change, but she just smiled briefly at my feeble joke, remaining unconvinced. "You really should talk to somebody. Don’t take my word for it. Talk to your Dolores, at least? See what she thinks. If you do decide to see somebody, pick whoever you want, keep it as private as you want. Nobody has to know. I’ll make sure it’s on the government’s nickel."

"I know, I know, the last thing the world needs is a meta with  ‘’issues’," I agreed reluctantly.

"Hey," Courtney leaned forward and put her hand on mine. "Seriously. This isn’t about the world. This is for you. I won’t tell a soul, you have my word. But I’m gonna bug you about it. It’s important. Talk to Dolores, promise?"

I nodded reluctantly, and gave her a shaky smile, then drew a deep breath, and hurried to change the subject. "At the museum, I threw the extinguisher at him. It exploded, and a piece of the shrapnel went into his side. If he’d been normal, that might have killed him. As it is, I bet he needed a doctor, which means there might be records somewhere..."

~o~O~o~

"So, then we just talked for awhile. Just... venting, I guess. Sharing our frustrations. De-stressing. Sometimes you just have to sit down and laugh at the absurdity of it all." I chuckled. "I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time." I was filling Dolores in on the day’s events, over dinner. "She’s based out of Houston, for me that’s as good as next door, so I told her to call me if she wanted to just hang out."

Dolores’ eyes twinkled. "I think it’s wonderful you’re making friends with all the other little superheroes, darling. I simply must call her mother. Perhaps we could have coffee, while you girls run off and save the world."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "Seriously, I really like her, but I do feel a little sorry for her. She’s had to go through all this under a government microscope." I placed my hand over hers, squeezing it gently, and meeting her eyes. "It made me appreciate even more how incredibly lucky I’ve been, to have you."

"Awww, that’s sweet." Dolores blushed and squeezed my hand back, and we looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. "But it’s still your night to wash the dishes."

I pouted and tossed my napkin at her, and we giggled. "I think it did you good. You seem... lighter."

I thought about it. "I do feel better, but that government agency has me worried. If Court’s group could figure us out, they will, too... So, how was your day?"

She accepted the change of subject with good grace, in part because she had some news. "The forensic accountant got back to me. It seems there is a connection between the Cartel and Haldibane Labs. It’s owned by a shell of a shell of a shell, lots of sleight of hand. It seems it was a lot easier find the link by starting at Haldibane and working backwards. I’m meeting with him tomorrow afternoon to get the details."

I sipped at the last of my nutrient space-juice as I ran with that information. "Any idea what Haldibane does?"

"Only that it’s medical research of some kind. Prosthetics, I think."

~o~O~o~
"Megan? Megan! Wake up, baby, you’re scaring me!"

Gradually I made sense of my surroundings. I was lying in Dolores’ bed, tangled in the sheets, I’d been thrashing frantically. Dolores was kneeling on the bed beside me, her hands on my shoulders. I drew a deep breath, and another, I couldn’t get enough, like I’d been suffocating. My pulse was hammering, but beginning to subside. I unclenched my fists and looked at my hands, they were green again, and shaking. "Was I screaming?"

Dolores shifted to sit cross-legged on the bed, stroking my head gently. She shook her head, looking worried. "It was worse, you were... whimpering, like you were terrified of something, like you were hiding and it was going to find you. Honey, these dreams aren’t going away. What’s going on?"

I forced myself to relax, listening to my breathing, looking up at the ceiling. You promised Courtney. "It’s more than the dreams. I’ve been getting panic attacks, too. The first time was the fight with Heatstroke. I was t-terrified when I saw him, so f-frantic I could barely move..." It was coming back just talking about it.

I took a few moments, closing my eyes and trying to visualize something calming, picturing a clear blue sky. Dolores waited patiently, making soothing noises and caressing my cheek. I let my eyes remain closed, trying to hold the image as I went on. "I’d probably never have budged, if I didn’t have to do something to protect the cops...." I clenched my fists. "Then I did about the stupidest thing possible, I hit him straight on. That was when I discovered the hard way, I wasn’t invulnerable any more. My powers were gone."

I explained how I’d been lucky to push over the pole I’d used, and how I’d had to force my hands to hold it, everything up to jumping off the roof and hoping for the best. "That was the first panic attack. Now they come just thinking about it."

Dolores went quiet for a moment, and I opened my eyes to see her watching me. "Sweetie, you know what’s happening. You’ve had enough traumatic experiences for a dozen lifetimes. If it didn’t affect you, I’d wonder why. Most people wouldn’t be able to stop twitching, if they’d been through what you have. You can’t let this fester. It’ll get worse. It is getting worse. you’ve seen it happen to other cops. Jake Calder, last year, you saw what it did to him, he wound up killing himself. You need to see somebody."

"Maybe. But who?" I asked reluctantly. "I’d have to tell them everything. Who I am, who I used to be... who could we trust?"

She lay down next to me and snuggled close, her voice low and breathy in my ear. "Those people deal in patient’s secrets every day. Are yours any worse than the guy who wants to sleep with his mother? The department has a list of specialists they can refer for these things. Let me set something up."

I sighed. "I guess."

"Good." She smooched my ear. "Now pretend to go back to sleep. I need my rest."


~o~O~o~
I arrived at my locker just as Deb was stowing her books away. "Morning!"

Deb gave me an exasperated look. "Where have you been for the last three days? I was worried I’d scared you right out of school!"

I winced. "I’m sooo sorry. I was sick for a couple of days. I meant to send you a text, but I didn’t get out of the hospital till Wednesday night, and yesterday I just... forgot."

Deb was instantly contrite. I hated playing that card, but a mysterious illness would explain a lot of absences. "The hospital? Are you okay? What happened?"

"I’m fine now," I smiled, trying to look brave and somehow frail at the same time. "I just kind of... collapsed... on Monday night. Next thing I knew I was waking up Thursday morning. It’s this thing I have. It doesn’t happen very often. It’s not a big deal." I resisted the urge to twitch or maybe foam at the mouth. "So, we’re still on for the dance, right?"

She looked uncomfortable. "Oh, yeah. Hey, about that... We’re all still going, but... Susan’s saying Kyn asked her to the dance." She winced, waiting for my reaction.

"Ah." I paused for a beat. "I see. Well, that’s fair I guess. I mean, I wasn’t here, she was. Good for her." I forced an artificial smile. Bitch. I should be relieved, but I was astonished to find I was pissed. Susan hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? Kyn and I had barely even looked at each other. Hell, she was even almost cute, in a butch jock dyke-y kind of way.

Deb interrupted my uncharitable thoughts. "But you’re still coming, right? Please?"

"I don’t know. Maybe." I knew full well Dolores wouldn’t let me back out.

"Come on," she coaxed. "You can show Kyn he settled for second best."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t repress a smile. "Yeah, right. Okay, okay, I’m still coming." She opened her mouth but I beat her to it. "And the football game, too."

Lunchtime found me in the library again, unwilling to face the prospect of dealing with a smug Susan. Well, in my imagination she was smug, anyway. I didn’t know what was wrong with me -- if I was honest, I didn’t even want the guy, except as a prize to deny Susan. I resolved to just stay out of it, let them gain the experience. I had nothing to prove.

Surprisingly, Kyn was at his usual table. I gave him a smile and a finger-wave, but kept moving, settling at my usual spot, a large table out of site of the doors. I opened my books and started sorting out my homework assignments, when I heard a small cough from across the table.

"Umm. Hi. M-Mind if I work here?" I looked up to see Kyn, standing nervously, a hopeful look on his face.

"Oh! Yes! I mean, no!" I caught myself before I got any stupider. "I mean, no, I don’t mind, and yes, please, sit down, " I grinned. I moved some of my books to make room.

He set his books on the table and sat. "Thanks." There was an awkward silence, then, "I, uh, I haven’t seen you in here this week. O-or at lunch with the guys."

Oh, how sweet, he was looking for me! I gave him an embarrassed smile. "Yeah, I was off sick for a few days. I’m fine now, though." I added hastily.

"Oh, that’s too bad -- I mean, I’m glad you’re fine. Sorry you were sick." he explained. There was another awkward silence as the conversational ball just rolled around on the floor between us.

How does Dolores do it so easily? I swear she can make a statue chatty. "So, ready for the game?"

He clutched at the conversational bait like a drowning man to a life ring. "I think so. It’s the first game of the season, so it’s pretty hard to tell. They run a 4-4 defence, so we’ll need to be ready for the blitz. Coach has had us running screens and buttonhooks, all week. We’ve been trying a shotgun, too, for a change up."

Woah. I pitied any normal girl caught unprepared by this verbal torrent, fortunately I’d played some ball myself. "You’ll be running sweeps, and pitch outs too, I imagine. Mix it up, make them think twice about the pass rush."

He nodded earnestly. "Yes! We --"

"There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you guys talking about?" Susan appeared at Kyn’s shoulder. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Kyn and plucked at his sleeve. "Come have lunch with us?" she asked, batting her eyes at him. It was pretty clear I was not invited.

"Ah, but I was -- I mean, Megan and I were -- " Kyn was being steamrolled, but that was something he’d have to deal with.

"Nah, you guys go." I waved them off. Susan was getting on my nerves, but I wasn’t going to compete with her. "I’ll be cheering for you at the game!"

With an apologetic look, Kyn gathered up his books and left, with Susan clinging to his arm.

I sighed and went back to my homework. A few minutes before the period ended my phone buzzed with a text message. "Got u appt with Dr Marston, week Mon. Shes vry good. Will be late 2nite, have fun @ dance!!! XOXOX"

I just had time to text back, "WHO R U?" That got me a ":p :p :p :p !!!" and a giggle.

The football game was right after school, the team was excused from their last classes of the day to get ready. I wandered out to the field and found Deb and her friends already in the bleachers, right behind the team bench. I managed to squeeze in beside Deb, at the opposite end of the group from Susan. Our team was the Spartans, in blue and red. The helmets were blue, with a stylized red  ‘S’ on them, drawn inside an inverted yellow pentagon. Today the bad guys were the Warriors from Ed Burroughs Secondary, wearing green and yellow.

The weather was a little chill, but it was sunny, and we were warmly dressed, so a good day for football. The game was pretty good, tightly contested. Both teams had strong defenses, and neither offensive team had really gelled so early in the season, so there were a few miscues and fumbles on either side, which helped make the other team’s defense look even better. The Warriors scored early with a long pass down the sidelines. Mike and Scott were defensive linemen, and were having a great game, recording a number of sacks between them; near the end of the first half Mike recovered a backfield fumble on their 10 and ran it in for a touchdown to tie the game. Naturally, his cheering section went wild.

Kyn was having a pretty good game. As a receiver, his job was to catch the ball no matter how many defenders were about to pound him, and he did a good job, despite taking some pretty physical abuse. He managed to get some good yards rushing, too; in the third quarter he just missed making the end zone on a reverse play, getting knocked out of bounds on the five yard line. The defense held, and our guys had to settle for a field goal, making it 10-7 for us. It was looking pretty good for a while, but in the final minutes one of our passes was intercepted, and run deep into our own end of the field; unfortunately the Warriors managed to drive it into the end zone a few plays later. The convert failed when the snap went wide, and that was the game, a 13-10 loss.

I’d actually really enjoyed being in the stands, cheering with the other girls for all of the boyfriends. The game was fun to watch -- it was just high school ball, nothing spectacular, just a good game. When the other girls ran out of the stands to console their guys, I was a little jealous, not so much of Susan in particular, just that I’d been caught up in being part of a teenaged girl pack, and suddenly I wasn’t anymore. I filed out to the parking lot with the other spectators.


~o~O~o~
I’d been worried about my outfit tonight, not having had a chance to discuss it with Deb first, to see if it was too dressy, not dressy enough, or somehow otherwise unsuitable. I was wearing the outfit I’d shown Dolores on Monday -- it seemed like a month ago -- a short floral print miniskirt, and a black sleeveless top, cut low enough to show some cleavage. I’d added dark pantyhose, and a chrome-studded belt. A bright multistrand necklace and some hoopy earrings added some sparkle. I’d decided the four-inch stilettos screamed "prostitute", I went with three-inch ankle boots, instead. It was a fine line. I’d done my makeup the hard way, using actual makeup, and my hair was pinned back behind my ears with a pair of plastic tortoiseshell combs, soft chestnut curls falling down my back. I wished Dolores had been there to help me get ready, she would have enjoyed it, and I could have used her advice.

The worrying turned out to be needless; when I arrived, the outfits were all over the spectrum, from normal street clothes to glamorous; the glams definitely seemed overdressed. My own outfit was comfortably between the two extremes.

School dances hadn’t changed all that much from thirty years ago -- well, except for the identity check, metal detectors, off-duty cops patrolling the grounds and parking lot, and the patdowns and handbag checks. And the music. If I ever needed a reminder that I was an oldster pretending to fit in, the music was it. I had to admit, some of it was okay, but some just set my teeth on edge.

Once inside, though, it pretty much sorted itself out to a scene I remembered. Those folks lucky enough to already be couples were on the dance floor. There were clusters of giggling girls dancing in packs, eyed furtively by clusters of guys grouped along the walls, pretending to be too cool for the dancing thing. Once in a while a guy would work up the nerve to approach a girl, and sometimes they’d dance, and sometimes he’d slink back to his buddies, quick to pretend he’d never been serious about dancing, anyway. Something new, though: sometimes there were packs of guys dancing with the girl-packs, careful never to pair off, but each still able to claim they were dancing with the opposite sex. Progress, I guess.

I found an unoccupied space along the wall, trying to locate familiar faces amongst the crowd, but I was spotted first. "Megan, hi!"

I turned at the familiar voice, smiling. "Jimmy, hey. How’s it going?" Jimmy sat across the aisle from me in algebra, we chatted a little before class, sometimes. He was about medium height, still a little taller than me even in my heels, with a quick smile and sandy blonde hair that always seemed to need brushing out of one eye.

Jimmy nodded earnestly. "Good! Good. And you?" I think we both winced on the inside.

"I’m great!" I smiled, then tried to forestall an awkward silence. "Umm, how’s the DJ doing, has the music been good? I just got here."

"It’s been okay. He’s only been playing for ten minutes." Ack. Okay, back to square one.

"Cool." I nodded seriously as if that was an important datum. I didn’t seem to know what to do with my hands, I clasped them together behind my back to keep them from compulsively smoothing my skirt. "So...did you see the game?"

"No, did we win?"

"No, 13-10. But it was a good game."

"Oh? Good. I mean, not good that we lost. But I’m glad it wasn’t a blowout. Or... anything."

This was becoming excruciating. Finally I spotted Jimmy’s posse, the guys I’d seen him in the halls with. "Martin and Ken over there are watching us." I gave them a little finger wave. "Is that Ivan too? Wow, I’ve never seen him without his scruffy jacket." He was still pretty scruffy, but it looked like he’d at least made some effort. I tried a shy smile on Jimmy. "Do you think they’re expecting us to dance?"

"Oh! Well, yeah. Sure. I mean, only if, you know, you wanna."

I took his hand and tugged him out onto the dance floor. Anything to stop this conversation. Dancing wasn’t my strong point, even as a guy, but there were lots of girls to emulate, and I tried not to flail too much. Jimmy, well, he danced like I used to, poor guy. We stayed up for a few songs, and I found that I was enjoying myself, gradually loosening up and growing a little more adventurous with my dance moves. The music still wasn’t my favorite, but it was danceable, and that was the main thing.

I finally spotted Deb and Mike on the dance floor, and waved. She saw Jimmy and gave me a grin and the thumbs-up. I shook my head at her. Nooo, it’s not like that. She nodded emphatically. Yes it is.

After a few songs, Jimmy escorted me off the dance floor, back to his friends. "Can I get you a drink?"

I hestitated. "Thanks for the dances, but I want to catch up with Deb for a bit, okay? I kinda promised to hang with those guys. But maybe we can dance again later? Besides, there’s lots of girls that would like to dance with you."

He accepted my letdown with good grace. "Oh, okay, sure. I hope so." Then he looked surprised. "Uhh, there are?"

I grinned and patted his cheek. "You just have to ask them."

Deb and Mike were still out on the floor, but Kyn was sitting, holding a bottle of soda, with Susan nowhere in sight. He didn’t look especially comfortable. I flopped down on the seat next to him. "Hey, good game today. You almost had that touchdown."

Kyn glanced at me in surprise. "Megan, hi! You look really pretty. I thought you were dancing with Jimmy, over there. And thanks," he grinned.

He noticed! "Aww, thank you!" I smiled shyly. "Well, Jimmy asked me." Hint, hint. "Where’s Susan?"

He pointed with his bottle to a cluster of girls, dancing together. "With her friends."

I studied the girls for a moment. Their dancing was just a little too loose. "They’ve been drinking."

He nodded glumly.

"So... How about that Deb and Mike. They sure do look like they’re having fun out there. Dancing, and all..." I observed, wistfully. "Oh, look! there’s Scott. He seems... vigorous. Poor Trisha."

A smile crossed his face briefly, at that. "I-I’m not really much of a dancer."

"Oh, please," I scolded him. "It’s easy. Just watch Scott. And don’t do anything he does."

That got me a grin. "S-Susan won’t be happy."

Enough. I grabbed his hand and tugged him onto the floor. "I’m not dancing with Susan. I’m dancing with you. Besides, if you booze, you lose."

It turned out he was wrong. He wasn’t a bad dancer at all. And it turned out he was right. Susan wasn’t happy.

I’d been keeping an eye on her, of course. I even gave her a smile and a little wave. All right, all right, the wave was very little. Only one finger.

So when I saw Kyn get an alarmed look on his face, it wasn’t a surprise when she came up on me from behind and attempted to give me a shove. Only, I didn’t budge. I turned to face her; she was standing too close, and I could smell the gin on her breath. I looked up at her. "Oh, hello, Susan."

She looked a little confused about why I wasn’t sprawled on the ground. Her eyes narrowed. "I’m cutting in."

I shook my head. "No, I don’t think so. Go and dance with your friends, I’m having fun."

Kyn attempted to be peacemaker, I think he was worried Susan would hurt me, the sweetheart. "Umm, Megan, it’s all right. I’ll dance with Susan."

"There, see? He’ll dance with me," she sneered, and attempted to shove me again.

I hadn’t had a lot of aikido training, but then I didn’t need a lot for this. I helped her to fall on the ground. Just with the falling part, for the actual landing, she was on her own. Turns out, she wasn’t very good at landing, and she wound up splayed awkwardly on the floor. "Susan, don’t push this. Go and dance with your friends."

By this point, the couples around us had stopped dancing to watch the commotion. Susan climbed to her feet, not entirely sure what had happened. I was guessing only one or two people had seen what I had done, to everyone else she’d just look drunk. She screeched as she came at me again, both hands extended. This time she wound up on the floor, with her hand twisted and locked painfully behind her shoulder, with me kneeling on on her back, and whispering in her ear. "If you ever touch me again, I will break your arm."

"Girls! Break it up! Both of you, come with me, now!" I sighed. Just peachy, tossed out of my first dance, for brawling. The principal led us back through the quiet halls to his office, escorted by one of the women teachers. We slumped in the seats at the front of his desk. I didn’t bother explaining. If they cared about facts, there were enough witnesses.

The principal looked stern. "Ladies, you know the policy on violence at these events. you’re finished for tonight. Your parents can come and pick you up. Monday, we’ll want to discuss this further." He turned to his computer, and called up our records, then dialed a number. We waited in sullen silence, listening to the faint sound of the ringing tone in the earpiece. "Megan, there’s no answer at your house. Does Ms. Parker have a cellphone?"

No answer? But we have a machine. "That’s odd...the work number is her cellphone. She was working late." He dialed the second number. I knew something was wrong the second it was answered. "Oh, I’m sorry, I was trying to reach a Ms. Parker..." His eyes flashed to me. "This is David Spencer, I’m the Principal at Joe Schuster Collegiate... No, this is about Megan... yes, she’s right here, but -- yes, I’ll tell her." He hung up the phone, an odd expression on his face. His eyes never left me. "Mrs. Hazleton, would you take Susan into one of the other offices and call her parents?"

We waited while Mrs. Hazleton escorted Susan out, and shut the door behind her. "What? What’s going on?"

His tone was sympathetic. "They’ve been looking for you. They’re sending a detective."

Oh, God. Dolores.

---

[[ Comics Retcon Universe ]]