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Chapter 27
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Dear Diary, January 24 –

The alien invasion that happened on Monday, the 19th, was probably the only real interesting thing to happen this week. So many ships were on their way here, and we slowed most of them down for years to come. I got to class in time afterward. Then, after school, my mom told me that she understood why I left to help the city, but she was still unhappy that I technically ditched, even if it was from a school assembly. I’m still grounded from entering computer systems again until next Sunday.

Mortar Mage told us that simply destroying all of the ships, especially in hyperspace, would have been more dangerous than anything we could imagine. Then he offered to build a new ice cream dispensary machine for the base if we wanted one. I don’t think I’ve seen half of the super group say no to anything that fast before.

Everything else has been pretty boring, so far, at least for me. It makes me wonder how my friends and fellow heroes spend their days when they don’t have to do a whole lot of heroing. What do they do in their downtime?

***

Tatiana turned and huffed. She opened her eyes to find that she wasn’t in her own bed for the umpteenth time in the last few months.

Though, at this rate, it might as well have been her bed.

The man who owned it, and rented this apartment, was not in bed this time. No note that he had to go to work. Nothing. Tatiana heard some noise from the kitchen, and smelled something . . . pleasant. She got out of bed, skipping her clothes, and walked out to find Wyatt in the kitchen.

“Good morning, sweety,” she said.

He turned his head briefly before going back to the frying pan. “Hey, you’re up.”

“I’m pretty sure you could feel me coming.”

“Words.” His charming disposition remained.

“Don’t make me come over there and hit you over the head with your own frying pan.”

“Yes, fine, I felt you waking up and leaving my room. That doesn’t mean I can’t be a little sociable.”

Wyatt had a point. Damn him. Tatiana wasn’t anywhere near awake enough to argue with a psychic.

“What time do you have to go to work today?” asked Tatiana.

She leaned against the counter, her boobs hanging down. She was tempted to let them touch the surface, and she wasn’t sure why. She resisted the urge, however.

“I have to start my shift at two,” Wyatt said.

“Ooh, so I have you to myself until I have to leave and get ready for work myself.”

Wyatt slid a plate across the counter with breakfast on it. He even supplied the utensils.

“What do you want for drink?” he asked. “I have OJ, water, a blender and ice so I can make an orange slush. I’d offer beer, but it’s a little early for that.”

“What’s wrong with the coffeemaker?” Tatiana asked.

“It died on me yesterday morning when I had to go in to work early. Now I have to replace it when I have the chance.”

“I can replace that for you.”

“Tatiana . . .”

“Just say the word, and I’ll get a whole barista set up in here. Maybe I can even talk my folks into letting me work from your home. I’ll do it wearing nothing but an apron.”

She just smiled at him while they ate on opposite sides of the counter.

He, however, shook his head. “Tatiana, what exactly are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, in public or even among our friends, we’re seen arguing, you beating me up over my bad jokes, and often scheming together on how to deal with the gang members and villains out there. But, here, it’s different, and only here. I’d have to say we’re frienemies with benefits.”

“You didn’t want to stay that way forever, did you?”

“Well, no, but . . .”

“But nothing, sweety. I spent my late teens and early twenties so far thinking that I was just going to have parties forever, and sleep with any guy who wanted me until I was bored with him. The longer we spend together, the more I start to think that I have to either break this off, whatever it is, or embrace it and enjoy every moment. Even our bickering, or dealing with your puns. Guess which I’m leaning towards.”

“You don’t have to buy me a coffeemaker,” Wyatt said.

“You have loans to pay off still from med school, right? Let me do something nice for you.”

Wyatt grinned and laughed both rapidly and silently. “Come here.” He leaned over the counter and kissed her on the lips.

Never mind the food she still had in her mouth. She swallowed it all and marveled at a lost opportunity.

“I knew I should have added hot sauce to my eggs,” said Tatiana.

***

Walter sat alone at a table by a window in the diner. He was on his own, but he had his phone on the table to check for news and messages, and a chessboard set up in case someone wished to join him for a game.

Sometimes people did, but most times they didn’t.

He had a nasty habit of winning.

His phone chimed. There was a message from Mayor Oldman:

“The latest crime unaccounted for was a kidnapping that happened on Wednesday. Police are still looking into it, but if it’s related then heads up.”

Since the mass invasion on Monday, the mayor had agreed to finally tell Walter when there was a development, however big, however small, or however unrelated it might seem at first glance.

A kidnapping, without a known assailant or cause, was a possible cause for concern. But Walter did not dwell on it. He instead stored that knowledge in his mind, and thought to himself that he might need to act on it in time.

Walter raised his head to sip his coffee and to look around.

Out the window to his left, a hero and a villain were in the midst of beginning a scuffle.

To his far right was the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the diner. A woman was getting up who he had seen sitting at one of the counter stools a few times. Walter was no psychic, but he could sense a great intellect in that Latino woman after overhearing how she spoke to the food servers, in watching how she moved and carried herself, and in spotting some of her reading material.

The woman needed to pass near Walter’s table to leave the diner. He spoke out to her when she did so.

“Excuse me. Miss?" he said, "I was wondering, if you’re in no big hurry, if you’d care to join me for a game? It doesn’t have to be today.”

She said, “What, a game of chess? Do people still bother with such a primitive game? If I did play, it would be with reanimated rats. For science!”

“Nonsense. I’m sure you’re a nice young lady who’d enjoy showing off her ability to plan ahead and beat a man such as myself.”

“Pfft . . . You’d be the king of the rats.”

The woman walked out of sight. Walter sighed and sipped his coffee again. There were two possible outcomes of this moment. He stared plainly at the chessboard the whole time he considered them, but pushed away both possibilities and waited.

Suddenly, a woman’s hand reached over to the board, and moved a pawn forward that stood in front of a knight.

Walter looked over at her as the same woman before pointed at him.

“Now you’ll have to wait for me. Don’t count on my return, though.” She backed into the door, taking it with her on her exit.

Dear, oh dear.

He used his phone to take a picture of the board. Assuming they would ever meet again, this was going to be an interesting game. Not just because that woman moved a black piece first. If anything, he hoped the match would continue sooner rather than later.

Walter grabbed his new walking stick—something he’d been thinking of getting for some time now—and used it to block a passing waitress’s path.

“What?”

“I think you should duck,” said Walter.

She was about to question him again, but her eyes grew wide. The waitress indeed dived for beneath the table. There was a yell and a crash, followed by some screams. The hero had lost his fight to the villain, and had gone through the next window in front of Walter.

He helped up the waitress. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said, “but how did you . . . ? Are you OK?”

“Oh, I’m fine. But I’m afraid I might need a new cup of coffee. One of those shards of glass made it into my mug. Why don’t you run along?”

“The hero! Ahh, the villain’s coming.”

“Yes. I’m sure this will be taken care of by the time you pour my new cup. Thank you.”

The waitress ran off with the old cup, leaving a better part of a round shape amidst the glass crossing Walter’s table, and Walter who sat alone without a single injury to his person or his temper.

Meanwhile, the villain entered through the broken window to finish the job on the hero.

Walter said, “I’m sorry, but do you think you can put that hero down and leave here quietly?”

“What?”

***

Jeff knocked on the foreman’s door.

Being here made him a little nervous. Being anywhere with authority made him at least a little nervous or unhappy, as ironic as that was. He was someone with authority, himself, when he’d served the military.

“Enter!” said the man on the other side. Jeff did so. “Ah, Mr. Charleston, just the man I was hoping to talk to.”

“Yes, sir?” asked Jeff.

“Two things. Please, have a seat. There.”

They both sat on opposite sides of the desk inside of the trailer that the foreman was using for his office. There was a moment of awkward silence before the foreman spoke up again, saying, “So your contracted trial period with our company is running out soon. Are you enjoying your time with us?”

Jeff said, “I don’t have any major complaints. The small things are taken care of before they can get any bigger.”

“Good, good. You’ve proven to be quite good at pointing out when we’re running low on certain materials, and preventing a fistfight on one of our sights between two of your coworkers. I value an employee who can step beyond his duties to perform admirably. You’ve only been late once, and have shown up tired several times, but you’ve never let it get to you.”

“I have been trying to do something about that.”

“I’m not saying you’re in trouble, either. Though, yes, it would be nice to see you show up to work fully awake in the future. Hold on, I think I have something here.”

The foreman rummaged through one of his desk drawers.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is.” It was a thin book, which he handed to Jeff. “Someone gave this to me on a whim years ago, and it’s sat in my desk ever since. Good kid, but not spot on in his assessments. Feel free to peruse it sometime.”

Jeff looked at the book, and saw that it was dedicated to alternative methods of rest and sleep. “Thank you, sir. This might help.”

“I take it you never had anything like that in the military?”

“Nope.”

“No kidding? Well, hopefully you get something out of that. I would hate to lose a good worker to something like a fucked sleep schedule. Now, for the second thing.”

Jeff listened more intently. It sounded more and more like the foreman wished to keep him on once the contracted trial period was over.

The foreman said, “How familiar are you with Striga Isle?”

“Not very,” said Jeff.

“It’s an island, as you can tell by the name. Technically, it’s part of Paragon, but, like Nerva, it serves as its own town off the shore from our own main city. I tell you this, because when we are done fixing as many of the mass invasion damages as we are covering, the home office is sending me and my best workers over to Striga.”

“You don’t sound too pleased.”

“Striga and Nerva are the most dangerous parts of Paragon. The heroes are few, the crime families are many, and even the villains barely touch it unless they think they can topple at least one of those families. Everyone who has tried has been sent back to Paragon’s shores in any number of bloodied pieces.”

“OK . . .”

“I would be honored if you joined me. If you don’t want to, then let me know so I can finish my letter of recommendation to include a transfer request so you can keep working here in the city mainland. You have a couple weeks still to think on it still. While you’re at it, let me know how the book works out for you. Any improvement can be spun for good measure in the letter I’m writing to the office.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please, Jeff, call me Jim.”

***

Adamast Cross sat at the base table, reading information on how to become a certified teacher or coach at a public school. He could hear Mortar Mage giving the new guys, Blaze and Dissarap, a tour of the base.

Those poor guys; they had no idea.

As he read on, Adamast read—and was slightly disappointed—that there was certification process required that couldn’t be earned in an afternoon, like the one for marrying couples. Someone would have to address that one day.

“Hey, mang,” said Blaze as he entered the meeting room, “why not do all your reading at home?”

Adamast said, “Do you have an aunt and uncle in their fifties who like to dance in only their undies or swimwear?”

“No, mang. I can’t say I do.”

“Neither do I. Nope. Instead they’re entirely in the buff.”

He pointedly raised a book to block out future conversations not that Blaze bothered to try, not after that mental image.

***

Denise lay face down on her bed with her head raised and her hands flipping through the tantalizing pages of a dirty magazine. How else was she going to enjoy herself right after school?

With a knock on the door, she slid the magazine under her pillow in time for her mom to open the door.

“Hey,” said Denise’s mom.

“Yes, Mom?” asked Denise.

“Your father was telling me that he wanted to show me something from one of his magazines he likes. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to it, do you?”

The thought of her parents doing anything in this magazine was just . . . wrong. “Uh, no? I can’t say have.”

“Really? Is your pillow a new place to be working on your homework?”

“I, uhh . . .” Crap. Crap. Crap. Fuck! “I was just taking a little nap.”

Her mom folded her arms. She wasn’t buying it.

Denise bowed her head and sheepishly pulled out the magazine. She was actually afraid that this day might come. What would her mom or dad say if they knew. Sure, they were fine if it was someone outside of the family, like Judy when she turned out to be a trans girl, but their own daughter, a lesbian!

She saw the magazine being taken away, all of those beautiful curves, boobs, and pink folds between the models’ legs were gone, possibly for good.

Then a hand touched Denise on the shoulder. She hesitated to look back, finding eyes looking back at her that she couldn't read.

“How long?” asked her mom.

“How long, what?” Denise asked in turn.

“How long has it been since you found out you liked girls?”

“I don’t know. Since the swimming classes you signed me up for, perhaps? Are you mad at me?”

“No! Well, I’m a little upset that you took this without asking, but no, I’m not mad. Why would I be? Your father and I love you very much and want you to be happy.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“So, you and Judy . . . Are the two of you . . . ?”

“No. I wanted it, but she doesn’t. I’m trying to respect that. But it’s so hard.”

“Those early crushes can be tough. Well, at least we don’t have to worry about some boy taking you from us. I guess I should hide my . . . erm, nevermind. Promise me you’ll ask first before you borrow these again.”

“OK, I promise.”

“Good. Now get your homework done. Crazy kid.”

What Denise didn’t know was that her mom didn’t actually tell her dad just yet. She was leaving it to Denise to ask for a magazine before he’d find out.