Convalescence

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Kára heard the sickening crunch of bone ripping through muscle and tissue, the sound echoing, almost impossibly loud in the subterranean hangar, somehow cutting through the din of the jet rotors spinning up as the Kestrel lifted from the ground and even the sound of rushing water from the gaping hole to her back where the villains had blown open their entry from the storm drainage systems below. She was momentarily blinded as the roof ratcheted open, sunlight streaming in, and it filtered slowly into her mind that a new day had begun.

The Mallet stepped back, tossing his namesake-weapon from one meaty hand to the other before drawing it back and bringing it down on the other leg with another echoing crack.

Kára coughed, feeling blood well up in her mouth. She mentally counted at least three broken ribs, one of which had punctured a lung. Somewhere in the haze, the realisation came to her that those were _her_ legs that had been broken.

"They tell me you name yourself for some Norse warrior woman," said The Mallet. "Kára, the Valkerie." It was obvious from his tone that he was working up to his punchline - and that he'd been preparing his parting words for some time. "When you see him, tell Thor I like his hammer."

With a hearty laugh, he turned and ran for the jet, jumping up onto the gangway as it began to close, and the fighter rose vertically into the air, the ground beneath it tossing up debris and dust which rained down on Kára where she lay.

As the roar of the turbines faded into the distance, a face swam into view - one she knew all too well - that of Mr Henry Deed III.

"My boy might be stupid enough to leave without ensuring your demise," Deed said with a congenial smile, lifting a hand to smooth his perfectly coiffed hair before retrieving a gun from inside his beautifully tailored and inexplicably pristine jacket, "but I'm not. First though, I think I'll allow myself the luxury of unmasking you - just for my own satisfaction, you understand. One always likes to be proven right."

It was as he reached down that Kára found that last ounce of strength - the strength in her one good limb as she reached with her unbroken left arm for the rim of the blasted hole behind her, and in an almighty heave pulled herself back and over the edge.

As the rushing water pulled her under, she just closed her eyes and inhaled, embracing oblivion.

 

"-eed to stop scaring me like that."

The gravelly tones of Walter's voice grated on her eardrums, and for a moment she wished again for unconsciousness, knowing it was only a few precious moments before the pain hit her.

"Four broken ribs, a punctured lung, respiratory distress, concussion, dislocated shoulder, multiple contusions, and then there's that business with your legs..." Megan winced, remembering the sickening crack, the bolts of agony ripping through her bones, the roiling nausea. "Yes, you've really done it this time, missy. This is beyond me, I'm afraid."

"So get me to a hospital," she groaned, closing her eyes tightly. "Get the jet, find an avalanche to blame it on and..." she trailed off into a groan as her brain began to process the horrific state of her body and send protests to her nerve endings accordingly.

"Working on it," was the reply. "Need to find somewhere suitably... exclusive. Someone that won't ask questions like 'When does a snowboarding accident ever look like a hobbling?'. I'm hoping to get you moved to the Kingswell Unit but I need to make a few more phonecalls."

"Take some time out and give me some damn morphine," she gasped, her fingers curling around the nearest handhold - was she on a stretcher? "Seriously, I can't take this, it hurts so much..."

"I'm not surprised," Walter said simply, turning and glancing to the side - to where, Megan realised now, a clear IV was hooked up to her arm. "And I'm afraid you're already on your maximum dosage." He hesitated, then added, in a more sympathetic tone, "This isn't the first time you've been conscious. Just the first time you didn't wake up delirious and screaming."

This didn't get much more than a grimace from Megan, who despite the IV could barely concentrate for the pain. She focused on gritting her teeth and riding through the waves of sensation, just like she had been taught, knowing that it was only a mental manifestation of the battered and broken state her body was currently in.

"Just... try not to move, okay? You're stable, but you're on about ten per cent lung capacity and those ribs are just desperate to go a-wandering. And stop talking, I can barely understand a word."

Megan muttered something, the general gist of which Walter understood despite her impeded speech, and then shut her eyes. She heard the old man speaking in terse, urgent tones over the phone, and knew that despite his reassuring words she wasn't doing very well at all. This worried her less than she thought it would, though that might've been the bloodloss or the blow to the head. Either way, as she drifted back into blackness she vaguely considered how it might not be such a bad thing if the Valkerie didn't wake up again...

 

"-ifts her ribs, we're back at square one."

"Well, we can't leave it like that, so that's a chance we'll just have to take, isn't it?"

"It's like one of those puzzles, isn't it? Where you have the chicken, the fox and the bag of grain, and one dude with a boat, and you've got to get them all across safely but like the chicken will eat the grain and the fox will eat the chicken. The ribs, the lung, the shoulder..."

"I'm pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say it's _nothing_ like that."

"It's like you have no sense of humour whatsoever. A crying shame, if you ask me. Hand me those forceps, will you?"

"Hang on, hang on, she's awake," one of the voices said in an urgent tone. "Please don't try to move, Ms Cochrane," said the voice as the attached face - a serious-looking young woman with dark cropped hair - swam into view. "We're going to put your shoulder back now, and then we're going into the theatre to operate on your lung."

"All... right," Megan mumbled. The pain was more distant now, her head fuzzy as if filled with cotton wool. "Where am I?"

"You're at Kingswell - just arrived in your chopper. You're going to be okay."

Kingswell. The fabled private clinic for the filthy rich and accident-prone. If anybody was going to be able to put her back together again, it'd be them. "Good luck," she said deliriously.

"Don't need it," the woman said with a grim smile. "See you on the other side."

 

If Megan did see the dark-haired woman after the operation she didn't remember it, but then she did spend most of the following week in a drugged-up haze. She received the very best of care - round the clock attention, gourmet hospital meals, a recovery room overlooking a pristine pine forest - but sadly she wasn't in much of a state to enjoy it, as even stitched and pinned together she ached and throbbed and spasmed even on her 'good' days.

Walter visited regularly, of course, though his visits were as frustrating as they were welcome, for her refused to give Megan any updates about current events back in the City, attempting to forestall her with platitudes like 'all in due course' and 'all in good time'. He did leave cherries, though, which she loved.

Any attempts to get onto a computer or even an international news channel were blocked by the nurses - she assumed under Walter's instructions - and as the days passed Megan found herself growing more and more restless. It was hard to decide what was more frustrating, the enforced bedrest or the information blackout, but the two combined meant that the nurses had their hands full placating her on a daily basis. It wasn't that she wanted to be a difficult patient, but she simply wasn't built to sit around and stare out the window while her body recovered.

It was at the end of week two that she first saw the dark-haired woman again. She'd concluded by now that the other woman must have been a surgeon, who had probably only checked on her work at some point during that first week, while Megan was unconscious or asleep, and had had no cause to be around her since. And indeed, when she appeared in Megan's room in 'civvies' and was introduced by the nurse accompanying her as 'Ms Gray' this suspicion was more or less confirmed.

"I hear you've been causing trouble," the young woman opened as the nurse left them, the door clicking quietly shut behind them.

Megan's freckled face was the picture of innocence as she turned to face the other woman. "I swear, it was an accident, I didn't mean to remove the IV... and besides, I could've put it back in if they hadn't made such a big fuss over it. It's not like it's my first one ever."

"Clearly not," Gray agreed, pursing her lips and flipping through a few pages in the chart she held. "You've had more broken bones than some Olympic skiers I've run across, and far more than are on your medical record." She looked expectantly at Megan, but when no explanation was forthcoming she simply looked back to the chart, and flipped back to the front before tossing it down on the desk at the end of the spacious room, moving over to sit by Megan and pulling out a notebook. "We need to talk, Ms Cochrane, about your treatment options."

"My... treatment options? I thought I already had my treatment - twelve hours under the knife, right?"

"Sure, we replaced your lung and reset your ribs and legs, but if you're ever hoping to snowboard again, or even run, we're going to need to discuss something a little more radical. Ms Cochrane, you have massive, irreparable damage to the tissue and muscles of your legs. As things stand, you will be lucky to recover well enough to walk unaided."

Megan stared at the other woman, unblinking. Though she had known her injuries were serious she had been seriously injured before and had always made a full recovery - what was different now? Maybe the fact that an insane weightlifter on steroids pulverised your legs with a mallet? some snarky voice at the back of her mind supplied helpfully. She fought for words to express the panic bubbling up inside her. "...fuck."

"No kidding," the other woman said with a dry smile that somehow skirted the edge of both sympathy and polite disinterest. It was strangely comforting. "So here's the thing. I say 'irreparable', and I'm not revising that because it's more than my job's worth. But we do have some routes we could try. They're experimental, painful, ludicrously expensive and may well cripple you completely."

"Okay. I'll take them."

The consultant raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to hear more about them? Take some time to think? It's a pretty radical step..."

"It'll get me active again, right?"

"Eventually. If it works."

"Then I'll do it."

Ms Gray favoured Megan with a long, hard look. "That's some dedication to extreme sports, there," she said in a tone that might have been pointed if it wasn't so utterly unreadable.

Megan ignored the potential judgement in the surgeon's words and gave her a determined smile. "So. When can we get started?"

"Well, on one hand, the sooner the better, to avoid further muscle wastage. On the other I'm afraid you're just not fit enough to be able to face such major surgery right now, so we're going to have to wait at least until your ribs and lung are fully healed."

Not fit enough? I guess training five hours a day just doesn't cut it at Kingswell. "And how long do you think that will be?"

"Two months, to be safe. We'll start intensive physio before then, though."

"Two months?" Megan struggled to push herself up with her good arm, groaning as her limbs protested the movement. "Listen, isn't there something I can do to convince you to start sooner?"

"Manifest superhuman healing abilities?" Gray sighed. "Look, Ms Cochrane; it's obvious that you're a very active woman, and that you keep at the peak of physical fitness - I've seen professional athletes with less impressive physiques. But you're also broken. The fact that you're still alive is a miracle. I'm afraid some things just can't be rushed. Now, if you want to," she continued, looking down at her notebook, "you can be sent home in a few days and attended to there by a physiotherapist with regular check-ups from myself - or another consultant, if you'd prefer - but here we have better facilities to care for you and if there were any problems with your recovery, obviously here we have staff that can be with you in minutes rather than hours. It's your call."

Megan knew if she went home Walter would just impose the same lockdown as he had here, and it would be all the more frustrating for being so close yet so far from the city she wanted to save. Better to stay away from temptation altogether. "I'll stay," she sighed, sinking back against the Egyptian cotton sheets. "But I want to do whatever I can to speed the process up - write that down, okay?"

"Will do physio for jello, check," the surgeon said, shooting Megan a smile in what she suspected was a rare flash of humour.

She wasn't grinning much these days, but she returned the other woman's smile with one of her own, grateful for someone showing something other than meticulous politeness or in Walter's case, barely-disguised worry. "Unless it has fruit in it. That I refuse to do tricks for."

"I'll pass that onto the chef."

"Great, thanks. And if I'm going to be here longer-term, can I get my... assistant to bring in some of my stuff, personalise things a bit?"

"Once you're off IV pain meds we can set you up in a suite and you can do as you please, within reason. We charge the earth for the privilege, but I'm guessing that doesn't concern you."

"Hey, might as well make it a gilded cage, right?"

Another on-and-off-again smile. "Quite so. Well, I'll be seeing you soon, no doubt, Ms Cochrane."

"I guess so, Ms... hey, that's a good question - what's your name?"

"Gray. Amelia Gray." The other woman's brow furrowed a little. "John introduced me when he brought me in... you don't remember that?"

"I remembered Ms Gray, but I figured that since you've already had your hands inside me it would probably do to be on a first-name basis," Megan said with a smirk. "Amelia."

"Oh, I... well, I suppose it's Amy, then," the younger woman corrected her, a little awkwardly. She clearly wasn't used to this kind of request.

"Still Megan," the other woman said cheekily, feeling somewhat better for the distraction before her. "Not Meg."

"Duly noted." Amy jerked her head in the direction of the door. "I'd better..."

"Yeah, you got a lot of other patients at the moment?"

"Not really," she said. "But I do have a lot of paperwork to fill out if I'm about to allow experimental surgery in my hospital."

"Your hospital, huh?" Megan raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah. Don't tell the board."

"Hm... what are you going to give me to make me keep my mouth shut?"

"I'm fairly sure we already discussed the fruit-free jello."

"I guess that'll do," Megan said, settling back against the pillows. "For now."

"I can see you're going to be a troublemaker."

"If it'll get me out of here faster I'll be a model patient."

"You just do what the physio tells you and what I tell you," Amy said. "Other than that you can be as much of a pain in the ass as you like, as far as your recuperation's concerned."

Megan grinned from her prone position on the hospital bed. "I like the sound of that."

 

It wouldn't be true to say that the next few weeks were 'restful' for Megan, per se. But they were less frustrating, at least. She devoted every ounce of patience she could to staying quiet and still in order to allow her lung and ribs to heal, and it seemed to pay off. She was soon moved to a private suite, which Walter dutifully helped decorate, following Megan's instructions as she lay in bed and hanging pictures, arranging throw pillows and otherwise arranging the room to her strict specifications. Not long after this, her physiotherapist, an infeasibly fit and handsome young man called Kyle, was assigned to run through exercises with her every other day. Her legs were, of course, far from healed even now - the bones had been broken completely and in the case of her left shattered to the point where it was, apparently, amazing that she hadn't lost her leg. But apparently it was of utmost importance that she was as fit as she could be, and Kyle patiently ran her through a regime designed, apparently, to strengthen her core and prevent the rest of her body from wasting away. Megan had something of a suspicion that he had been assigned to her to prevent her from going insane with frustration rather than because she actually needed thrice-weekly exercise, but she wasn't about to complain.

She was also given permission to leave her room - in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse, of course, but some freedom was better than none. Kingswell wasn't very large and she had soon seen all she was allowed to see of the interior, however, and the weather wasn't good enough for her to go outside for more than a few minutes at a time, so her jaunts out of her room were rather limited. Still, she insisted on being pushed out to one of the 'viewing rooms' every morning and after a few days of stellar behaviour, in which she commented on the lovely birdsong and spent some time chatting with her keeper, a quiet woman named Lucille, she was allowed to spend some time there on her own, on the promise that she wouldn't do anything too strenuous and would ring for help if she needed it. Megan agreed, of course, but Lucille hadn't been gone more than ten minutes before Megan was on the move, wheeling herself down the corridor towards the nearest empty office, itching to log onto a computer and find out what had been going on in the world in the weeks she had been away.

She noted with amusement the name on the door of the first place she found - "Ms A Gray." Of course it is.

The office door wasn't locked, and although the computer was, a reboot and some swift command-line work soon bypassed her login, and allowed Megan access to the internet for the first time in a couple of months.

It was as bad as she had feared. Without Kára there to get in the way, Deed and his henchmen had systematically attacked several more locations in and around City, each time abducting a person or seemingly random piece of equipment that Megan knew was part of his master plan - even though she didn't know what that plan was. Yet.

There were several lurid headlines from a few weeks back, proclaiming "VALKERIE HAS RIDDEN AWAY" and "STAIRWAY TO VALHALLA" and detailing in small print below the fact that Kára had not been seen 'since that fateful day in the sewers'. Some claimed she had died, some that she had gotten scared and fled City. Megan didn't know which upset her more.

"So I see I can't trust you to behave, then. Poor Lucille."

Megan looked up quickly, clicking away from the window and clearing the browsing history with a few strokes on the keyboard. "How is this in any way strenuous? Afraid I might sprain my index finger?" she asked, smirking.

"I'm pretty sure that you aren't banned from the internet for your butler's private amusement," Amy said, leaning against the doorway of her room, arms folded, eyebrows raised.

"You'd be surprised," Megan grumbled. "He might look all cuddly but really he's a sadistic bastard."

"I'm going to take that assertion under advisement and assume for the moment that your apparently pathological need to know what's going on in the world tells me all I need to know about how good it's likely to be for you."

"I'm pretty sure it breaks some kind of international convention to deny people the right to play Farmville."

"Cry me a river, I'll get you an Xbox."

"How about a daily subscription to the Times?"

"I'll talk to your handler."

Megan's eyes widened. "Seriously? No offense, but Walter's not the one paying all the bills for this place. I'd really like to be able to read the news, that doesn't seem like an unreasonable request. You would've let me have an aquarium in my room but you won't let me have a newspaper?"

Amy's mouth flattened to a line. "You're right," she said simply, shrugging. "Sure, you're right. I have no right to keep you from the news, or the internet or any source of information you want to pay to have installed - fuck, buy the centre its own satellite - feel free. Wave some cash about and you can have whatever you want here - that's how we do things - the price I pay for being able to work on the cutting edge of surgery is putting up with assholes like you throwing your money around to get whatever you damn well please but let me ask you: do you think you're going to help or hinder your recovery by plugging back in? Because it seems to me like that man knows you better than anyone else, and he clearly thinks the latter."

The woman in the wheelchair stared at her for a moment, stunned, before wheeling herself back from the desk and then jerkily towards the door. She was generally a pretty easy-going person, but when she did get mad, she got really mad. That usually involved her hitting things, but there wasn't anything or anyone she could hit here without earning herself a psych eval. And boy is that frustrating. What I wouldn't give for The Mallet's big stupid face right now...

The surgeon stepped back from the door, arms still folded, surveying Megan's exit with a thoughtful expression. Partway down the hall she was met by a frantic Lucille, and Megan had to break her clenched-jaw silence to apologise to the woman, promising she wouldn't let her get in trouble for Megan's wanderlust. Understandably Lucille 'felt it was best' if they went back to her room just then, and so a few minutes later she was once again trapped, immobile, in her bed, painkillers laid out in front of her like vitamins.

 

The next morning she was expecting - or in the case of today dreading - her Tuesday morning visit from Amelia Gray, but it didn't come. Instead, she woke to find a pair of orderlies moving around the far corner of her room assembling a rather impressive array of computer hardware on the sleek, modern desk that had hitherto lain empty. Attuned even in her drugged, invalid state to assess the changes in a room, the next thing that caught her eye was a sleek black laptop sitting by her bed, its power light pulsing gently on and off as it 'slept'.

"What are you guys doing?" she asked, her tone midway between curious and accusing as she struggled to sit up without looking too stupid.

One of them looked up, her face a picture of surprise and bemusement. "Oh, um... we were told to kit your room out for internet access?" she ventured timidly.

"By whom?"

"Well, the memo came through from Ms Gray, I think... I'm sorry, Ms Cochrane, if you'd like us to leave..."

"No, no, don't go - it's cool." Brow furrowed, Megan reached for the laptop, powering it up as she tried to figure out what exactly had happened. Was this some sort of pointed statement? A power play from the other woman who, as far as Megan was concerned, already had all the control? Whatever, at least I can get online. I'll save the profiling for later.

 

A few hours later, Megan's mood had gone from bad to worse. The situation back in the city was only dire on the surface - beneath it, they were far worse. If she had been in City, and healthy, now would've been the time for her to suit up and knock some heads together but as it was she could only sit in bed, seething with frustration and barely resisting the urge to throw the shiny new laptop straight through the nearest window. Fucking Deed. Fucking League. I have got to get out of here.

 

Amy did visit, but not 'til much later that day, after dinner. She was dressed in scrubs and a white coat for the first time since that first day. Megan was lying sullenly in bed, staring down at her useless legs with an expression that bordered on hostile. She flicked her eyes up as Amy entered. "Ah, so I'm not being punished. Goody."

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose," Amy said, picking up her chart and glancing down it before hanging it back at the end of the bed (plus ca change...). "How have you been feeling today?"

"Just swell, thanks," Megan said bitterly. "You?"

"Disappointment tinged with grim satisfaction. Not quite as expensive as your dinner, but just as interesting a flavour," Amy said, sinking down into the chair by Megan's bed. "I suppose you're caught up to your satisfaction, now," she said.

"You were trying to prove something. God, I should've known it," Megan replied, rolling her eyes. "Well done, you played the stupid rich girl at her own game."

"Oh, you're not stupid. Far from it. I would say you're just about the smartest person I've ever met."

"Excuse me?"

"What you are is arrogant, and full of yourself. And your own worst enemy. But frankly, I'm not your psychiatrist, I'm your doctor. So go ahead, make yourself miserable. Just so long as your keep up your physio."

"Okay, listen. It's kind of hard to be arrogant when I'm stuck here in this bed, literally unable to use the toilet without help," Megan bristled. "Just like it's hard to be 'full of myself' with people like you stopping in every so often to gloat and rub my nose in my own failings."

"Rub your nose in..." Amy rolled her eyes, and sighed. "Fine, all right, whatever you like," she said, pushing to her feet and turning to leave. Then she seemed to think better of it and she turned back, leaning over a little to look properly at Megan. "Look, you know what? I'm sick of you entitled rich kids coming into this place and treating it like it's some charity hospital with mystery meat and bed shortages. I am not your servant. I'm your doctor. I told you that I didn't think it was good for you to worry yourself with whatever the hell it is Walter was so bothered about - your share prices or who won your ivy league homegame or whatever, I don't care, but I believed him when he said you needed a break from it, and you pushed, and you pushed and then you broke the rules and hacked into my personal computer to get online and frankly, it's just not worth it, so I let you have your damn internet and guess what, he was right, and I was right - it's made you feel worse - big surprise! But cut the crap with me, all right? I'm not your mom and I'm not your friend, 'Megan', and I don't need your passive-aggressive 'ooh is nursey angry with me' bullshit. You feel bad. You feel like your life is over, and I won't lie to you, it really might be. But anyone else would be dead after what happened to you. So maybe it's time to count your blessings and buck the hell up."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Megan told her angrily, balling her hands into fists where they lay on the tastefully-embroidered blanket over her legs. "No idea. So maybe you should check that chip on your shoulder before you lay into me, all right? Physician, heal thyself and all that crap."

Amy didn't seem to have much in the way of a response to this, or perhaps she'd said her piece and was ready to go, because she did straighten up, then, and turn on her heel, marching out of the room and closing the door with infuriating care behind her. Megan gave a frustrated growl and threw the closest thing at hand towards the door - luckily just a pillow, not the laptop, though the latter would've made a much more satisfactory noise when it impacted. And the worst part is, she's totally right.

 

 

Amy Gray arrived home to find that Tyrone, her rather single minded cat, had unravelled a whole roll of kitchen towel, systematically torn it up into small chunks, then spilled his water bowl all over the resulting mess on the kitchen floor, which now resembled nothing so much as an enthusiastic but not very bright child's paper maché project. Ordinarily, this would have been a source of some amusement to her. Today, she just wanted to sit down and cry.

Doggedly she cleaned up the wet, sticky mess, throwing it into the trash and slamming the lid shut with more force than was strictly necessary and sending Tyrone skittering off to the lounge, tail in the air. It wasn't unusual for her to arrive home exhausted, as her surgeries often stretched over six, eight, or even ten hours at a time, but it wasn't physical tiredness that had her hands shaking this time as she sorted through her mail, throwing the pizza coupons and advertisements into the recycle pile. No, this bone-deep weariness had a very clear and easily-identifiable source: Megan Cochrane.

If Cochrane had just been your average spoiled super-rich socialite, that would have been one thing. But it wasn't as simple as that. She was obviously highly intelligent, motivated and switched on to the world around her, and while that was the source of their current battle it was also the source of much of the rather distant, passive respect Amy had felt for the other woman prior to meeting her - not that she had a particularly strong opinion either way about the Cochrane Foundation, but their ethical investment drive and their transparent research and development policies were well-known and well-respected, touted as the way forward for big businesses who were interested in being of good moral standing.

So although she hadn't thought much one way or the other about Megan Cochrane, she'd been predisposed to like her, meaning that the discovery that she was as spoiled, entitled and haughty as every other rich asshole who visited the clinic had burned her more than she'd like to admit. A little voice tried to remind her that the woman had recently had to face up to the fact that after an obviously physically active life she might never walk again, but somehow that sympathy couldn't override the irritation she felt at Megan's casual disregard for her property or her staff.

She could've had her kicked out, of course - it was a private clinic and they could deny treatment for whatever reason they wanted, and breaking into a staff office was a pretty steep breach of the rules. While it would've been satisfying to see Cochrane packed up and shipped off Amy knew that she didn't stand a chance of regaining full use of her legs if she went elsewhere, and no matter how annoyed she was over the other woman's behaviour she couldn't quite condemn her to an invalid's life.

And after all, she was right - she had the right to whatever access she wanted - or was prepared to pay for, anyway. But Walter Bell had been so particular about limiting her access to news media - he hadn't said why, but he had looked so concerned about it that Amy had just agreed to it, and Megan's countenance when Amy had visited her that afternoon had confirmed for her that he had been right. She wondered if she shouldn't call the older man and apologise, but then, her job wasn't to act as Megan's babysitter, merely fix her legs.

So much for 'Amy' and 'Megan', I guess, she mused with a sigh, settling down onto her couch with her microwave meal and a glass of wine from the open bottle in the fridge. Back to Ms Gray and Ms Cochrane. It was normal. It was the same as every other privileged soul to pass through the clinic. So why did this one sting so badly?

 

"...and hold that for ten... good, that's good, almost there."

It seemed stupid to even think, but Megan hadn't ever really considered how much she took her legs for granted until they suddenly stopped cooperating with everything she wanted them to do. Blowing out a hard breath, she balanced on the lightweight walker, her feet just touching the ground as Kyle counted down the remaining seconds.

"Okay, now another step. Left foot this time."

"Goddamnit it, Kyle, I swear you're moving that chair when I'm not looking. That's low, man, really low."

"Hey, it's good to have something to aim for," Kyle said with a grin.

"Yeah, but usually the endpoints don't move," Megan grumbled, wincing as she placed her weight on her left foot and inched forward.

"That's in your head I'm afraid," Kyle said. "Here, tell you what," he teased, getting up and moving and sitting in the chair. "I'll sit here, and you'll know if I move. And if you get here you can choose between sitting on the chair or in my lap." He grinned, then looked worried, "Sorry, that was a joke - I'm realising how unprofessional and totally inappropriate that was if you took me seriously..."

Megan grinned; as usual the banter distracted from the pain and made her paltry attempts at movement less frustrating. "Oh come on, like the rich old birds in here ever complain about you hitting on them."

Kyle laughed. "At least none of them can chase me," he joked, finely tuned by now to how and when he could make light of Megan's condition.

"Hey, I wouldn't need to be mobile to catch you," Megan told him, smirking.

"Well, aren't we confident... Come on, the right again now, you're doing great."

 

It took her a half dozen further steps to reach the chair in the end; by the time she got there Kyle had vacated it and she sat down heavily, cursing under her breath at how exhausted she felt. A month ago she could've run ten miles without getting winded; now her body was sluggish and sore, protesting at every small movement required of it.

"You're making really great progress," Kyle reassured her again as he wheeled her back to the bed. "Really impressive - it's a testament to what good shape you were in before the accident."

"Y'know, I usually prefer my cheerleaders in short skits," she told him, trying to keep from brooding.

"Noted, next time wear a short skirt. I'm warning you though, I don't suit 'em."

"I'm sure you're being too modest."

Kyle just shot her another perfect white-toothed smile, and with a bob of his head, took his leave, hesitating at the doorway just before leaving to add, "Oh, Ms Gray asked me to give her apologies - she can't make it today but will do your usual check-ups tomorrow."

"Right." Now who's being spoiled and unprofessional? Megan wondered, convinced that the other woman was avoiding her after their spat the day before. I'm not allowed to do anything to 'jeopardize' my recovery, but she can just reschedule on a whim.

"Mr Bell's visiting tomorrow too, isn't he?"

"Hm? Oh, Walter, yeah. I guess it's that time again."

"So that'll be a busy day for you."

"Gosh, two visits in one day. How will I cope?"

"Just try not to get overexcited," Kyle said with a smirk, giving her a final nod before taking his leave.

 

With Kyle gone and her next nurse's visit not for several hours Megan had plenty of time to kill. Normally after a physio session she would nap as her body fought to regain all the energy she had expended, but she forced herself to stay awake this time, pulling out her laptop and logging onto her financial accounts. If I can't fight Deed in the flesh, I'll have to try other measures, she thought doggedly, scrolling through the pages of summaries and the latest reports from Deed's own company, League Industries. Ever since she had gotten wind of what he had been up to she knew she could block some of his progress or at least slow it down, and time flew by as she drafted emails and proposals to the board of the Foundation, hoping that she wasn't too late to make an impact.

She worked right through the evening and into the night, ignoring the gentle protestations of the various staff members who were in and out of her quarters over the course of the rest of the day. The next morning when Walter arrived to visit, Megan was completely exhausted, but happier looking than she had been in weeks.

"Hey Wally," she greeted the balding old man, grinning up at him from her bed. "Bring me anything nice?"

Wincing at the nickname, Walter took a seat beside her, pursing his lips at the laptop on her knees. "I see you decided to overrule me," he said.

"Oh, that. It was for the greater good," Megan said lightly.

"Not yours, I imagine."

"I'm fine - doing my physio and taking my vitamins like a good girl."z

"And spending your nights moving your investments around and sending out board proposals - I'm told they've had to schedule two emergency meetings for this week. Gina Renner is coming back from her honeymoon early."

"Well, this is important - if we can scoop up a few key investments before Deed does he'll find terrorizing the city a much harder thing to do."

"You couldn't have trusted that the board already had plans in motion for this eventuality?"

"Well if they did, nobody told me," Megan said pointedly, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Because you're on a sabbatical, remember?" Walter sighed. "I'm going to have to run round in circles for a bit keeping this in line with your cover story."

"As I vaguely remember, I was quite drugged up when I agreed to be 'on a sabbatical'."

"As far as I'm aware you're still fairly drugged-up," Walter said with a raised eyebrow.

"Which is why the board can review my decisions before anything's made final - I'm not trying to stomp all over things here, I just want to get the ball rolling!"

"All right, all right..." The old man held his hands up, smiling weakly. "I'll make sure things go smoothly," he said.

"Walter, you're a star. Oh, did you bring that stuff I asked for?"

Walter's brow furrowed. "No... I was a little confused, to be honest - why did you want all that stuff? You don't need your old splints and supports..."

"No? Two broken legs, I'm pretty sure if I ever needed them I do now."

"I presume that they're doing whatever they think is best for your recovery already?"

"Yes, well, and I'm just going to help them a bit..."

"It doesn't occur to you that perhaps if you aren't wearing braces and splints that's because you shouldn't be wearing them?"

"I know what works for me, Walter. I've done this before."

"You're not a doctor. Can't you let that nice Ms Gray do her work?"

"Oh, don't tell me she's taken you in," Megan said, scowling. "I should've known, the way you two conspired against me..."

"'Taken me in'?"

"She's not as 'nice' as you think she is. She's actually quite bitter."

"How so?"

"She's incredibly biased against anyone with a speck of money to their name, which, as a surgeon, I think must be quite hypocritical of her."

Walter frowned a little. "That doesn't sound like the woman I met."

"Well, maybe she was having you on. Or... I don't know, maybe she's just been having a bad couple of days," Megan allowed. "But either way, she's been far less than pleasant to me."

"Well, all I can say is that the woman I met seemed to show genuine concern and compassion for you - which is more than I can say for most surgeons I've met. Usually they wouldn't even bother to pay so much attention to their patients, not day-to-day."

"Well, usually their patients haven't signed a waiver saying they can do whatever mad science they want to them," Megan pointed out.

"Have you been given any further information about the procedure they're going to be performing?"

"Oh, there's some kind of gene therapy aspect, along with surgery to correct the bones as they heal... there's a summary of it in my chart."

"I see. How long do they expect the process to take?"

Megan's expressed darkened. "Too long."

Her handler sighed. "Megan, what can I say to convince you not to rush this?"

"I'm doing the best I can here, but goddamnit, Walter... things are getting worse the longer I'm out of action. I can't just sit around knowing that while I'm here Deed is out there messing with my city."

"I know. I know. Except that you have to. You aren't going to get up and walk out of here for a long time, and Ms Gray is the person who can make that happen. So play nice, okay? Don't give her the headaches you give me." He smiled a little.

"Headaches!" Megan exclaimed. "You have got to be kidding me, you have no idea how good you've got it, buddy..."

"Mm, so you say."

"Hmph. You shouldn't be making fun of me, I'm sick."

"Yeah, yeah, live it up while you can, missy."

Megan put on her best 'pathetic' face. "Did you bring any cherries?"

"Do I ever forget them?"

"You're the best."

"Of course."

 

Walter stayed a little longer, though the longer his visit stretched the more Megan peppered him with questions about the state of City and the comings and goings of various lowlifes until he stood and excused himself, giving her a kind yet pitying look before heading out the door. Megan's exhaustion took this opportunity to come crashing down upon her and she slept through most of the morning and afternoon, oblivious to the bandage-changing and drug-administering that was foisted upon her in the meantime.

It wasn't until the afternoon that she swam back into consciousness to see Amy Gray sitting by her bedside, apparently having been there for some time, as she was reclined comfortably in the chair, legs crossed, reading from an ebook. Something felt strange to Megan, and it was a few more fuzzy moments before she realised that Amy's free hand was lying on the bed over hers, fingers curled lightly around it. As she twitched automatically on discovering this unexpected contact, Amy's attention was caught, and she glanced up, pulling her hand away, though without any sign of awkwardness.

"You were having a bad dream," she said simply.

"Oh." Megan blinked, then offered a bleary "Thanks," wondering which scenario had been playing out in her unconscious mind - the Mallet, smashing her legs? Thorn, impaling her shoulder with one of his deadly edged throwing stars? Toxia's noxious gas grenades? Each of them was nightmare fodder. She only hoped she hadn't said anything out loud.

"I wanted to apologise for my unprofessional behaviour the day before yesterday," Amy said then, without hesitation, clearly having planned to say this. "I was acting outside my remit. won't happen again."

"Uh, that's all right. I know I can be annoying sometimes, and I'm sorry for sneaking into your office," Megan offered, moved to magnanimosity by the other woman's apology.

"I hope the facilities are to your satisfaction."

"They're great, thanks. Very satisfactory."

Amy nodded. "All right. I take it Mr Lastname visited earlier today? I was still out of the office myself..."

"Go anywhere interesting?"

"I was visiting my sister."

"Sounds fun."

"I just needed..." Gray trailed off, smiling tightly. "Well. Would you like to give me an update on your progress yesterday?" she asked, putting the ereader aside and pulling out her notebook. "Kyle gave a very good report."

"I don't know what else to add, really. Walking's tough, but it didn't hurt as much as it used to," Megan lied. "I definitely feel like I'm getting better."

Amy nodded, noting a few things down in her book. "We'll need to get you back in for new x-rays and physical exams next week," she said. "I'll let you know when I get it booked in."

"Great."

"Mm." Amy gave her a long look, and suddenly Megan was worried that her true status - the fact that she didn't feel better at all, only better at hiding the pain - was somehow written on her face. But she just nodded, then, and stood, shutting her notebook and reaching for her ereader. "All right," she said. "I'll see you soon, then."

"When?" She felt stupid as soon as she asked, but the question was out there regardless, like the plea of some anxious schoolgirl. "I was just... wondering, since it can get pretty boring in here without anything to look forward to..."

The other woman smirked dryly. "I find it hard to believe you look forward to meetings with me," she said, but she immediately went on, "We meet every other day, so it's technically tomorrow morning in the diary since today's is a postponement of yesterday's appointment."

"You're not going to just offset everything by a day to adjust?"

"Well, I certainly can, if you prefer. I figured I'd just reset when I put next week's appointments in, but I could shuffle things the rest of this week too..."

"No, no, tomorrow's good." Megan smiled readily.

Amy returned the smile, albeit hesitantly. "You're a hot and cold type, aren't you?" she commented mildly. "The other day you couldn't stand the sight of me."

"Well, to be fair we were both pretty worked up at that point. I thought I might've gotten reassigned to another surgeon after you left."

"I wouldn't do that to you," Amy said immediately. "I have a duty of care. I was worried you'd request a new surgeon."

"And give up my best chance of recovery? I'm a hell of a lot more stubborn than that."

"Well. Good that you're focussing on what's most important."

"Gotta keep my chin up somewhow."

"Well, fortunately your neck escaped injury, somehow, so that shouldn't be too much of an issue," Amy jested gently.

Megan snorted at the bad joke, feeling oddly relieved that she had managed to 'make up' with Amy. Not that she needed everyone to like her all the time - there were plenty of people who didn't, for one reason or another - but she really didn't want the surgeon thinking badly of her. "Guess I should count myself lucky, then."

"Mm." A brief looked of deep sadness crossed Amy's face before she rearranged it back into a neutral expression, momentarily eliciting a responding tug deep inside Megan.

She almost asked what it was that had elicited such an expression, but knew that however polite they were being with one another she'd be overstepping her bounds entirely to probe any more deeply. "Anyway," Megan said then. "I guess I should let you go."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."

 

Marque hit the brick wall with a force that knocked all the air out of her lungs, the shadow of her opponent falling over her immediately as he reached down to lift her up by the front of her suit, he scrabbled for purchase on the slick, deceptively thick material however, and this gave her the precious seconds she needed to aim a swift kick at the man's knees, eliciting a yelp of pain and sending him staggering backwards.

Hauling herself to her feet she rushed him, cannoning into him with as much momentum as she could muster, shouldering into his chest and finally felling the big guy like a tree. He landed heavily and, somehow, with his neck trapped between her knees.

"Where's Deed?"

"Not tellin' the likes of you!" he replied, voice somewhat muffled by her thighs. "Piss off!"

"Y'know, I appreciate that this is Kára's town," Marque said, shifting to rest her knee directly on the man's throat, "but I'm not Kára. I will crush your windpipe if you can't think of anything I want to hear."

He choked out an obscenity, fighting to throw the masked woman off his chest and ultimately failing. "All right, all right!" he coughed, apparently not such a tough nut to crack after all. "Lemme go!"

"Not until I hear something nice."

"He's not here, all right? He's out of town."

"So who's his rep here? Who's doing his dirty work?"

"I don't know!"

"Yes you do. C'mon. Think real hard."

With a blow to the head to help jar his sticky memory, the thug managed to come up with a name, his expression just grim enough as he offered up the name to Marque that she believed he was telling the truth.

Eventually, he was allowed to hobble off, and in her distraction Marque was about to leave herself before she remembered the woman lying, half conscious and quite possibly in shock, in the corner of the alleyway - Marque had interrupted the man in mid-mugging-and-assault.

Kneeling by the young woman Marque leaned down to look at her. "Let's take a look at that head," she murmured, reaching to push back her hair a little to see the source of the blood pouring quite freely down her face.

There was a shallow cut on her scalp, but then headwounds did always bleed disproportionately to their size. The woman looked up at her, dazed and obviously not quite with it. "What... you're not Kára."

"Kára's AWOL, remember? I'm subbing," Marque said with a grin. "C'mon, where am I taking you?" she asked, moving to help the woman to her feet, stooping to pick up the things that had fallen out of her purse and pausing as she recognised an all-too-familiar badge. "DI, huh? Should I be running for the hills?" she joked, returning the item to the other woman's purse. "It's not every day a vigilante gets to save a cop's ass. Oh no, wait..."

"Should arrest you... interfering with the course of justice," the other woman said, leaning heavily on the wall behind her as she got her feet under herself. "And excessive sarcasm."

"I didn't know sarcasm was illegal in this town but suddenly Kára makes a whole lot more sense," said Marque, slipping the detective's bag over her own arm, and wrapping the other around the woman herself as she moved gingerly away from the wall. "Dullest superhero ever, I'm telling ya. No sense of humour. There was this one time when I set a pit-trap, just for practice, a- well, you don't want to hear about that," Marque said with a chuckle. "Nice dress, been somewhere nice?"

"A date. Dinner." The detective - whose name was Victoria Akins, Marque had noticed on the ID badge she had picked up and slipped back into her purse moments before - glanced down at herself, rolling her eyes as she took in the smear of dirt on the simple grey a-line dress. "A waste of time."

"Ah, well, better luck next time," Marque said with pragmatic cheer. "Least you get me to see you safe home."

"I'm fine now, really. I don't need a vigilante escort to my doorstep," Victoria said, giving a shake of her head. "Lightning never strikes twice in the same place, after all."

"That's actually a myth. C'mon, humour me, for novelty's sake."

"Well, it will keep you from interfering anywhere else, I suppose," the other woman said pragmatically. "Okay. It's not far."

 

"So I guess that guy must've got the drop on you somehow?" Marque mused as she walked by Victoria's side along the quiet street. "I mean, you obviously know how to take care of yourself."

"You say that based on what evidence? All you've seen was that I managed to get my head bounced off a brick wall by a mugger," Victoria replied somewhat acidly, obviously less than pleased by her own failings.

"I know a fit woman when I see her," Marque said, a grin reaching her sparkling green eyes even behind her mask. "It's in the way you move."

"Mm. Well, I was somewhat distracted and stupidly checked my mobile - he must have been waiting for a likely customer for some time in that alley."

"Hasn't there been a public health campaign about walking and texting?" Marque said with a chuckle. "But yeah, he was a pretty low-level low-life. You know his face? If you wanted to bring him in I'm pretty sure I could track him down."

"After you so helpfully let him go..."

"I didn't know you were a cop, did I? Did you want me to make a citizen's arrest?"

"You could've called the police!"

"How do you know I wasn't going to right after I helped you out?"

"Have you?"

"Personally." Marque shot her a sidelong smirk.

"I'm not on duty," Victoria said dryly.

"I find it hard to believe you're ever really off-duty."

"I am when I'm in heels."

The 'superhero' chuckled again. "Well, you're very welcome to call in the mugging yourself," she said. "I wouldn't want to incriminate myself."

"Oh, I'll tell them you were there," Victoria told her, though it didn't sound very reassuring.

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about."

"If you're so worried, why'd you come here? Because you don't think we're 'cut out' for the job?" Victoria seemed to be getting more and more aggressive now, and Marque wondered if it was a reaction to having been helpless and 'rescued'.

She knew she should back down if she didn't want to get into an argument, but, well, Marque was never the type to back down. "Chill out, sweetheart," she said, knowing just how infuriating she was being. "I just think you could use all the help you can get. I know how cops' hands get tied sometimes. I'm here to help."

"If you wanted to help, there are a hundred other ways to do so that don't involve putting on a silly costume and running around assaulting people on the street. Why don't you try one of those instead?"

Marque didn't answer immediately, letting the pair walk on silence a while. Then all she said, in a slightly wounded tone, was, "You don't like my costume?"

"It's very garish."

"You say that, but red doesn't reflect light on those dark nights."

"Again, if you didn't run around on those 'dark nights' that wouldn't be an issue."

"You'd deny a girl her hobby?"

"This is a hobby for you? Oh for crying out loud..."

"Jesus, whole City's had its funny bone removed," Marque protested with a laugh.

"Well excuse me," Victoria huffed. "Maybe I injured mine whilst being mugged ten minutes ago."

"Oh please, probably the most exciting thing that's happened to you all week."

The other woman pulled away suddenly, her expression aghast. "You're mad! Crime isn't exciting, it's not there for some thrill-seeking maniac to get their kicks from! It's a very real and serious problem and it's something that we professionals are trained to deal with!"

Marque's expression didn't shift - though it was hard to tell with half her face beneath her mask. She surveyed Victoria in silence for a long moment. "Look, lady, I don't do this for fun, okay? I was just messing around. Sorry if what I do offends you, but I come from a city where the cops'd as soon take a backhander and look the other way as do their jobs, so you and I have a different experience of the 'professionals'."

"Well, perhaps you ought to go back to wherever you came from and 'help' them - here in City we're coping just fine without vigilantes."

"Are you indeed."

"Yes. We are."

"So the hell that's broken loose since Kára went on sick leave... that's all part of your grand plan, is it?"

"Of course not. But we're coping."

"And I'm trying to help. You're fucking welcome."

Victoria's expression looked almost triumphant, as if Marque's heated statement had proved something she had long since suspected. She stopped and looked up at the building beside them. "Thank you for the escort. This is far enough."

"Aw, I don't get invited up for coffee?"

"If you're still here when I get upstairs I will be reporting you."

"Not even a donut? I could totally catch it from under the window..."

"Goodnight." With that, Victoria Akins marched up the front stairs and let herself into the building, shutting the door firmly behind her, presumably to keep meddling superheroes from following her any closer to home.

Her apartment was on the fifth floor, and naturally the elevator wasn't operational, so it took some minutes for her to get up the stairs and into her flat, particularly given that she still felt slightly woozy. Even then, she had a sinking feeling that when she looked out of the window, the masked woman would still be there.

She was right. Marque noticed her immediately, and waved cheerily, before turning on her heel and taking off down the street at a jaunty pace, looking more like a costumed charity fun-runner than a dangerous vigilante.

And that's because she's a lunatic, not an actual, effective crime deterrent. God, I can't believe I let her accompany me home, now she knows where I live. Breaking all kinds of protocol tonight, Akin, she thought with a sigh, sinking down onto her couch and feeling her knees tremble, just for a moment. Time to tighten up, stop messing around. City needs you.

 

And the city did. CPD was run off its feet right now, and Victoria, after the least restful evening off she'd had in some time, was due back at the station in a matter of hours for an early turn. She arrived in bang on time as usual, making a beeline straight for the coffee machine - also as usual, for her and anyone else expected in the station at dark o' clock in the morning. The sludge it spat out could barely be called coffee, but it functioned as a caffeine delivery system, and that was all that really mattered. Mug in hand, she made her way to the briefing room, settling down on one of the uncomfortable metal folding chairs near the front of the room as the rest of the morning shift gathered.

Captian Emery appeared not long after, looking as worn out as the rest of them felt, to give their morning briefing.

"Right, rough night, folks - we have six perps banged up in the cells that need written up, and there was an arson down in the Shades - it's out, now, no collateral, but we still have officers on the scene waiting for forensics so we're gonna be short-staffed next shift - anyone not on a double right now, consider yourself drafted."

There was a chorus of groans - not that anybody there wouldn't go the extra mile if asked, but a surprise double meant dinner dates cancelled, Little League games missed and myriad other plans shifted yet again in favour of spending time with City's lowest common denominator.

Once the briefing finished the crowd dispersed; Victoria jumped up and made a beeline for the booking station, eager to find out which of the perps could help in her investigations. As a detective in Vice and Narcotics most criminals could provide her with useful information of some sort, though they were just as likely to blow smoke up her ass as some sort of futile revenge strategy. The trick was to convince them that doing so would be a very bad idea - easy with a first-timer, maybe, but harder to do with the repeat offenders. She found herself praying for a nice juicy young offender or hapless mook she could spend the morning pressuring; anyone tougher and she thought she might just curl up under her desk and hide for a shift.

Her partner in, well, crime-fighting, Detective Jack Lee, was waiting for her already, leafing through some reports. "Couple of possibles," he said. "You want to go down or shall I?"

"I'll go," she replied, snagging the first report and flipping to the first page. The young man had been brought in once before, and with his suspected ties to the Bellicosi family it was certainly possible he'd be able to shed some light on the current state of affairs in the underworld. "Second offense - he's looking at time if he doesn't cooperate, isn't he?"

"Mhm, particularly given we found a bag of pills on him - probably for personal use but there are enough that we could swing intent to supply if we wanted."

"Stupid boy," Victoria said with a shake of her head, skimming through the rest of the report quickly. "Right. You going to keep an eye on the cameras?"

"I'll be on-hand."

 

"C'mon, c'mon..." Marque waited, balanced on the balls of her feet, for the two men to make their move. The shorter of the two charged first, and she deftly deflected his momentum into a nearby dumpster, which rang out with a clang as he fell against it. Whirling back to the other crook, she faced him just in time to see him swing for her with a vicious right hook; ducking, she swept a foot out and knocked his feet out from under him. They both scrambled to attack again but she obviously had the upper hand and it didn't take her long to knock them out, one after the other, and line them up neatly next to the car they had been in the process of jacking when she came along. This accomplished, she grinned and pulled out her cell phone, dialing the three-digit code with one gloved hand.

"Hello, you've reached CPD, what's the emergency?"

"Hi, I'd like to report an attempting car-jacking on Winston and Keynes."

"All right - can you please describe what you saw to the best of your ability."

"Two men, one short-ass caucasion, one latino, both early to mid twenties, short dark hair, were attempting to jimmy the lock on a _really_ badly parked Lexus penis extension. Seriously, it's amazing this thing hasn't had its wing mirror taken off by passing traffic."

"Thank you, ma'am. Can you please provide me with the location and license plate of the car, and the direction the perpetrators were last seen going."

"Location's near the corner of Winston and Keynes, like I said. License plate's XXXXX, and the perps are currently lying unconscious against the car - can't miss 'em."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Marque smirked, imagining the shocked expression on the operator's face. "Were they assaulted?"

"I think I may have looked away at that point operator - sorry! Oh, would you look at the time, I have to be going - don't worry though, they're cuffed so I'm sure they won't get far - g'night!"

 

The tapping at the window woke Victoria from the accidental nap she had slipped into as soon as she had gotten home - she hadn't even had the chance to slip off her sensible shoes before slumber had taken her, right there on the couch. Fighting grogginess, she frowned and sat up, peering at the window in confusion. There certainly weren't any trees nearby whose branches could've caused the noise, and as far as she remembered none of her neighbours had cats - not that they would've had an easy tiem of navigating the window ledge five stories up. The repetitive tapping continued, and she stood to investigate.

She rolled up the blind. Right there, apparently hanging on some sort of grappling line, was the masked vigilante commonly known as 'Marque'.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Victoria frowned and made a 'go away' gesture, as if the vigilante was a bothersome pigeon.

Marque made a comical 'sad face' and mimed scratching at the window rather like a cat at a closed door.

"No! Normal people use the door!" she enunciated loudly, shaking her head. Not that she intended to let the other woman in if she came to the door, either, but at least it would've felt more normal.

The other woman mouthed something that Victoria didn't quite catch, though she parsed it a moment later by the Marque helpfully pointing sideways. Shall I come to the door then?

"No! Go away!"

The Marque's head drooped, shoulders - well, one of them - slumping theatrically, and very deliberately, she released her grip on her line and fell down, past the window and out of view.

With a gasp Victoria threw open the window, expecting to see the vigilante's crazy brains smashed on the sidewalk below, and it was only then that she noticed the two rows of fingers gripping onto the ledge.

Hauling herself up as though she were at a the side of a swimming pool, Marque favoured Victoria with a beaming smile. "That was quick," she said. "I'm touched."

"You're insane," the detective muttered, her heart pounding as she recovered from the shock of seeing Marque 'fall'. "Do you know how dangerous this is?"

"I'm sure I soon will with Detective Killjoy on the case. Wanna invite me in for coffee and tell me all about it? I promise to listen to aaaaall your vital statistics..."

"No. You can come in, but only so you can depart using a civilized method like the stairs." Victoria stepped back, hands on her hips.

"Aw, come on..." Marque said, though she moved inside as Victoria stepped back to allow her access, "I just wanted to talk. Hey, nice place - spartan-chic, I like it. You play your personality pretty close to your chest, huh?"

"This is my personality."

"I guess. Still waters run deep an' all that." Marque shot her what would have been a winning smile if she wasn't so damn annoying before wandering into the centre of the room, looking around herself at the sparse furnishings, the plain (though comfortable looking) couch, the neat bookshelves, the little old CRT television and the meticulously neat kitchen area. "If I pretend I'm in shock will you get me a glass of water? And a cookie?"

"If I give you water will you please leave?" Victoria said then, already heading for the kitchen. This felt a lot like negotiating with the terrorists, but she was determined to kick her out as soon as possible.

"Well, obviously I'll leave at some point; I can't stay forever, can I?" Marque said, taking this as an excuse to sit down. "I was sort of hoping you'd let me give a better account of myself than I did last night, but you seem kinda pissed off - maybe I should come back another time for that."

Victoria proffered the water as if imparting a prisoner's last meal; she didn't sit, instead folding her arms over her chest and staring down at the costume-clad woman. "It's been a very long day, and you interrupted... you could have picked a better time."

"Hey, I tried calling - how else was I supposed to get in touch? Unless you wanna 'like' me on Facebook..."

"You called me?" Victoria stalked over to her purse and fished her cell phone out, frowning at the 'one missed call' flashing on the screen. "How did you get my number?" She demanded, turning to the other woman.

"What? Oh... That's not me," Marque said, craning her neck a little to attempt on basic principle it seemed to see Victoria's screen, not that she was anywhere near it. "I didn't wanna invade your privacy by getting your mobile number, so I just used your central line," she said with a grin. "I had to report a car jacking anyway, so Y'know, two birds, one stone. Lady seemed kinda confused though so it figures she didn't pass my message on... So who did call? Was it last night's dinner date, wondering why you haven't called?"

"You called the station? To report a carjacking?" Victoria felt like she was asking a lot of questions, but not in the good 'cop in charge' way.

"I _called_ nine-one-one," Marque said, in a tone that suggested she thought this should have been obvious, "just like you told me to?"

"You... oh." The dark-haired woman frowned. "I see."

"I even cuffed them for you guys, 'cause I'm that eager to help. Speaking of which what are the chances of me getting those back, d'you think? I'm on kind of a budget..."

"You want your handcuffs back." It wasn't a question.

"Well, any cuffs would do technically, but mine do have red fur lining..."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I suppose you could keep them if you'll use 'em, call it a donation."

"You have _some_ nerve," Victoria said heatedly. "Is that why you came here, to beg for some toys you threw away on some stupid stunt?"

"What?" Marque looked thoroughly confused at this concept. "No... I was just, y'know, joking around. I came to talk to you."

"In the middle of the night? What for?"

"Figured it was as good a time as any - I mean, seeing as you're on split shifts right now."

Victoria blinked. Then sighed. "Oh, fine." She sat down heavily, resting her forearms on her knees. "Let's have it."

"I don't hate cops. Well. I don't hate cops in principle. I'm not trying to make your life harder."

"So the fact that you are is - what? A happy coincidence?"

"Well, what do you want me to do? Look, you lot get on fine with Kara, what's so special about her?"

Victoria pressed her lips together. "The CPD and Kara have forged a very careful relationship over several years - she didn't swoop in and start randomly beating people up."

"I'm not randomly beating anyone up!"

"Fine, _assaulting_ people, is that better?"

"It was the 'random' I was objecting to."

"It's still an arrestable offence."

"Self defence or defence of another is an offence?"

"Picking fights is."

Marque sat back with a sigh. "So... what would Kara do?"

"Kara rarely picked fights with thugs on the street - though she did often let us know of rumours and tides to pay attention to."

"I find it hard to believe she didn't beat up some thugs along the way," Marque observed. "You want my lead from the other night? You can have it you want it. With compliments."

"Oh?" For the first time Victoria looked something other than annoyed. "All right, let's hear it."

"Well, I tracked down Deed's man - followed my lead from that fuckwit who tried to mug you. A man calling himself Dragon - you heard of him? Looks like he's operating out of a section of disused subway over in the north east of town."

Victoria narrowed her eyes, reaching for a notebook and scribbling down the information. "All right. That's helpful. Thank you."

"You want me to do some recon?"

"Let me guess - recon involves swooping in, insulting the lot of them, causing mayhem and then running away?"

"I am capable of watching a location without being seen," Marque said, sounding rather wounded. "I feel like you've made a lot of unfair assumptions about me, detective."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Victoria said grimly. "And it's my job to make assumptions about people."

"I hope you're usually better, then."

The annoyed expression returned and Victoria stood, pacing towards the kitchen and then back again. "I've had just about enough insult for one night, Ms..."

"I don't think we're quite on a surname basis," Marque said, pushing up from the couch and taking a long drink from her glass before holding it out to Victoria. "Look, I don't want to be at odds with you," she said. "I'm sorry if you find my manner... facetious. But I really am here to help, and I'm not going anywhere - not while city's threatening to explode and Kara's..." Marque trailed off for a moment, closing her mouth tightly and for a moment Victoria thought she saw the young woman's lips tremble slightly. "...on leave."

"And your own city? The one festering with corruption... don't they miss you?"

Marque shrugged. "You're not the only one on split shifts."

"That sounds dangerous." Victoria sounded almost concerned. "Stretching yourself too thin helps no one."

"Well, we're all just doing what we need to."

"Mm."

"I swear I'm not one of the bad guys, detective."

"I never said that you were. I'm just not convinced you're one of the _good_ guys yet."

"You're a smart woman. I'm sure you'll get there."

Victoria's jaw tightened. "Is there anything else?"

"Not unless you want to offer me that coffee. Or a beer. It's been a long night..."

"Not really."

Marque smirked. "'Nother time, maybe. Right..." she headed for the ajar window.

Victoria cleared her throat significantly.

Marque stopped, turning, pointing. "Left my... thing... on the... ledge thing."

"Fine. Go."

Hopping out onto the ledge, Marque reached up to grab the line, and gave it a jiggle until the hook came loose. Then she hesitated a moment before, with a rather defeated stance, coming back inside.

"This is pointless, you know," she observed as she made for the hall.

"I'm not going to be responsible for you falling and breaking your neck," Victoria said archly. "You can do what you like on your own time."

Marque offered no further contest, letting Victoria show the way to the door. Stopping in the doorway, she hesitated, before reaching to undo a hidden zip somewhere on her thick, elbow length right hand glove, peeling it off and lifting it up in front of her face, presumably checking that it wasn't too damp from its confinement before offering it to Victoria.

It was strange, somehow, looking down and seeing what seemed to be a perfectly ordinary hand before her - smooth skin, neatly trimmed fingernails. Almost by reflex she took the proffered hand and shook it firmly, unsurprised at the smoothly calloused palms and fingers, though she was surprised by the tingle that ran up her forearm and prickled the hairs at the back of her neck at the contact.

"Well," she said gruffly, dropping the other woman's hand and taking a step back. "Goodnight."

There was a pause. And then there was the slightest quirk of a smirk from Marque, and Victoria hated her all over again. "G'ngiht, detective."

 

Fuck! Megan squeezed her eyes shut as her legs throbbed, the pain radiating up through the shattered bones and twisted muscles.

"...Megan? You okay? You want to stop?"

"No!" she gasped, forcing her eyes open and shaking her head. Kyle looked back at her, his handsome face furrowed in concern. She forced a smile. "It's cool. I just need a minute."

"Just put as much weight as you need to on the walker," he said, though of course at that moment she had little choice in any case. "You're doing fine."

Not 'great' today, then. At the other end of the room, arms folded, lips pursed, Amy Gray watched. She didn't usually sit in on Megan's physio, but she'd had her x-rays this morning, and judging by the buff folder now sitting on the stand by the bed, Amy had come to talk to Megan about the results.

Gritting her teeth, she lowered her left leg, swinging the right forward and then transferring the weight onto it and heaving the walker forward in one concerted effort. Her previous experience with physio was that it was supposed to get easier with time, but if there were any improvements she had yet to notice them. If anything, her legs hurt worse than before, but she could only hope that it was a 'darkest before the dawn' situation. Anything else wasn't acceptable.

As usual, by the time she reached the chair she was completely worn out, her muscles and bones screaming, all her concentration on making her body do what she needed it to. Kyle was as reassuring as always, though his concern was apparent, his tone showing a little nervousness, perhaps in the face of their observer. Wheeling her back to the bed, he began to help her move to get back into bed before Amy stopped him.

"Not today, Kyle - I'm going to take Megan in the chair, I think if that's okay with you, Megan. We can go to my office to chat if that works for you? I have a lightbox there."

"Yeah, sure," Megan said, slumping back into the chair. "Roll me anywhere you want, I'm not going anywhere."

Kyle took his leave, and Amy clipped the buff folder onto the board that contained Megan's charts, hanging it on the back of her wheelchair and pushing it out of Megan's quarters and down along the corridors toward her office. Megan was fit enough in her upper half to wheel herself, now, of course, and often insisted on it even when accompanied by a nurse, but after the physical exertion of the physio session she was silently relieved that she wasn't being expected to do so on this occasion. Still, the ignominy of being wheeled like an invalid was embarrassing, especially after such a poor showing, and Megan was descending into one of her increasingly frequent bad moods by the time they reached Amy's office.

Amy moved the chair over to the little row of seats that sat around a coffee table at the far end of the office where a large lightbox dominated the wall, and she flipped it on, now, reaching for Megan's chart and retrieving the buff folder from beneath the clip. She tossed it onto the coffee table for now, instead taking a few moments to run her eyes over the top few pages of Megan's now bulging chart. As she did, she spoke. Her tone was conversational, deliberate, without a hint of anger or disappointment to it. Her words cut Megan to her core.

"So, on a scale of one to ten, where one is saying you've never laughed at a cat macro, and ten is saying the holocaust didn't happen, how would you rate the level of your denial of your pain levels to Kyle in your physio sessions?"

"Pain is subjective," Megan managed, blinking in surprise. "I can do the exercises, so it can't be that bad."

"It's precisely because pain is subjective that it could be that bad," Amy said, looking rather grimmer now. "Y'know, pain is your body's way of telling you that you something is bad for you. It's not something you can just ignore without consequences."

"I'm not ignoring it. I'm just... working through it."

"You're working yourself too hard," Amy said, putting the chart down and reaching for the folder. "Megan, you can't rush this. We are doing everything we can to help your recovery, but pushing so hard, pushing past all that pain isn't speeding you up. It's slowing you down."

"I don't have time!" Megan said, her voice sounding stretched and close to cracking. "I can't just sit around waiting to get better, I need to get back."

Amy seemed to think about saying something more - she took in a breath, she opened her mouth, perhaps to ask the question Megan couldn't answer - what was so important that she had to get back? What was it that she had to do that required more than her mind, her instructions?

Instead, she just opened the folder, and one by one put the films up on the lightbox. When she was done, she turned, her expression intent on Megan's face. It was clear to Megan that she was watching her to see whether she needed to say anything about the x-rays or whether Megan knew enough to make an initial interpretation herself.

Megan did, and even with her steely nerves it was hard not to gasp in horror.

She'd seen x-rays of her legs before - back at the start, and more recently as they'd begun to heal. She'd known that the tibula and fibula of her right leg had been quite cleanly broken, but badly crushed and requiring an extensive reconstruction job on her left. The initial surgeries had done an impressive job on her left leg and in the last film she'd seen, just after her casts had come off, the smaller pieces had almost completely knit back together, with the help of the numerous pins and plates both temporary and permanent that had been placed to hold them in place.

The chart in front of her, however, was a very different story. A good deal of the work that had been done on her left leg was slowly being undone. Gaps and off-sets had reappeared where they'd previously neatly closed, and down the inside of the leg at least two of the long pins holding sections of bone in place were actually working their way out, which suddenly made sense of the nature of some of the pains she'd had ongoing in that leg. In her right leg, the 'clean break' was no longer so clean. While the bone was obviously still reformed, a series of fine cracks had begun to snake out up and down her leg from he breaking point of her tibia, slow hairline fractures spreading up and down her leg like veins.

Megan's face blanched, her fingers curling around the armrests of her wheelchair. "Jesus. Okay. So you'll need to do another surgery, and then I'll rest. I get it."

"No, you don't get it," Amy snapped, her voice strangely high and tight, and to Megan's surprise she moved over to her chair and crouched in front of her, looking up at her, hands coming to rest over hers though not comfortingly but quite firmly, as though to hold her in place, hold her attention.

"Megan, you did this. You did this by lying about the amount of pain you were in and letting Kyle push you far harder than you should have been pushed. If you're lucky this just slows you down. If you're unlucky, you won't be eligible for the therapy and surgeries I fought for you to get because there won't be enough healthy bone left to regrow it. They need results on these trials; you become too unlikely a prospect for recovery and they will boot you, no matter how much money you have to throw at them.

"And then there's Kyle - he hasn't seen these yet, but think about what seeing this is going to do to him. He's going to feel like this is his fault. And I think we both know it isn't."

"Well I'll be sure to hog the hair shirt," Megan said, her face oddly hot. She couldn't bring herself to meet Amy's eyes, instead looking up at the illuminated x-rays again. "It's not too late, is it?" she asked then, her voice little more than a murmur. "You'll be able to convince them to keep me in the trails, won't you?"

Amy's fingers curled around hers, her grip growing a little less vice-like, a little more gentle. "I think so. I hope so. If I can repair this round of damage. You're going to be back immobile for a bit and then..." She paused, and glancing down, Megan saw her frown as though steeling herself. "I want to refer you to a counsellor as well as a new physiotherapist, if you were amenable. I think you need to have someone to talk to about your progress here, someone neutral."

Immediately Megan was on the defensive. "Look, just because I push myself a little too hard sometimes doesn't mean I need counselling. I'm just impatient, that's all."

"Do I look like some kind of idiot to you?" Amy said, sounding a little irritated herself, now. "Do you think you can just pass this off as over-exuberance? Megan, what you did here is tantamount to self harm. Putting yourself through this much pain I could probably get you a pysch eval if I wanted. All I'm asking is that you talk to a counsellor, just a couple of times a week, someone you can vent to, someone who you don't feel obliged to lie to or put on a brave face for."

"Okay, okay," Megan muttered, waving a hand. "Whatever, fine." She had visited a counsellor before, at a particularly low point in her life, and already knew there wasn't anything they could do for her. How could they, when she was holding such a major part of her life back from them - it would be like a police officer not mentioning their cases, a firefighter who never mentioned the flames. But if it would keep her on the list for the experimental treatment she'd do it.

"Thank you," Amy said, squeezing the hand that still lay beneath hers, turning her head a little, and though she was looking anywhere but Amy Megan saw her in her peripheral vision quickly wiping the heel of her free hand across one eye, and then the other. Touched, though more than a little confused at why the other woman would care so much about someone she had professed to loathe, Megan gave a small shrug.

"Don't mention it. And... thanks, for not kicking me out. I'll try really hard to do better. Even if it is incredibly hard."

Amy nodded, mouth tight, movements a little jerky as she stood and let go of Megan's hand. "All right," she said. "Good."

"Anyway. How are you?" Megan asked, hoping to dispel some of the tension in the air with a change of subject. "Any annoying patients you want to rant about? You can tell me, I promise I won't tell."

"Just one," Amy said, but she did manage a slight smirk. "But I think I'm getting there."

"Well, good luck. Some people require a lot of patience."

The other women turned to remove the films from the lightbox, replacing them in their folder. "If she can get through this, it'll have been worth all the effort and heartache."

"Heartache?"

Amy shrugged. "I care about what I do," she said simply. "And about the people I'm trying to help."

Megan felt a flood of emotion and empathy for the other woman - it was just as well she was sitting down or she might've had weak knees. "Well, she's lucky to have you on her side," she said gruffly, clearing her throat.

"Damn right she is," Amy said, chuckling as she moved around the room to put the folder in her desk before retrieving Megan's chart. "Shall we get you back? Or d'you want a turn around the garden first? It's a nice day out - cold, but we can get you a blanket."

"Oh, um... well. If you wanted to stick me outside that'd be great."

Amy shot her a rather careful smile. "I'll get a blanket, then."

"Thanks."

 

If there was anything to make her feel more like an invalid, it was sitting out in a frigid garden with a plaid blanket over her legs. Still, it was nice to be out of the hospital, and the crisp mountain air was quite refreshing; she found her energy returning and her outlook improving as she looked out over the carefully manicured plants.

Though she was still worn out beyond reason from her physio, she nevertheless found the strength left to wheel herself around the paved paths, clearly optimised for wheelchairs (perhaps not unexpected for a hospital) and was enjoying the view across the treetops from the far end of the garden when Amy reappeared outside, now out of her white coat and in casual clothes and a light jacket. Megan saw her watching from the terrace for a little while in silence before she seemed to come to a decision, and made her way over.

Megan raised her eyebrows as the other woman approached, turning to face her. "Good to know they let you take breaks," she commented. "Staring at blood and guts all day long probably isn't good for you."

"There's less blood and guts than you might expect," she said. "I am a consulting surgeon, after all."

"Which means what exactly? You don't actually get your hands dirty?" Megan smirked.

"I do. But I get to have follow through with my patients, and a say on their treatments and procedures. Your average duty surgeon around here does as they're told. Well. As I tell them."

"Ooh, I like a woman in power," Megan said with a grin.

"I can't decide if that makes you a more or less of a narcissist," Amy said, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket and sitting down on the nearby bench.

"Me? A narcissist?" Megan kept her voice light despite the pang of hurt the other woman's words caused. Seriously, I just can't get a read on her. "Gosh, I'm flattered."

Amy shot her a lopsided smile. "Oh, come on. You think the world can't run itself out there without you for a few months. You obviously feel a deep sense of responsibility, and that's admirable, but you have to admit it's a little...." She tipped her head to the side, clearly unwilling to repeat the accusation of narcissism explicitly.

Megan's smile grew a little brittle, and she glanced away, towards the willow tree in the corner of the garden, which was mostly just bare, drooping branches. "Yeah, I guess. Anyway, back to you. What made you want to become a consulting surgeon?"

"Fast cars and loose women."

"Yeah? What do you drive?"

"Hm? Oh..." Amy looked a little embarrassed now. "A Mercedes SLK," she admitted.

Megan raised her eyebrows. "Not bad."

"It's my one indulgence."

"Of course. No need to feel bashful."

"I so sort of feel a little bit guilty every time I drive it."

"What? Why? You have to get around somehow."

"Mm, but I could definitely be driving something more responsible."

"What's not responsible about a Benz? They're well-made cars, and I bet it gets good mileage."

Amy managed a slightly shy smile, and she shrugged. "I suppose."

"And your girlfriend? I doubt she'd like being called 'loose'..."

"What? Oh..." Amy dipped her gaze, shaking her head, her cheeks looking a little pink, all of a sudden. "I don't have... It was just a manner of expression. You know. Fast cars and loose women..."

"Ah." Megan had to hide her grin, and busied herself fussing with the blanket over her knees. "Sorry, my bad."

"No, no, it's fine. I... mm, nevermind."

"No, go on..."

"I was going to say I actually broke up with my last girlfriend a couple of years back, but..." Amy made a face, shook her head. "I dunno. It seemed on reflection like a... weird thing to come out with."

"Well, you're off-duty, so you don't need to worry about it." Megan offered the other woman a reassuring smile.

"Mm. Well." Managing to look back up at Megan at last, Amy smiled rather sheepishly. Megan's own grin widened, and she wheeled herself closer to the bench where Amy was sitting.

"So... do you live in the city, or are you more of a country girl?"

"I live in the 'burbs. I used to have an apartment in town but braving the rush hour every day was getting a bit much. Plus the cat likes it better with some space to roam."

"Oh, so you're a cat person. That explains so much..."

"Am I flattered or insulted here?"

"Well, you call me a narcissist but even I don't have a cat."

"Believe me, my cat gives me very little attention or ego boosting."

"So you're a glutton for punishment. Suddenly your dogged hanging around me makes sense."

"Actually, yes, you probably do have a lot in common with my cat. Sleek, attractive, well-bred, with an irritating pretence at self-sufficiency while requiring me to watch his every move to prevent him doing himself injury..."

Megan laughed. "Now I'm sure that's supposed to be insulting, but I'm going to choose to be complimented instead."

"You could do worse, I suppose. He does have nine lives, after all."

"Now that's a skill I could do with acquiring."

"Well, if you're lucky, we'll manage two, at any rate."

"Let's hope." Megan looked down at her useless legs, frowning slightly as she tried to shift them to a more comfortable position.

"Here, let me..." Amy's hands slipped out of her pockets, and she rose to her feet, leaning over Megan and reaching down to slip her hands either side of her thighs, and Megan realised that the other woman had assumed that she was cold and needed her blanket tucked in more snugly.

"Oh, um..." Megan tipped her head back, her face only inches from Amy's. She breathed out shakily, all too aware of the other woman's hands sliding over her upper legs, pulling the blanket tight around her. "Thanks."

"You all right?" Amy murmured, still leaned over, hands coming to rest at Megan's hips.

Megan bit her lip. "Mm... hmm. Great."

"If you're cold, we can go inside."

"I... yeah, okay."

Nodding a little, Amy stood back, pulling her hands away, and Megan did feel colder, suddenly. She walked them back inside in silence, though it was, Megan felt at least, more companionable than awkward. When they reached her room Amy thankfully rang for a nurse to get Megan back into her bed - she wasn't sure what she would've done if the surgeon had slipped her arms around her to hoist her back into bed. Fainted? Exploded from sexual tension? Something embarrassing, no doubt. Or something to piss her off.

"Well. I should probably let you get some rest, or save the world over the internet or whatever it is you do when you ought to be sleeping," Amy said with that slightly shy smile that Megan had seen for the first time a couple of hours before.

Megan grinned, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Y'know, I'm pretty tired, I might actually sleep."

"So all I need to do is arrange a punishing regime of physio, chastisement and garden strolls? Done and done."

"Great, I look forward to our walk tomorrow."

Amy's smile widened a little, and Megan suddenly forgot every instance of annoyance or frustration the other woman had inspired over the past few weeks. She settled back again, reaching out to capture Amy's hand and squeezing it briefly. "'Til then, then."

"See you then."

 

To her intense irritation, Detective Victoria Akins was finding it hard to concentrate. She had the scanner open on her screen while she worked and looked up every few minutes to check activity in the northeast quadrant of City - there was nothing beyond the usual scuffles, and the words 'lycra catsuit' hadn't popped up once, but she just had a feeling that tonight was the night.

She had neither seen nor heard anything from Marque since that night in her apartment. Well. That wasn't quite true. She had seen and heard quite a few little things here and there that she was quite sure were related to the mysterious woman in the dark red rubber, but there had been no official reports or sightings, just an underlying feeling, here and there, that someone was giving a quiet helping hand.

Eventually even overtime had to come to an end, however, and so it was that she let herself into her apartment at close to midnight, flicking on the lights before stooping to pick up the mail scattered about on the floor. It was as she was straightening up that she saw the figure on the sofa, and she had her gun in her hands before she knew it, pressing her back against the wall and edging around the corner into the living room.

"Relax, sweetheart. I just didn't want to wait outside the window. You seemed concerned for me last time."

"Jesus." Victoria lowered the gun, closing her eyes for a moment before straightening up and re-holstering the firearm. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Has anyone ever told you that locks only stop honest people?" Uncrossing her long legs, Marque pushed to her feet. "Not that I'm not honest, but I'm pretty resourceful. For example, I have a date lined up for you tonight that you won't want to miss. Figured I'd come tell you in person and let you go forward however you wanted. Y'know, spirit of cooperation an' all."

"You realise I could have you arrested f--" Victoria was already mid-threat before she had fully processed the masked woman's words. "A date? You mean you found Dragon? Where is he? What is he doing? Have you set up any surveillance on him?"

"There's only one of me, and right now I'm watching you, so no," Marque said, answering the last question first. "But I do know where he's going to be at midnight - there's a handover going down. Dragon's going to be receiving goods from out of town, and judging by the type of buzz, I don't think it's just drugs. But, y'know, you could pretend you think it is drugs, and that way you could be the one to bust 'em."

"I'm not concerned with personal glory," Victoria said dryly, pulling a notebook out of her pocket and flipping to a fresh page. "Do you have any proof of the handoff, or the goods? I can't expect the squad to rally off a hunch."

"Yeah you can. You'd gear up for an anoymous tip-off, wouldn't you? If it was of this magnitude and it had locations, times?"

"We don't actually use anonymous tip-offs very often; we vet out sources quite thoroughly. So: name?"

"Sourcey McSourcerson."

Victoria glanced up from her notebook, giving the other woman a withering look.

"221b Source Street, Sourceville, zipcode S-O-U-R-C-E. Pick a name, Vic, it's tonight - even if I gave you real details you'd have to leave it 'til later to check them out."

"And if this is some elaborate prank to humiliate me?" Victoria asked, giving a long sigh. "Am I just supposed to 'trust' someone whose name I don't even know."

Marque might have been frowning under her mask. Certainly her mouth hooked downward at the corners. "Look, whatever you think of my methods or my attitude, have I given you any reason to question my good intent? That lead I gave you was solid, wasn't it?"

"You've made no secret of your opinion of CPD."

"That you're doing your best but currently outmanned and outgunned by a superior force? I seem to remember giving my opinion on my own town's police force," Marque said, approaching Victoria now, hips swinging in a slightly distracting fashion that had to be practised. She tipped her head to one side. "I don't remember commenting on yours at all."

"Your very presence is a comment," Victoria said sourly, pursing her lips. "As is your attitude."

"I'm here to help," Marque said, sounding impatient now. "I'm here because I can get places you can't go and find things you can't look for. People like me skate the edge so that you don't have to. Can't you just take the damn tip-off and do your job?"

Suddenly Victoria was on her feet, buttoning her jacket, checking that her gun, keys and other necessary items were where she needed them. "Midnight, you said? Then I don't have very long..."

"You're going to want a team. These people are armed and dangerous."

"I'm not sending people in before I've checked out the lead. We don't have the time or resources for a wild goose chase."

"It's not a wild goose chase! You have the chance to turn the tide here," Marque implored her, sounding genuinely concerned now, "for god's sake don't waste it!"

"I won't - once I can verify it," Victoria said matter-of-factly.

"Jesus Christ... did you follow up the lead I gave you on Dragon?"

"Yes, of course."

"And was it sound?"

"Yes."

"So why doubt me now, with everything at stake?"

"Exactly _because_ everything is at stake, can't you understand that?"

Marque sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. She lifted up her forearm to look at it, pressing some point on her suit that was presumably a button, for a series of lights were suddenly shown into relief on her arm through the fabric of her suit - the time, Victoria realised after a moment. "We have about forty five minutes," she said. "What do you need?"

"I need eyes on the situation, a tactical breakdown of all the players involved..." Victoria blew out a breath, pacing across the small room. "A comprehensive list of all known exits, layout of the tunnels involved, and something to tell my boss when he asks me what the hell I was thinking mustering people on a hunch."

Marque was silent for a long moment. Then, "All right. You got a paper and pen?"

"Yes..." Victoria nodded towards the abandoned notebook on the coffee table.

"Okay, hang on..." From somewhere on her thick belt, Marque retrieved what looked to be a rather ordinary (if cutting edge) touchscreen mobile. Apparently her gloves were somehow able to handle this, as she didn't take them off as she navigated its screens and, as far as Victoria could tell, typed a simple text message. She hesitated for a long moment before sending it, and Victoria could tell that for all it seemed a simple enough thing to do, it was a decision that for some reason had been a hard one for Marque.

"Hopefully you'll get the tunnel layouts for that sector in the next few minutes," Marque said, sitting back down on the couch and patting the seat next to her before leaning over the notebook, flipping to a blank page and picking up the pen, suddenly all business. "The actual chamber where the deal will go down I've seen so I can sketch that out for you in some more detail." Quickly, neatly, she began to draft out a floorplan for the tunnel, eyes on her work, a slight flash of her usual playfulness creeping back in as she added, "The excuse for you boss I'm afraid you're on your own for."

"I'm sure I'll make do." Victoria hesitated for a moment before gingerly sinking down on the cushion next to the other woman, watching as she drew out the plans in a clear, steady hand. She wasn't sure why she was entertaining the strange woman's whims - and after she had broken into her apartment, no less! - but the idea of catching Dragon in the act was just too good to pass up. If it worked, it would be a huge boon to the department and the city alike. And if it didn't... I might be flushing my career down the toilet. Worth it? Maybe.

It was only about ten minutes later that Victoria's work phone rang - one of the duty officers on that night's shift, who she'd seen last only an hour before.

"Detective, we've just received a couriered package marked for your attention - it seems to be blueprints of a segment of the city's storm drain system. Know anything about it?"

Victoria looked over at the woman beside her in surprise, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, I want you to distribute copies of section EJ-48A to everyone in D&V - I've got a tipoff about a deal about to go down."

Marque looked almost as surprised as Victoria, her dark eyes wide behind her mask. "You... got the plans?" she asked, her voice wavering just slightly.

Victoria nodded and finished her instructions to the officer on the other end of the line before hanging up, turning to face the other woman fully. "I can't stay long - I need to get down to those tunnels."

It was a moment before Marque answered - she seemed distracted now. But then she was back in the moment, sounding more businesslike than ever. "All right, okay," she said, nodding. "Well, I think you have everything you need from me. The only thing I can't tell you is what the cargo is - I just don't know. But I think it's some sort of tech. Where do you want me?"

"Want you?"

"Exit tunnel, rooftop reconnaissance in case they hit the high ground..?"

Victoria blinked. "I'm not assigning you a role. You've done quite enough." She paused. "Thank you."

"You're benching me?"

"I can't have any more unknown factors in this," Victoria said, standing. "I need to be able to rely on everybody on the ground."

"You need to..." Marque broke off, her hands curling into fists where they hung by her sides. "Fine," she said, her tone tightly controlled, though there was no hiding the hurt in her voice. "Guess I'll go have a bath or watch TV or something." She made for the window, then stopped herself, turning stiffly to head for the hallway.

"Wait." Victoria was shocked to find that it was she who had uttered the entreaty and furthermore stepped towards the other woman, one hand stretched out as if to catch her sleeve. She hastily dropped her hand and cleared her throat. "I guess having another pair of eyes on recon if they run for it couldn't hurt. What's the best place to keep an eye on the south tunnels?"

Marque hesitated. "There's a junction directly beneath a manhole on the corner of Grain and Miller."

"Right. I have no idea how to get in touch with you if something does happen, but... I want you there. Don't engage anybody if they do come your way, just observe and report. Got it?"

"Sir yes sir." Clearly some of Marque's characteristic cheek was returning.

"Right. Get your ass over there," Victoria told her sternly, pointing towards the window. "And don't make me regret this."

Marque nodded, pulling a small metal object out of her belt and unfolding it into a grappling hook, attaching it to a line that she unwound from some other mysterious pocket. Passing Victoria on the way to the window, Marque leaned over a little, giving her a light nudge. "Catch you later."

For some reason, that prospect didn't fill Victoria with as much annoyance as it once might've. She knew she ought to figure out why this was - but there wasn't time. Later. Definitely later.

 

"Well, I take it you'll already have seen the news," Walter said as he took his seat by Megan's bed and she put her laptop aside, turning a little to face him better. "CPD arrested Deed's henchman last night. That Dragon's a slippery one, I wonder how they managed to pin him down."

"Yeah..." Megan raised her eyebrows, giving a small shrug. "Who knows? Well done them, though."

"Indeed. So Ms Gray tells me you're going back into surgery this week. Is this the beginning of your gene therapy?"

"Mmhmm. Back on the road to recovery," Megan said cheerfully.

"Well, that's good. You'll be glad to know that the steering groups all managed to meet last week."

"And?"

"Things are progressing on your projects."

"Good!" Megan sat back, looking pleased with herself. "Between that and Dragon's arrest, Deed is going to be having a very bad week."

"It would seem so. And how are you feeling?"

"Pretty great!"

"I'm so glad to hear it. What brought on this improvement in mood? I won't flatter myself that it's due to my visit..."

"Well, uh... I dunno." Megan shrugged, looking almost bashful. "Things are just going well, I guess."

"That's good..."

"Yup."

 

The pair talked for some time, Megan more animated than Walter had seen her perhaps since she'd entered the clinic. Not long after he left, she had another visitor, though by a rather unusual route.

When her lunch was brought by, Megan was a little surprised when the nurse who brought it sat down by her bed rather than leaving again. Her confusion was dispelled only a few moments later, however, when she registered the features of the young woman beside her.

"Thanks for that. I had a cop who wasn't prepared to charge in on a hunch."

"Looks like it all worked out okay in the end," Megan said with a grin, turning towards the other woman. "Good work with that."

"Yeah. Look... I'm sorry I had to make contact. I really didn't have any other option. I'm... I was glad when you replied. I wasn't... I hoped, but I wasn't sure that you-..." The younger woman shook her head, glancing away briefly.

"What, you thought I'd be so jealous of you stepping in on my territory that I'd sabotage you? C'mon Jane, we both know there's a greater good at stake here."

"No, come on, you know I was worried about you. I thought... I know there was a story about Megan Cochrane being in an accident but I worried that it was just a smoke screen, that maybe they needed the corporation to be able to run smoothly and that you were actually..."

"Oh." Megan fell silent for a moment, her cheerful expression darkening, but then she smiled. "Well, fear not, I'm just horribly maimed instead."

"Yeah, I sneaked a look at your charts earlier," Jane said, looking rather grim herself now. "You going to pull through?"

"That's the plan."

"How long?"

Megan grimaced. "They're saying six months at the earliest - if everything goes well."

"Jeeeesus, K-Meg."

"Yeah. I know. But I've got a really great surgeon, and we're going to be trying some non-traditional therapies, so I'll be up and out of here in no time and you can go back to policing just one city per night."

"Six months... Well. Guess me and humourless cop lady are just gonna have to learn to get along."

"There's a humourless cop lady? Which one?"

"Detective Victoria Akins of Vice and Narcotics."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of her. She's supposed to be a total hard-ass."

"Mm. Hard on the outside, gooey and sweet on the inside. Like, I dunno, a creme brulee or some shit."

"Just how closely are you planning on working with her?" Megan asked with a smirk.

"As close as she'll let me get?" Jane replied a little sheepishly. "To be honest, the soft and gooey part is just wishful thinking. So far she's like, I dunno, a Jolly Rancher. And not the watermelon one. Like, apple or something."

"Well, keep sucking, I'm sure you'll get there eventually."

"You have an innate talent for systematically dismantling hitherto perfectly workable metaphors."

Megan grinned. "It's my superpower."

"Mm." There was a noise somewhere off down the corridor, and Jane's head whipped round suddenly. "I should probably go," she said.

"Oh, uh... yeah, okay. Thanks for coming by. Don't be a stranger," Megan said, trying not to look too eager.

"I'll have to be careful, but I might make it back," Jane replied, pushing to her feet. "And thanks again for last night - you saved my ass."

"Anytime - seriously, I mean it."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I look forward to it."

"How many floors are there at the back of this place again?"

"Just four, but the road cuts up right underneath, so watch for that."

"Will do," Jane said, assembling her grappling line. "Hey, don't suppose you fancy letting me use all your awesome gadgets while you're here, huh?" A look gave her all the answer she needed. "Figured it couldn't hurt to ask." Grinning and waving, she opened the window, secured the hook, and swung out without another word.

 

"Hey you," Amy said as she entered, greeting Megan in what had become her usual manner. "So I know it's a little early for our walk, but I have to get home sharpish tonight for-... It's freezing in here - who left the window open?"

"Oh damn, you caught me, I must've forgotten to close it after one of my secret walking-around sessions," Megan joked, sitting up in readiness for transferring into her wheelchair. "Whoops."

Amy managed a chuckle at this, although she wasn't terribly good at making light of Megan's injuries, however hard she tried to on Megan's behalf. It made Megan miss Kyle, but she hadn't seen him since the day of her x-rays, and her physio was now done with an older woman called Gina who seemed to have no interest in anything other than the job at hand.

Heading over to close the window, Amy looked down at the long, snaking mountain road beneath, and something seemed to occur to her. "Hey," she said, "Would you like to go for a drive? Nothing too rough and we couldn't go far, but..."

"Fuck yes. No offence to your fancy hospital but you have no idea how nice it'd be to see the outside world right about now..."

"How's today for pain? Shit, I should've asked that first, really, you'd just lie now regardless. All right, let's get you into that chair..."

 

Amy wasn't sure exactly why she had invited Megan for a drive - certainly not for the slightly strange looks the staff gave her as they helped the other woman into her car - but here they now were, practically thigh-to-thigh as Amy navigated the road away from the hospital and into the mountains. Megan was in one of her good moods today, smiling that dazzling smile that always put Amy in mind of a toothpaste ad - but mostly in a good way.

"Okay, so if you start to get sore, say something, okay? The suspension in this thing is pretty good, but these are some twisty roads. You might want to keep your hands somewhere you can support yourself."

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. You just concentrate on driving fast," Megan told her with a grin.

 

The road wove back and forth, but wasn't too steep or too hilly and Amy really needn't have worried, as Megan was quite snug where she sat, and barely noticed the vibration from the purring, well-tuned engine as they climbed.

"Do you mind if I roll down the window?" she asked after a while, turning to look at Amy.

"Go ahead."

The glassy pane rolled smoothly downward, letting in a breeze of crisp, cold air which felt wonderful against Megan's face. She closed her eyes, tipping her head back and leaning it against the headrest. "Mm, doesn't that smell amazing?"

Amy glanced sidelong at her, hesitating, then seemed to come to a decision, and reached for a button on the dash. The hard top of the car smoothly slid back, rolling Megan's window down the rest of the way and exposing them to the wind and the elements.

Megan opened her eyes, grinning as the wind began to ruffle her hair. "This is wonderful!" she said, raising her voice in order to be heard.

Amy just glanced quickly at her, then back to the front, accelerating slightly, though still by no means as fast as Megan would have driven herself. Megan fell back into silence, merely enjoying the feeling of movement, of freedom. It was cold, yes, but it was a bracing temperature, and besides, Amy had made sure she was wrapped up well before they had left. She knew it was just a surgeon's care for her patient that had made the other woman fuss over her, but she revelled in it anyway, glad of the attention from such a warm, caring and yes, extremely attractive woman.

As they reached the summit of the hill, Amy pulled into a layby, turning off the engine. She'd obviously been here before because she positioned the car in just the right location to look out across the mountains and forests and off, seemingly a world away, the broad, shallow bowl in which the city sat, barely visible through the haze of its own humid microclimate.

Megan gave a sigh when she saw it, sitting forward to better peer at the tiny spikes and spires of the skyscrapers so many miles away.

"Checking in on the office?" Amy asked in a mildly amused murmur.

"Hm? Oh... yeah, something like that," Megan replied wryly.

Carefully, not hesitantly exactly but certainly with a view to retracting it if needed, Amy reached out her hand, and covered Megan's where it lay on her knee. This was certainly enough to draw Megan's attention away from the view of the city, though she tried to act casually, glancing over at the other woman and giving her a small smile. "It's weird, you think I wouldn't miss it, all the hustle and bustle and the late nights and early mornings, but... there's still nowhere else I'd rather be in the world than right down there."

Amy smiled tightly in return, wrapping her fingers around Megan's and giving them a squeeze. "You'll be back."

"Yeah. Though I'd really rather on my own two feet than in a chair."

"I'll see what I can do."

"You're pretty amazing, you know that?"

Amy chuckled. "Don't compliment me just yet. I've never done these procedures before - very few people have. You're my guinea pig."

"I'm not talking about the procedures themselves, though they are impressive. I just mean you, doing what you do. Helping people who may or may not deserve it."

"Please. If I really cared more about other people than myself I'd be working in triage in some city trust hospital. I care more about working at the cutting edge - hah - of my profession than about helping people. Clearly." Amy's tone suggested that this was a quote, perhaps, rather than her own opinion though it was clear from the slight tremble to her fingers that the words had some power over her.

"Yeah, but that's understandable - who wouldn't want to get to play with all the best toys?" Megan said with a grin, turning her hand over in order to give Amy's hand a squeeze. "Besides, the techniques you pioneer today will go on to help lots of people tomorrow. Somebody has to lead the way."

The other woman smiled a little. "I guess. That's certainly what I tell myself, anyway."

"Well, I happen to agree with you, and I'm rarely, if ever, wrong. At least, that's what all my hangers-on and flunkies tell me," Megan joked.

"Oh to have people to just hang around me and tell me I'm right all the time." Amy sighed, relaxing back in her seat a little, plunging her spare hand into the pocket of her jacket to keep it warm. "My dad's an ER doctor," she said then. "And my older sister works in a care home. I love them both, and we're all really close as a family, but..." She shook her head. "I know what they think of me for doing what I do instead of what they do. I do believe that my work's important, but... well. It can be a little hard to stick to my guns sometimes."

"I can imagine," Megan said sympathetically. "But I'm sure they're proud of you too - you're still helping people, giving them back their lives."

"Mm. Maybe. I guess..." Amy tailed off, shaking her head again. "I guess maybe they'd argue that people like you, your lives could only get so bad, really."

"People like me?" Megan asked, slightly confused for a moment, until it dawned on her what Amy meant. "Oh, you mean rich people. Well... no offense, but we're still people too. We can still suffer, even if we haven't been through the shit other people have."

"I know that," Amy said quickly, lacing her fingers with Megan's. "When I first saw your x-rays... I defy anyone's heart not to break seeing something like that, whoever the victim was."

Megan opened her mouth, then shut it again, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then, "Yeah. Well. I still count myself lucky to have you as my surgeon."

"Like I said. Don't thank me yet."

"I have faith."

Amy managed a somewhat nervous smile. "Well. I'll do my best."

Megan squeezed the other woman's hand, suddenly invested in her confidence, and not just for her own sake. "You'll do great. I know it."

"Well, I guess if you believe in me..."

"Mm?"

Amy just shrugged, shooting Megan a rather sheepish smile that she couldn't help but find rather adorable.

"Hey. You've trained for this, right?"

"Only my whole life."

"Well then. There's no one I'd rather have poking around in there, and this is my li- my mobility we're talking about."

Amy hadn't missed the misstep, though, and she turned a little to look at Megan, her expression serious again. "Megan, this isn't your life. If this doesn't work out... you will still be here. You'll still have a life. You have to believe that."

"Yeah... anyway," she said, smiling. "Point is, you shouldn't doubt yourself. You're doing good work, and it doesn't matter if you're Mother Theresa or not. You're helping people, and that's what counts."

"Mm. I guess."

"Hey," Megan said, giving Amy's hand a tug. "C'mon. I require a bit more confidence than that."

There was that shy smile again. "Oh, don't worry - I still have plenty of ego in the theatre."

"Well, good. Because I really like seeing you, and I'd hate to have to switch surgeons at this stage of the game."

Amy chuckled, though her eyes slid away from Megan's, then. "You know you'll be under a general, right? You won't be 'seeing' anything."

"No, of course not - nor do I want to, honestly."

"Mm." Amy nodded, looking rather pensive now.

"But," Megan said, hoping to lighten the mood a bit, "I was more talking about seeing you in a non-medical capacity."

The pensive look didn't shift, and there was even a brief flicker of furrowed brow from the younger woman, although she rearranged her expression into a smile again pretty quickly.

"Is this verboten territory? Should I shut up right now?" Megan guessed.

"It... doesn't have to be," Amy said with a tight, rather nervous smile, "provided we aren't wading into ethically dubious waters."

"Do you want me to sign something? I'll need my lawyers to look at it first..."

The other woman's brow furrowed just a little again, her expression almost hurt, briefly. "I don't think that'll be necessary, she said, obviously trying to keep her tone light.

"Hey," Megan said, trying to move a bit closer despite the constraints of the car seat. "I was just joking."

"Careful..." Amy said immediately, her concern for the other woman apparently overriding her current awkwardness as she leaned over to place her other hand on Megan's leg as though to still her - though this put them in closer proximity and served Megan's purpose in any case.

"I know you were joking," she murmured now, pulling back a little, letting go of both Megan's hand and leg, dipping her gaze. "I know you were, I'm sorry, I'm being... weird, I'm sorry. It's a... muddy area... Friendship with patients. Even in a place like Kingswell."

"Yeah," Megan said, sounding unsurprised and yet disappointed. "I figured. And look, the last thing I want to do is get you in trouble, or jeopardise your work and my recovery. I just... I really like you, Amy. You're smart, and incredibly talented, and stunning, and I really like spending time with you."

Amy looked up at her then, her expression almost pleading - though for what, Megan couldn't say. She sighed, favouring her with a genuine, if slightly pained, smile. "Megan..."

"Listen, if you want to wait, we can wait - I meant it about not screwing things up," Megan offered then, feeling strangely desperate to get the other woman to agree to something - anything. "Just... I'd really like to have something to look forward to, when this is all over, you know?"

Amy tipped her head to the side slightly, still looking rather conflicted. "What sort of something?" she asked quietly.

"Any kind. I mean... fuck, Amy, I won't lie, I don't really 'date' but if I could I'd ask you out to dinner in a heartbeat... but if you just want to be friends I understand, and I'm cool with that, believe me I understand."

Amy's smile grew a little warmer at this, her cheeks dimpling - and flushing slightly again. "Okay. I mean... after your surgeries... we can talk. About that. If you still want to."

"Yeah? Okay. Great." Megan sat back, her stomach flipping at the sight of the other woman's shy smile. "I'm going to hold you to that, you know. So if you're just trying to fob me off..."

"I'm not," Amy said quickly, shaking her head. "I promise. I'll... admit that you pretty much dashed all my expectations and preconceptions about you, when we first met. And then as I got to know you better I guess you... built them back up again." She smiled a little ruefully. "And then you exceeded them."

"Hey, we're not done yet. There's still time for me to do something idiotic and destroy all that hard work," Megan joked, grinning now.

"Somehow I doubt that," Amy said with a tiny smirk. "I've got your number now. Well. Mostly."

"I've got to hold on to some of the mystery, otherwise there's no point."

"Mm. I guess." Amy was clearly thinking of something else, now, but she just shook her head a little, and straightened up from where she'd been still slightly leaning in toward Megan. The other woman cursed inwardly at missing the chance to steal a kiss - possibly the only one until things were able to be more 'official' - but merely smiled and settled back again. I'll just have to be patient. I remember how to do that, right?

 

 

Victoria very rarely socialised outside of work, preferring to keep her social and professional lives completely separate. On this occasion, however, she had practically been dragged to the bar by a cadre of jubilant officers, and after the second or third glass of wine she found she didn't really mind. It was a rare occasion they brought in a perp as big as Dragon and spirits were high, and rightfully so. She allowed them to toast her ingenuity and good detective work, only feeling somewhat guilty, but once they started clamouring for more details about her anonymous source she had to slip away, not keen on revealing that the biggest break they had gotten in months had come from a masked vigilante.

So it was she found herself standing in one of the shadowed nooks outside the bar fumbling with a borrowed lighter and cigarette - it had been years since she had last smoked, but something about the night seemed to call for it.

"Hiding from your adoring fans?"

Red really did just suck up the shadows - Marque was almost right next to Victoria and she hadn't seen her. She stepped forward out of the dark now, just into view.

Luckily Victoria managed not to jump as the other woman revealed herself, finishing the ritual of lighting the cigarette and taking the first long draw before responding. "Just taking a break. I think they were about to start singing."

"Hail the Conquering Hero?"

"I doubt they know the words."

"For she's a jolly good fellow, then," Marque said with a grin, moving to lean against the wall beside Victoria. "No one tell you those things'll kill you?" she added.

"So will people, if they get the chance," Victoria reasoned, the end of her cigarette flaring brightly as she took another drag.

"Mm. Well done, by the way. From where I was it seemed like everything went off without a hitch."

"It went pretty well," the other woman said with a nod. "Now it's a matter of working on Dragon to get a confession before Deed's fancy lawyers can get him out. The odds aren't great, but we've got to try."

"At least you seized that shipment though... what was it?"

"I'm not at liberty to reveal that information at the current time."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious - this is an open investigation."

"And I can help."

"You've done quite enough already." A beat. "Thank you."

Marque was silent for a long moment. "Right," she said eventually. "Fine. Guess that puts me in my place again." There was no disguising the wounded tone to her voice - indeed she didn't seem to be trying to.

Victoria gave an exasperated sigh, her manner perhaps somewhat looser and more expressive due to the several glasses of wine she had imbibed over the course of the evening. "Listen, what do you want me to do? If it got out that I was sharing secrets from an open investigation with a civilian I'd lose my job - you want me to risk my career just so you don't feel out of the loop? Seriously? How egotistical are you?"

"I want to know because I might be able to track back supply lines," Marque snapped. "If I'd seen that shipment myself I could already be following the next lead. Instead I fed the intel to you and let you do your cop thing, and now you're getting in the way of my investigation so forgive me if I seem 'egotistical' but I'm really just trying to do some good here, and I thought that by this point you understood that."

"And I thought by this point you'd understand that my hands are tied!" Victoria said, rounding on the other woman. She was shorter than the vigilante by a good few inches but didn't seem intimidated by her physical presence, squaring off against her and raising her chin to stare her in the eye. "You're asking me to go behind my supervisor's back and hand out sensitive information - information which, if it gets into the wrong hands, will do a hell of a lot to hurt our case. I'm sorry we're not moving along fast enough for you but these policies and procedures are in place for a reason!"

"Look, I'm just going to find out anyway - it would be a lot easier if you would just tell me." Marque seemed to have calmed almost immediately Victoria had got wound up, which was deeply infuriating.

"Absolutely not."

"Fine, whatever. I'll find out for myself." Marque's shoulders slumped a little, and she sighed. "I had some... other news," she said, sounding very young suddenly, and a little petulant. "Felt like celebrating a little. Feels kinda ruined now."

Victoria frowned, contemplating her cigarette for a moment before flicking it to the pavement and grinding it under her foot. "Sorry to bring down the mood," she said sourly.

"Whatever. No big deal. I should've... I got ahead of myself apparently." Marque said, folding her arms, shoulders a little hunched.

"Listen, you did a good job. Why don't you let us handle it from here?" Victoria wasn't sure why she was trying to wheedle the other woman out of her low mood, and the very fact she felt the need to irritated her.

"Mm." Marque's head bowed a little, and from her angle facing her, Victoria would see that her eyes were closed. Then she shook her head as though to clear it, and looked back up. "Sure," she said blandly. "Whatever you want, I guess."

Oh for fuck's sake... "Just wait a minute, okay?" With that Victoria turned on her heel and stalked back into the bar. She wasn't even sure if the other woman would still be there when she re-emerged a few minutes later, two overpriced beers in hand, but as she searched the shadows she was able to pick out the faint outline of her costumed form and made a beeline towards her, feeling somewhat stupid as she held out the bottle. "Here. I had to pull rank to get them to let me bring it outside, I hope you're happy."

Marque did a doubletake. "You didn't have to..." She reached out her hand automatically for the proffered bottle, though she didn't take a drink, at first just staring numbly at it.

"So what's your good news?"

"Hm? Oh... well, I dunno. It's good and bad I guess. You... I need you to promise you won't tell anyone, though - it's not a criminal matter, I promise."

Victoria blinked, then shrugged and nodded, tipping back the bottle and taking a swig of the watered-down beer. "Sure."

"Kára's alive."

"Really?"

Marque nodded. "Badly hurt - really badly hurt, actually. But she'll be back, hopefully."

"Huh. Well... that's good, I guess." She offered the other woman a smile, the emotion looking a bit rusty on her features.

"It's going to be a while, though." A beat. "Another six months at least."

"Six months?" Victoria's smile faded. "Jesus..."

The other woman nodded again, more slowly. "Yeah. I know."

"What happened to her?"

Marque shrugged. "Beaten to a pulp then half-drowned, I think. Her lower legs were crushed."

"Jesus," Victoria said again. "You know by whom? Is she going to press charges?"

Marque laughed bitterly. "How would she do that?" she asked.

"By reporting the incident! That's assault and battery, we can bring in whoever's responsible, make sure they're held accountable."

"And who would the defendant be? Kára?"

"No, she'd have to be present under her real name and identity," Victoria said, frowning.

"And what would you as an officer of the law have to do on discovering the true identity of Kára, the vigilante?"

"You see, this is why this is so idiotic! There is someone out there capable of beating a young woman nearly to death who will never face justice for what he did because she won't take off her stupid mask long enough to testify against him!" Victoria fumed, the grip on her bottle tightening. "How many other people is he going to hurt? How many less fortunate women are going to be victim to his brutality? This is ridiculous!"

"She'll get him," Marque said. "Or I will - or I'll make sure you do. How many criminals are behind bars now because a woman in a mask was able to go places and do things that the CPD couldn't?"

"And how many are still walking free because one person can only do so much?"

"Well, she can't do everything. She's there to pick up some slack."

"And now that she's secreted away, with her legs crushed? Who's going to pick up that 'slack'?"

Marque just stared at her for a long moment. "Me."

"You can't go after him alone. Look at what he did to Kára!"

"So I'll be careful. I'm not going after that guy on my own. But he's small fry. Deed's the shark."

"I don't care." Victoria's free hand shot out, grabbing the other woman's wrist tightly. "Promise me you won't go after them - any of them - by yourself."

Marque blinked. "What do you care?" She murmured, a little defensively. "I'm just some nutcase in a mask. Don't I deserve all I get?"

"When have I ever said that?" Victoria asked, looking genuinely shocked. "You think I'd wish that on you just because you make my life difficult? Jesus, no wonder you have no respect for any of us if that's what you think we believe. I don't want anybody hurt by these fuckers, least of all you, or Kára. Jesus..."

"You risk your life every day; why shouldn't I?"

"Because... because it's completely different! I have a partner, I have people who will back me up, I have training, I have a gun, for Christ's sake! I have things to protect me when going into dangerous situations, what do you have, besides a mask and some handy gadgets?"

"You think I'm not trained? You have no idea who I am!"

"Because you won't tell me a thing about yourself!" Victoria realised she was still gripping the other woman's wrist, hard, and dropped it, stepping back to put some distance between them. "I don't even know your name!"

"What's in a name?" Marque quipped, smirking dryly. "You've seen what I'm capable of physically, you've found my intelligence to be sound and you've seen that I keep my word. What more do you need to know?"

"I-- nothing." Victoria sighed, shaking her head and taking another, somewhat resigned, swig of her beer. "I don't need to know anything. But I'm not feeding information to some masked stranger who could just as well be working for the other side as with me."

"Hey, what the hell? By that logic the same could be true of any one of your cops!"

"At least we have some confirmation they are who they say they are," Victoria shot back.

"You never had any with Kára."

"And if it was my decision to make we wouldn't be dealing with her, either!"

The punch was completely unexpected, and incredibly sore. Victoria reeled backward, seeing white and red for a moment, her half-finished bottle flying from her hand and shattering on the ground.

"How dare you throw her help back in her face after all she's done for you, for this city."

Perhaps Marque would have had more to say, but there was a commotion at the doorway as Victoria's workmates, heading the smash of glass, were clamouring to get out and see what was going on, and when Victoria looked back in her direction, the red-clad woman was gone.

As they piled out around her, exclaiming over the blood dripping from her nose, Victoria waved a hand, trying to pass the incident off as no big deal. "It's nothing, it's nothing," she said, tasting iron. "Just a random punk."

 

There was no sign of Marque during the course of the rest of that week, or the week after. In spite of herself Victoria found herself scouring the call-ins and newspapers both in the city and over in Marque's home stomping ground, but if she was doing anything, it was under the radar.

Much to her annoyance, she couldn't stop thinking about the other woman, and so it was with utmost shame and furtiveness that she logged in late at night to start searching every database she could for likely 'suspects' who matched the masked woman's description. Which... didn't give her much to go on.

Dark hair, dark eyes, five-nine, built like a triathlete, dimples when she smiles... 'course, there's no field in the database for dimples.

That description gave her several thousand hits - far too many to go through one by one to see if she was 'the one'. She wondered if there was a way to narrow it down - how old was she? Perhaps there had been an accident or encounter in her past to spur her into her new 'career', or a stay in a hospital...

But it was no use. She couldn't even say whether Marque was in the database - there were just too many hits and no information to begin narrowing them down. Frustrated, Victoria shut the machine off and made her way out of the station, navigating the dark, empty streets in her sedan. There was another missed call on her cell phone, and as she got out of the car and headed towards her apartment building she impulsively hit the 'call' button, not wanting to be alone for once.

"Um, hello?"

"Chris? It's me - it's Victoria."

"Oh. Right, yes, sorry... didn't think you were going to call back."

"Sorry about that. I've been busy."

"'Course you have - were you involved in that whole Dragon thing?"

"Uh, yeah, I was involved with that."

"Sounds fascinating. Want to have dinner and tell me nothing about it?"

"Uh... yeah, actually. That'd be great."

"Great. I'll... see you at Maxi's tomorrow night at seven? I mean... unless you want to grab a drink tonight?"

"Even better. Silver's in half an hour?"

"Done."

 

Silver's was a trendy wine bar on the east side of the city; Victoria changed before going out, though she would've been perfectly presentable in her muted work top and trousers.

Chris - lovely, attractive, smart, normal Chris, was waiting at the bar, looking nervous but pleased to see her.

She smiled and leaned in, brushing her lips over the other woman's cheek. "Hey, sorry I'm late."

"Hey, you're one of the city's finest; it's allowed." Chris grinned. "What're you having?"

"Oh, um, I didn't call you for over a week, I think this round is on me."

"Then mine's a vodka tonic."

"A classy drink for a classy lady, coming right up."

 

"So I know I said I wouldn't ask, but... Dragon, huh? Big stuff?"

"Mm." Victoria took a sip of her merlot, setting the glass down carefully near the edge of the table. "Yeah. Potentially, though that's only if we make anything stick."

"Chances? Or can't you speculate?"

Victoria hesitated, then sighed, shaking her head. "I really can't talk about an ongoing case. Sorry."

"No, no, that's fine," Chris said with a smile, shaking her head.

"It is?"

"Sure. I don't need to know about confidential police stuff."

"Oh. Right. Of course not." Victoria frowned.

"Tell me about your non-work week."

"That's.. Well. Why don't you tell me about yours first?"

Chris smiled a little. "Guess I can do that."

 

Chris was a copy-writer and freelance journalist by trade. Victoria knew this when they'd met - online, of course, via a dating site, which was the only way she had time to meet anyone - and since a cop dating a journalist sounded like a recipe for disaster she'd impulsively set up a date. As it turned out, Chris was entirely respectful of her profession and not remotely interested in finding out juicy secrets to print. She'd been a little disappointed.

Still, the other woman was smart and interesting, and she regaled Victoria with stories of the strange and interesting people she had interviewed over the past week for some time, which avoided the problem of Victoria having to share her own non-existent 'non-work' life.

"So what about you?" she asked at last, as they were now partway into their second drink.

"Oh, well, you know... work takes up most of my time," Victoria said with a grimace. "So I'm afraid I'm pretty boring."

"No, we were doing so well!" Chris joked, making a comically tragic face and, to Victoria's surprise, drawing a laugh from her.

"Sorry, sorry. I, um... Well. I do know one interesting piece of information," the cop said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "To make up for being incredibly boring."

"Oh?"

"You know Kára? The Valkerie?"

"Of course - everyone does. Well, did."

"Well, she's alive."

This definitely got a flicker of interest. "She's been in touch with CPD?"

"Not directly, but I have a source and they assure me she's alive - injured, but alive."

"Wow... injured how? Is she coming back to the city?"

"I think so. Eventually. But it might be some time."

"Huh. So do you know where she is then? Is she just at her hideout, or what?"

"I don't know," Victoria said, the growing ache in the pit of her stomach reminding her that she had promised to keep this information secret. To a woman in a mask. Whose name I still don't know. Somehow all her excuses seemed feeble and unconvincing. "Anyway. Just a bit of good news to end the day. Please don't treat this as gospel - I'm really not supposed to be sharing information about vigilantes anyway."

"Of course, of course." Chris nodded, smiling reassuringly and taking a thoughtful sip of her drink. "So do they give you regular status updates, then? The superheroes?"

"Er, no. I mean, Kara had a liaison in the force, but she's a special case."

"The only case in the city though, right?" There was a slight tell-tale twitch to Chris's mouth as she asked this - she wasn't probing Victoria for intel, she was pretty sure of that, but she was testing the waters of what she knew. Which made her wonder... had Marque's presence really gone entirely unnoticed by the press, or were some beginning to get wind?

"We can't stop people dressing up and pretending they're superheroes," Victoria said with a frown.

"Of course - sorry, I didn't mean to... strike a nerve," Chris said hesitantly, her own brow furrowing slightly in concern.

"No, no, it's fine. It's just... oh, they're such a pain. And then they act all hurt when all you're trying to do is keep them safe!"

Chris raised her eyebrows. "You knew Kára?"

"No. Not her."

"But you have dealt with one?"

"Mm..." Victoria suddenly looked very intent on her drink.

Chris let the pause drag out a little. Then, "It's true, isn't it? Marque is moonlighting here while Kára's gone."

Victoria glanced up quickly, her expression a mixture of annoyance and relief. "Yeah, she's been dipping a toe in, you could say."

Chris nodded a little. "There've been murmurings," she said. "Nothing solid enough to print. Don't worry," she said, holding a hand up, "I won't consider this confirmation. My lips are sealed."

"Thank you. The last thing I need is for people to find out I've actually been talking to one of those nutjobs..."

"You really think they're mad?"

"You don't?"

"I think they're a response to a new, unpredictable, almost zany brand of criminal activity that can't be contained by the police without giving them powers they can't, for reasons of precedent, have," Chris said, with a tone that suggested she'd had this discussion before.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Well, I've never met one," Chris said, sitting forwards a little and taking a sip of her drink before continuing, slipping into a tone rather like that of a person giving a talk or lecture, "so I can't answer your question. But judging by their actions..." She shook her head. "I don't think there's anything insane about their response. It's foolhardy, perhaps, and extreme. But with crazy, larger-than-life villains like Deed, Chronos and the Brotherhood of Chaos about... I don't think it's mad to put on a costume and try to deal with the threat on its own terms, to engage with the narrative those 'villains' spin and turn it to the advantage of the lawmakers. The police can't afford to engage with that story; it would be unprofessional and they'd skirt outside of their remit. But in not doing so they give the bad guys the dramatic edge. People like Kára and Marque redress that balance."

"So what, we should just let them run amuck, beating up people and getting beat up themselves?" Victoria asked, frowning. "Screw the narrative, people get killed because of 'extreme' actions' like that."

Chris nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Sure, I can see where you're coming from. I guess I'm being kinda... coldly anthropological about it. I think that there was a societal need for a superhero and those people stepped up to the plate. I also agree that you guys pretty much have to tread a really fine line when dealing with them and mostly you should be publicly damning their actions to discourage any more caped crusaders from coming out of the woodwork... not that either Marque or Kára wear capes. But privately," she said, tipping her head to the side, "aren't you a little bit glad they've got your back?"

Victoria's scowl deepened. "They've been useful in the past. That doesn't mean I condone what they do, publicly or privately. If they really wanted to help there are better ways of doing so."

"But part of what they do is create drama and personal risk. It's part of th-..." Chris caught herself, then, shaking her head with a wry smile. "I've pictured what it might be like," she said, "being able to talk to a real cop about this. But it's not fair on you. Of course you're not interested in the narrative. You have people to protect. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." You're way less annoying about this than some people. "I understand it makes a good story, but that's why we have comic books and movies. Real life isn't like that. It's a lot messier, and when something goes wrong, it's not just a dramatic moment, it's somebody's life. And when somebody dresses up, puts on a mask, goes out there as a vigilante it can be easy to forget that. But that doesn't mean we should just because it's an easier story to swallow."

Chris nodded. "Fair enough, I guess." She finished her drink. "Changing the subject completely, d'you want to get out of here? Do you dance?"

"Hah, no. But I'm happy to watch."

"I don't dance either. It was just an opener. How about we go back to my place instead?"

"That sounds more my speed."

 

The door to Chris's apartment clicked shut, and the other woman turned and leaned in (and up, just a little) to kiss her, eliminating any doubt that remained about her intentions in inviting Victoria in. The detective welcomed the kiss, slipping her hands around Chris's waist and holding her gently but firmly. Chris pulled back briefly, raising her eyebrows in query. "You... want a coffee?" she asked, the alternative hanging in the air, unspoken but clearly offered.

"I'm okay, thanks."

"Want me to show you around?"

"Mm, sure."

"Where would you like to see first?"

"I've always found you can tell a lot about a person from their bedroom..."

Chris's smile widened. "I can go with that."

 

"Mr Nicols?"

Walter stood, turning with barely-concealed anxiety towards the petite woman at the end of the waiting room, who was still clad head-to-toe in pale lavender scrubs. "Ms Gray?"

"Mm- I mean yes. We've finished the surgery, and Megan's now in the recovery room."

"How did it go?"

Looking scarcely less anxious herself, Amy nodded. "Well, I think. I mean, this surgery is more destructive than it is reconstructive, so it's hard to make a call on how it went. The pins and plates are all out of her left leg, and I've inserted the slow-release implants to stimulate regeneration into both. Now we just need to..." She shrugged. "Wait and see."

"Yes, of course. Patience is often the best medicine."

"Mm, we'll see how Megan feels about that after her second or third day completely immobile," Amy said with a wry smile.

Walter smiled, though his was tempered with a certain amount of resignation. "I don't envy your team over the next few weeks."

"Mm, well, hopefully she'll keep her eyes on the prize," Amy said, her tone and expression rather distracted as she watched the gurney on which Megan lay being wheeled past them toward the intensive care unit.

"Megan is a very strong-willed individual... which can work in her favour or against it, depending on the circumstances. But she's quite committed to recovering her mobility, so I'm sure she'll do all she can."

"Just so long as she doesn't try doing too much again," Amy said grimly.

"I suppose you've considered and rejected the benefits of a medically-induced coma?"

"Hah. D'you know, it hadn't occurred to me? Maybe I'll threaten her with that if she gives me any lip - her 'fear of missing something' syndrome will kick in."

Walter raised his eyebrows, looking slightly amused. "You seem to know her quite well, I'm impressed. Maybe this treatment has a chance of succeeding after all."

"Yeah, we, um..." Amy's glanced away now, her cheeks growing a little pink in spite of herself. "We've clocked a lot of contact hours, this past few weeks. To prep for the therapy."

"Of course. She mentioned that one of her surgical team was incredibly dedicated - she must have meant you. Of course, I should've known from the description; despite its calibre Kingswell doesn't have that many staff that could be described as 'as stunning as a movie star'."

At this, Amy's blush lit up full-force. "She has a flair for exaggeration."

"And a regimen of rather strong painkillers. Still, that doesn't mean that the sentiment was any less heartfelt. She's clearly quite taken with you, Ms Gray."

At this, Amy could only smile tightly - anything she could say would only be a lie, or completely unprofessional. Best say nothing at all.

"All the same... Megan can be a difficult person to know, and not just because of her stubbornness," Walter said gently, looking almost concerned for Amy. "I hope you will not hold it against her if... whatever exists between you does not go as planned."

"Don't worry, Mr Nicols," Amy said, her smile turning just a little grim again. "Managing expectations is an important part of my job. I'm quite capable of managing my own."

"She'll be awake sometime tomorrow, so I'd go home and get some rest if I were you," Amy said. "Or, if you prefer, we can give you a room here."

"No, that's quite all right. I'll come back tomorrow."

"I'll see you then."

 

Megan woke, not for the first time in as many weeks, to feel a smooth, slim hand wrapped around hers.

"Do you remember those dreams you have?"

She blinked blearily up at Amy at her bedside, her entire body feeling as if it was wrapped in thick, smothering cotton wool. "I barely remember what I had for dinner last night, much less my dreams," she muttered.

"You were fasting yesterday, so that would explain that one," Amy said with a warm smile. "How d'you feel?"

"I can't really feel anything, so fine I guess. Should I be dreading the come-down?"

Amy's eyes flickered briefly to Megan's legs, and back to her face, her expression just slightly pained. "I won't lie. It's going to be brutal."

"Better or worse than what it's been like already?"

"Worse. But you won't be expected to do any weight-bearing physio, so there's that. This course is about rebuilding your bone - the physio up until now has been about building your muscle back up as much as we could to minimise the wastage over this period."

Megan had had this explained to her already, of course, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. "Right. Well, something to look forward to, I guess." Megan closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of Amy's hand clasping hers. "Don't go easy on me now if it's going to jeopardise the end results, okay? No matter what I might say."

"I don't think you need to worry about that," Amy replied with a tiny, wry smile. "Just don't ever lie to me about how you're feeling, and we'll be fine."

Megan opened her eyes, looking up at Amy with an almost desperate expression. "I mean it. I _have_ to get better. I can't be a cripple, there's not point to even living if I am. Promise me I'll get better?" she pleaded, the haze descending over her mind now, making it hard to think straight.

"Hey..." Amy shifted closer, lifting a hand rather hesitantly to stroke the other woman's rather pallid face. "You can't think like that, okay? Your life doesn't end here. No matter what happens. I can promise you that. All right?"

"You don't understand," Megan moaned, grasping at Amy's hand as if trying to convey the seriousness of her plea through her grip alone. "You don't know me..."

"I don't?" Amy looked sympathetic, still, but just a little amused - clearly she felt that this melodramatic turn was in part due to the after-effects of the anaesthetic. "I thought we were beginning to know one another pretty well," she said, still lightly stroking her cheek.

"There's stuff you can't know... things I can't tell you. You'll never know and you'll never understand me."

"Shh, don't worry about this stuff just now, okay?" Amy said, though she was sounding a little more concerned now - a tiny bit bemused, a tiny bit hurt. "We can talk about your recovery when you're feeling a bit more clear-headed."

Megan made a few noises of protest, but was clearly too out of it to form a coherent argument and soon drifted off into a restless sleep, obviously tormented by the same strange dreams that plagued her even in normal slumber.

Amy's brow furrowed, but she stayed put, hand in Megan's, watching the other woman sleep for some time. It wasn't until she stood to leave that she noticed the copy of the city gazette sitting by the bed on its tray - unread, of course, today. The main story was about the Dragon case - his lawyers were still embroiled in their appeal to his being refused bail, a month on, but what caught her eye was an Op Ed piece in a slim column to the side of the main headline.

KáRA - DEAD OR ALIVE?

Debate still rages over the whereabouts of city's masked crusader, who disappeared over four months ago following...

Amy's eyes narrowed, then widened, and she felt her stomach clench with a realisation that was sudden, horrible and so obvious that she couldn't believe she hadn't realised it before. Four months... Oh, Megan...

 

"Goddamnit!" Victoria knew the evidence had been in the locker when she left the night before, but now it wasn't. It was gone - not signed out, just gone, and with it, their best chances at prosecuting Dragon and maybe even Deed. "Fuck!"

"What's... Aw, Victoria, no, you have to be kidding me..." Jack's face was already falling before he even saw the empty locker.

"I locked it up myself, Jack, I saw it last thing last night. There's no way it got out of here, no way."

"Well, it obviously did - it's okay, Vic, we'll review the tapes, we'll figure it out."

"Jesus. Okay, you get on that, call me as soon as you find anything."

"Right." Jack frowned into the locker. He was wearing his confused face. "Right. Okay. We'll figure it out."

Victoria left the Jack and his confused face at the station, stalking to her sedan and peeling out of the parking lot while still seeing red. I'll wring their neck - whoever took that, whoever thinks they're clever enough to get away with this, I will end them.

 

She didn't even have to see her lounge to know she wasn't alone when she got into the apartment. She could tell, somehow, immediately on entering, that something was different. Pulling her gun out, though she was fairly sure she didn't need it, she crept through to the sitting room, entering quickly to find herself pointing her gun, as she'd expected, at the woman in red.

The flood of relief that washed through her was less than welcome, but she gave a sigh, lowering the weapon slowly. "You could have called."

"Something's happening. There's a buzz, I can feel it."

"Yeah, no shit. The evidence is gone."

"The detonator? Shit..."

Victoria blinked. "Detonator?"

"You... didn't know it was a detonator?"

"No! If we had we wouldn't have left it in the evidence lock-up! Christ! Detonator to what?"

"No idea. Doomsday device?" Marque paused. "You should probably get it back."

"You think?!"

"Mm." Marque pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I should probably go figure out where it's got to."

"No, wait - how did you know what it was?"

Marque shrugged. "I checked with an expert."

"And you didn't think to share that information with us?"

"I assumed you had experts too."

Victoria made a frustrated noise, gritting her teeth together until she could swear she could hear them creaking in her jaw. "See, this is why you vigilantes are so frustrating! You don't bother to share any useful information, you wait until something catastrophic happens and then swan in..."

"Oh my fucking god, you are unbelievable-"

"I'm unbelievable? I needed you these past few weeks and where were you!"

"I was staying out of your fucking way after you shut me down!" Marque said, striding up to face-off to Victoria, hands bunched into fists at her sides.

"After you punched me!" Victoria replied hotly.

"You shot me down first!"

"And then you punched me!"

"Well you hurt my feelings!"

Victoria gave an incredulous snort. "What a mature way to deal with things - what are you, twelve?"

"Well, I overreacted! I would've just said something mean but what with you not actually having emotions like an ordinary person I had to improvise!"

"I have emotions!"

"Woops, sorry, I forgot about your abiding hatred of masks."

"Oh, right, I'm the weirdo here, just because I like to see the person I'm talking to."

"Ohforfuckssakes..." With a sound of intense frustration, Marque reached up and pulled off her mask. Like the punch back in that alley. it was so sudden and so unexpected that it was a few seconds before Victoria even registered what had happened. But eventually her brain caught up with the sight before her eyes, and she found herself for the first time looking at those deep brown eyes and those perfect lips sitting within a whole face - dark, shapely eyebrows, strong cheekbones, a straight nose with the slightest uptilt at the end.

"There," Marque said defiantly. "Happy now? Or do you need my zipcode and social security number?"

"I... no, that's..." Victoria mumbled, shocked into incoherence by the action. She's gorgeous. "That's fine. You don't have to... just put that back on," she said, frowning and motioning to the mask in the other woman's hand.

"What? What is wrong with you?"

"Listen, I just need your help with this evidence, all right? I need to find out who took it, and where it's gone, and I need to get it back. It's crucial to the case, without it they're not going to have a chance in court."

Marque actually rolled her eyes. "So you're just going to pick me up and put me down whenever you feel like it? Well, it's good to see you sticking to those cast iron principles you hold so dear - no, let me finish; I'm gonna help with this in any way I can, because I care about this city and I care about catching these fuckers but don't think for one second that that means we're okay, 'cause we're not. Okay?"

Thanks to the few weeks that Marque had been absent from Victoria's life and the conversations she had had with Chris about the subject of vigilantes she had almost started to believe that the masked woman was a force for good - a bit roguish, perhaps, but ultimately a beneficial and necessary stitch in the new fabric of society. She had even gone looking for her tonight with the idea that they might be able to work together - an unofficial partnership working towards a common goal. Then she had found her, and spent five minutes in the same room with her, and she wondered now if perhaps her earlier musings were the result of an undiagnosed brain tumour. "Fine. Whatever. Just get me whatever info you can, as soon as you can."

"There's something going down at one of the warehouses on the lower east side by the old harbour."

"When?"

"I dunno, ongoing? There's a guard on it twenty-four-seven and there are vehicles going in and out, day to day."

"Right. Okay. Thanks." Victoria sighed, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and checking it - still no call from Jack.

"What d'you want me to do?" It was as much a challenge as a question.

"I don't know! What would you normally do in a situation like this?"

"Oh, you know, charge in, beat some people up, maybe put myself in mortal danger and compromise any police investigation in advance..." Marque moved her eyebrows a lot when she talked. It actually made it a lot easier to tell when she was being facetious, although it didn't make her any less annoying. "Honestly? I'd go in, ascertain the situation, make sure no urgent action was needed and call in the cops."

"You haven't called us at all in the past weeks," Victoria said accusingly, then, realising this might imply she had been checking (as she had), she continued swiftly, "but fine, whatever. Go 'ascertain' if you want to."

"'If I want to'..." Marque's jaw tightened, and she looked away, clearly working on keeping her cool. When she looked back her expression was impassive, and she lifted her dark red mask back up to her face, carefully fitting it back on and securing it somehow - it was unclear exactly how as it didn't seem to have any ties or loops to keep it in place.

"How can I ask you to do something when I have no way of contacting you, no way of keeping track of what you're doing? I get that you think you're 'above' working as part of a team, but I can't rely on a rogue agent!"

"You could just ask, instead of assuming," the other woman said in a stiff tone, unsnapping one of the small pockets on her belt and pulling out two objects - what looked like a digital wrist watch, though she strapped it on with the 'face' on her inner wrist, and something similar to a small bluetooth receiver. She pressed a button somewhere on it before fitting it to her ear. "Police radio," she said simply, lifting her hand to adjust a tiny knob on the outside of the receiver. "What channel will you be working on? Or do you want you and I kept to a separate one from your team?"

"Channel 43, then - the team will be on 56 but I'd prefer if you kept communications between you and me until I have the chance to brief them."

Nodding, Marque pressed some buttons on the device on her wrist, then the earpiece again, and then she was apparently done. "All right," she said. "Speak to you soon, no doubt. Ping me when you check in."

"...right. Okay." Victoria gave a slightly wooden nod. "You know, this would've been useful to know about earlier..."

Marque was silent for a moment, ostensibly checking over her suit, although Victoria thought she saw her swallow, hard. "I looked it out after that night in the tunnels. Figured if we were going to be working together I needed... well. Then it looked like we wouldn't be. So it never came up."

"Oh." For some reason this fact made Victoria feel rotten, and she fought against the feeling knowing that there were much more important things to worry about right now. "Right, well. I'll be in touch once I get back to the station. Let me know if you need any support."

Marque didn't even respond to this, just heading obediently for the door, still feeling around belt as though making sure everything was in place. Victoria watched her go, still picturing the other woman's unmasked face, the animated way her eyebrows moved when she spoke, the smooth, unblemished skin, sculpted cheekbones and perfect lips, and couldn't seem to keep her thoughts from straying elsewhere, wondering what the rest of her might look like under that suit... No - focus, goddamnit! You have a job to do, she chided herself, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment at her wandering thoughts.

 

Figuring that she at least had a little while before she'd be needed again, she opted to shower quickly before getting dressed and heading back into work. The traffic was light at this time of night, but it still made her impatient every time she had to wait for a light or give way at a junction. She'd checked in with Marque when she got into her car, the other woman's response a monosyllabic confirmation that she'd heard her and no more, although she reported in in more detail shortly before Victoria arrived at the station letting her know that she'd reached the harbour area and was going to attempt to move in closer without being seen.

Jack was still at the station when she arrived, though he had little in the way of good news to report. Someone had tampered with the camera, it seemed, and they were no closer to finding out how the evidence had left the station than when Victoria had discovered it was missing.

Ever since her 'source' had played a key part in nabbing Dragon Victoria's word carried even more weight than before, and so it was that her suggestion that they put together a team and raid the warehouse at the docks was met not with scepticism but grudging curiosity.

People were almost ready to go, waiting in the lot in their cars, when Victoria's radio crackled.

"You guys geared up?"

Jack, sitting next to her of course, looked at Victoria with raised eyebrows, though he said nothing.

Scowling, Victoria reached for the responder. "Yeah, we're suited and booted. What's the situation?"

"They're definitely gathering parts together, although I don't think building's begun yet. Don't see your evidence but the smart money says it'll be here somewhere."

"Right, well... we're on our way over, we'll soon find out."

"See you there. Though I doubt you'll see me. Marque out."

Jack's eyes visibly widened at the identifying words, and he turned a little further to look at Victoria, his expression expectant.

"Let's go," Victoria said gruffly, starting up the engine and refusing to meet Jack's expectant gaze.

But his hand came out and covered hers - they didn't touch often, but it wasn't so rare that she should have flinched. She still did.

"Marque? As in the masked vigilante Marque?"

She looked over, her expression set as if daring him to question her. "The intel's good."

"I don't doubt it. I'm just wondering why you've never said you'd run into her."

"I wasn't really working with her until now."

"But you have used her intel. Dragon, right? Your mysterious source?"

"Yeah, that was her."

"Right." Jack didn't say any more - he didn't have to.

"I would've told you."

"Uh huh."

"Listen, can we just focus on the matter at hand right now?" she asked, sounding irritated as she pulled out of the parking lot. "You can chew me out later."

Jack sighed, turning his eyes to the front. "I'm not gonna chew you out, Vic," he said patiently, "but seems to me like you wanna have some kind of conversation, otherwise you'd've said something to me before getting into the car where you knew I'd hear her radio in."

"She's a pain in the ass," Victoria said, apropos of nothing. "They all are. We shouldn't be encouraging them, right?"

"Bob Chalmers is a pain in the ass but we still work with him, 'cause he's the best surveillance man on the force. There are plenty of reasons not to work with vigilantes but I'm not sure their personalities are the issues."

"You haven't met this one," she grumbled.

"Haven't met any. If I had, I'd've mentioned."

"I'm sorry, okay? Next time you'll be the first to know."

"Aw, Vic, that is not what this is about, all right? I'm not hurt, I'm worried. This isn't like you."

Victoria made a face. "Yeah, well. Gotta engage with the 'narrative'."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Don't worry about me, worry about the fact that at best we've got a leak in the department, and at worst we've got a traitor. That's what should be worrying you."

"Oh, I'm a professional worrier as you well know, I can do both," Jack said grimly. "You got any hunches?"

"Not yet, but I will."

"That's not how hunches work, Vic," Jack said, his tone returning to its more usual deadpan he used to mercilessly rib her.

"Until you actually have one of your own you can just shut up, Lee."

"Whatever."

Victoria gave a smirk and then turned her attention to driving, as they were approaching the docks. She reached over and gave the radio a squelch to alert Marque to their presence, though she was sure the other woman could probably spot them coming from quite a ways away.

The radio crackled into life a few minutes later.

"Okay, they have a pretty regular guard rotation around the warehouse; there's just no way they're not going to see you unless I incapacitate some. You want me to do that?"

Victora's jaw tightened - if she answered in the affirmative there would be little doubt that CPD was working in collusion with the vigilante. On the other hand, if Deed's men saw them coming they'd have a chance to get rid of any incriminating evidence, making the whole raid moot. She answered without glancing at Jack, knowing that his expression would be one of well-deserved shock. "Affirmative. We'll hold our approach until we have confirmation from you the coast it clear."

"Copy that, stand by."

 

Victoria had, by now, done some research into Marque and her methods, so she was fully expecting what came as they watched the warehouse from their slightly elevated position on the road down to the old quay. Jack was not, and gave a low whistle as he saw the first henchman round a corner and, while there was no one else in his line of vision, drop neatly to the ground unconscious. It wasn't until he looked to the roof that he spotted the red clad figure, barely visible, moving silently across to the other side of the building to find a good moment to take out the other two guards.

"She using a blow dart or somethin'?"

"Targeted ultrasonic beams, most likely," Victoria murmured, watching the vigilante's smooth, measured movements across the roof.

"Huh. Reckon we can get hold of some of those?"

"They're still highly controversial and mostly theoretical. It'd be a nightmare for the insurance guys."

"Mm." Then, "Guess that's why we keep people like Marque around, huh?"

"What happened to your 'plenty of reasons not to work with vigilantes'?"

"Never said there weren't also reasons to work with them."

"Mm."

"Looks like she's-" Jack broke off as the radio crackled again.

"You're good to go. Make it fast, though."

"Copy that," Victoria said, and then switched channels to address the other officers waiting around the warehouse area. "This is Akins. We're going in, on my signal. Let's keep this quick and smooth, folks - I want that evidence back in our possession by sun-up."

 

The evidence was in their possession by sun-up, and much more besides. The ensuring operation did not go without a hitch, and four police officers were in hospital the next morning. Marque - though Victoria and Jack weren't the only ones to spot her on the roof and so her presence was widely known about among the team - was next-to-invisible in her involvement, sticking to the high places and the shadows, trying up loose ends. When they swept the area at the end of the night they found no fewer than thirteen unconscious henchmen in various places around the warehouse, any one of which could have caused considerable trouble had they been in play.

The mood at the station was jubilant, though Victoria couldn't help but brood, discomfited by the thought that they still hadn't located who had absconded with the evidence in the first place. They might be able to get it out of one of the smugglers they had arrested, though there was no guarantee they would spill, or even that they knew who the mole was. Too tired and strung out to contemplate this possibility, Victoria finished her paperwork and then headed home.

 

There was no question that Amy had something on her mind. She'd been distracted these past few days - attentive, as kind and caring as always and devoted to Megan as much as she could be, Megan presumed, given that she must have other cases to attend to (though with Megan's private suite and the general quietude of the clinic she had barely seen another patient during the whole time she was there). But when she thought Megan wasn't paying attention, her gaze would wander, her expression glazing over as her mind went to something else - something that concerned and upset her, by the looks of things. Not as a rule one to probe except when important evidence was at stake, Megan found, as usual, that her rules did not apply when it came to Amy, and one day - perhaps buoyed and emboldened by the breaking news of a successful police raid on an eastside warehouse that she felt sure must have tied into the ongoing fight against Deed's plans for the city, she cracked.

"Hey," she said, reaching boldly for the other woman's hand as she sat by the bedside and giving it a squeeze. "Why don't you tell me about what's bothering you? It'll feel good to get it off your chest, whatever it is."

Amy sighed, looking over at her with a rather pained expression. "Megan..." She began, then she stopped herself, obviously second-guessing whether she should say anything at all. But at Megan's encouraging nod she began again. "I... really care about you. These past few weeks, since our first car ride when we... I feel as though we've been sitting at the edge of something that could be... really important. To me. You know?"

"It's important to me too," Megan told her, giving her a reassuring smile. "You don't need to worry about that."

"I do worry, though. Honesty is... pretty much non-negotiable with me. Personally as well as professionally. And I'm worried that when the moment comes... you'll lie. You'll think you're protecting me, and you'll lie." Amy looked and sounded blank, her tone steady, and Megan could tell that not only had Amy played this conversation out in her head more than once, she was already pretty sure she knew how it went.

"Amy..." Megan's voice, by contrast, was high and tight. "What in the world are you talking about?"

Amy's expression registered a momentary flicker of sadness that Megan seemed to be on-script. "Professionally," she said, "I don't ask. We only ask to know what we need to for your treatment. You say snowboarding accident, we do the x-rays and move on, and we don't say a word to anyone about it. But Megan, you weren't in a snowboarding accident, and you don't just want your legs back so that you can wear heels to your board meetings and charity balls. I know who you are."

"Who I am?"

Amy slipped her hand out of hers, wrapping her arms around herself. "Megan, please. I know. I figured it out. The worst thing you could do right now is try to play dumb. I'm not a fool."

"I know you're not, of course you're not, but Amy..." For a moment it seemed like she might continue to deny the obvious, but then something seemed to snap and she sighed, sinking back into the pillows. "It's a tenuous connection at best. Impossible to prove."

Amy blinked, a look of genuine bemusement falling over her previously expressionless mask. "I don't see what that has to do with anything..."

Megan's demeanour was measured now, almost resigned. "If you're thinking of going public with this. You'll have a hell of a time proving anything, and it won't look very good for you professionally. I'd advise you not to even try."

"What?" There was no mistaking Amy's emotions - she looked obviously aghast, and though she unfolded her arms it was only, it seemed, to push herself to her feet, to physically step back a little from the bed. "You think I want to expose you? Why in the hell would I do that?"

"People think I'm very rich," Megan explained calmly. "Sometimes they try to get money from me."

"Since when did I become 'people'?"

"I don't know!" The first cracks began to show, and Megan fought to get her temper under control. "I don't know, just like I don't know why you had to bring this up now."

"You brought it up!"

"No, I mean... her."

"She is all I can think about!" Amy said, turning and pacing away a little, and then back again. "Ever since it clicked, that the woman I'm... that you have this double life... Can you blame me?"

"It's not a double life, it's just... my private life," Megan said helplessly.

"I thought I would be your private life," Amy said helplessly. "I thought..." She shook her head, closing her eyes, apparently unable to go on.

"Hey... hey, sweetheart, c'mere."

Amy opened her eyes, looking thoroughly apprehensive as she edged back toward the bed. Megan held out her hands to the other woman, lifting her chin bravely to look up at her. Amy reached for them automatically, apparently unable to refuse the contact even in her currently reluctant, hurt state. "Listen, I'm sorry I... reacted badly. But you have to realise how... terrifying this all is for me."

"You think I'm not terrified? Megan, you were nearly beaten to death. And now you're desperate to get well so you can go out there and do it all over again."

"It's not going to happen again. It was just a fluke - I've never been hurt this badly before and I've been at this for years."

This didn't seem to be of much comfort to Amy, though, her grip on Megan's hands tightening. "You don't know that," she said. "And I don't know that. Every night, every time-... Megan, I don't know if I could live like that."

Megan's face fell, though she didn't seem particularly surprised by this pronouncement. "I'm not going to stop. I can't. I'm sorry."

Amy nodded slowly, not even trying to hide her miserable expression. "I understand that."

"But... but we can make this work, I know we can. You mean so much to me, Amy, and I want to be with you so badly. Surely that must mean something..."

"It does." Amy's brow furrowed deeply, and Megan could tell she was trying very hard not to cry. "It does. It means something."

"But not enough?"

"I don't know." Then, "Would you even have told me? If I hadn't figured it out?"

"I... don't know. Not at first. Maybe not at all."

Amy nodded slowly. "When all I ever asked was that you were honest with me."

"You don't understand, this isn't about fidelity or trust, it's so much bigger than that!" Megan exclaimed.

"Bigger than me. No, it's okay," Amy said, shaking her head when Megan opened her mouth to respond to this. "I know we hadn't set anything in stone - I know that. But I don't do stuff by halves, and I'm sorry, because I like you so much, but I don't play second fiddle. Call it my surgeon's ego," she added with a bitter smile.

"You wouldn't be second - God, Amy, how could you even say that? There's no one else but you, you're the only person I want to be with - the only person I've wanted to be with in a long, long time."

"Which puts me pretty high up your list, I understand that - but still underneath every poor bastard in that city."

Megan blinked, scarcely able to comprehend what the other woman was saying. "You seriously want me to choose between you and that? I wouldn't ask you to choose between me and your patients, I understand what it is to want to help people, I--"

"I don't expect you to choose," Amy said, her jaw tightening. "I would never ask you to do that. I can see how much this matters to you - I've been seeing it every day, for months now. We just..." She shook her head, pressing her hand to her mouth for a moment, closing her eyes tightly. "It just means that there are some things we will never be for one another."

"Amy please." Megan couldn't remember feeling worse in all her time in the hospital; this pain was far deeper and more insidious than any ache or broken bone. "Please, don't make your mind up just yet, we can work something out, I know we can..."

"Kára will always be more important than I will be," Amy said, shaking her head again. "Than either of us. Isn't that true?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then that's really all that matters, here. I'm sorry, Megan. I don't blame you - I honestly don't. I understand. But... I can't do it. I'm sorry."

"Please..." Megan nearly whimpered as Amy's hand slipped out of hers.

"Don't." Amy frowned again, obviously exerting considerable effort to keep herself under control. "Just... don't."

This was the most difficult thing Amy had asked of her yet, and yet somehow Megan managed to wrestle down the pleas and promises, managed to tamp down the tears so she could remain clear-eyed as she looked up at the other woman. Amy was still as beautiful as ever, even with her red-rimmed eyes, and Megan actually felt a pain in her chest, just over her heart, as she stepped back from the bed. "Does this mean I won't see you any more?"

"Of course not," Amy said, in a tone that suggested she wasn't sure it wouldn't be better if she didn't. "I'm still your surgeon. And I'm... I still care about you. I will be here for as long as you need me."

"Oh." For some reason Megan was saddened by this - the idea of a clean break was perhaps more appealing than a long, drawn-out goodbye. Still, if she could continue to see Amy, maybe she could change her mind... "All right. I'm... glad."

Amy just nodded, her eyes anywhere but Megan's face. "I should go," she said, rather hoarsely. "I'll... be back."

Megan nodded numbly, wishing Amy would just look at her once before fleeing the room, but she didn't, turning and striding out, hand already coming up to wipe across her eyes as she turning off down the corridor.

 

Victoria got dispensation from the chief for an impromptu vacation at the end of that week (once processing was finished from the warehouse haul), though it was likely she'd be back at work before the end of it, too much of a control freak to hand over the reins entirely.

Each night she would arrive home half expecting to find Marque waiting in her apartment when she returned to it, and found to her irritation that she was mildly disappointed when she found it empty, no red suited figure on the couch or lounging against the window frame. Marque, it seemed, was AWOL once more.

On the first day of her vacation, she arrived home from an early, collapsed into bed and slept through most of the day, waking up only when the hunger pangs got too insistent to ignore. There was, of course, little in the way of edible food in the house, so she showered and put on her civvies in order to walk to the corner shop for the essentials. Fully laden with milk, bread, and a few bottles of beer she made her way home, mulling over the past few day's events in her head. She was so distracted by thoughts of Marque and her dark, expressive eyes that she barely heard the footsteps behind her, or noticed the dark figure as it surged forward, grabbing her and bearing her into a nearby alley, one calloused, dirty hand over her mouth. Victoria struggled, but to no avail, and the last thing she noticed before the blow came was the crash of glass against the pavement and the yeasty smell of beer washing around her feet before it all went black.

 

She came to in a cramped, windowless room, her head and back and shoulders aching. She realised as she tried to shake them out that she couldn't; she was tied into a sitting position on an uncomfortable metal folding chair, her arms wrenched behind her and bound into place. The chair made a loud scraping sound on the concrete floor as she tried to get free, and a moment later a door opened and two silhouetted figures entered the room, the second hulking behind the first as Victoria's eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light.

"So, you're awake." The voice was smooth, cultured - completely at odds with the shabby surroundings. "Good. I have some questions for you, some things you can help me with."

"I'm not helping you with anything," Victoria growled, arms working against the binding at her wrist. "You're in a world of trouble, buddy."

"Oh dear me no, that won't do at all." The figure leaned down, and Victoria found herself staring straight into the face of Henry Deed. "The first thing you'll learn in your direct dealings with me, Ms Akins, is the immeasurable value of politeness - politeness costs us nothing, you know."

Neither, it seemed, did saliva, and so Victoria barely missed any as she spit in Deed's face, though the blow that landed across her cheek a moment later gave her some cause to regret the action.

Deed tutted. "I can see we're going to have to revisit this when you're in a better mood," he said, straightening up. "Razor!" There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside as Deed called, and a smaller man emerged into the room next to the brute. "I'm going to leave you with Razor and Mallet here for a while - see if you can guess which is which." Deed chuckled. "We'll see if between them my boys can't talk you round a little." Deed reached and pushed Victoria's hair back behind her ear where it was escaping from her ponytail, almost tenderly. It made her skin crawl.

Anger and fear warred in equal measure within Victoria - how dare he kidnap an officer of the law? She knew that there was no way to resist torture forever - eventually everybody cracked - but she swore then and there not to give him anything useful for as long as she could manage, if only to spite him and his oily smile and soft words. "Go to hell," she managed to grind out, wincing as the movement hurt the bruise already forming on her cheek.

A hard look flashed across Deed's face. "We'll talk later," was all he said, before turning and taking his leave.

'Razor' and 'Mallet' advanced, wearing the slouched posture and unpleasant grimaces of men for whom pain was an old friend. Victoria tested the bonds on her wrists and ankles once again, but they must have been zip-tied as they didn't give at all. Resolutely she pressed her lips together, refusing to give them anything else to punish her for. Help would come, she knew it. She just had to last until it did.

 

The thing about being tortured by henchmen who hadn't been left any specific instructions was that your time in their tender care was completely without a shred of hope - you could not buy yourself respite, you could not 'talk' even if you wanted to because you had nothing to say but they wanted to hear.

Razor, in any case, would clearly rather Victoria didn't talk. Razor mostly wanted Victoria to cry.

Victoria knew Razor, she realised, as she felt another long, shallow cut slice through the flesh of her stomach. Or at least, she knew his work. In her time with Vice she'd spoken to a lot of sex workers over many years in various circumstances, and more than one of the women - always women - had sported scars just like this - long, neat seams like lines left by a cyclist on a smooth, sandy beach, as though someone had painstakingly segmented their bodies into pieces. She had often wondered how they'd got them - they'd been too neat, too confident, too similar and too unusual to be self-inflicted in all those cases - but she'd never asked. Now she knew.

The first thing Razor had done was push her chair onto its back, painfully wedging her bound arms beneath herself. Then he had taken his time carefully slicing her clothes off with a pair of sharp dressmaker's shears. Then he'd taken out his razor, and begin to draw with it.

Mallet stood behind him - Victoria couldn't see him now, but she could hear him occasionally shifting from foot to foot, and once he gave a low chuckle as Razor sliced his way up her inner thigh. Her gasps of pain and shaking exhalations threatened to grow into sobs and it was only using every ounce of self-control and stubbornness that she possessed that she kept from crying out. The tears still leaked down her cheeks, however, silent and hot, and though she told herself she wasn't ashamed of them she knew it was a lie.

She lost all track of the time - a part of her hoped she would pass out from bloodloss, but while the blood flowed freely, the cuts were shallow; they clotted and dried up quickly and though she felt lightheaded she knew that it was mostly from pain - the sharp, stinging lines of pain that crisscrossed her like a roadmap, that completely filled her senses and made it impossible to think of anything else.

Eventually, though, the cuts stopped, and she was vaguely aware of the scraping, shuffling sound of Razor straightening up and stepping back to examine his work.

"I need to turn her over," he said. Mallet gave a rumbling response, so incoherent in his basso profundo mumble that Razor had to snap at him to repeat himself.

"Boss said if you did that I was to do her legs first," he repeated, striking a cold terror into Victoria's heart. She saw his shadow cast over her, mallet in hand, felt him wedge something between her legs, just below the knees, to hold them apart. There was a ringing in her ears as her heart began to race. She closed her eyes tightly, clamping her mouth shut. She would not scream.

There was a loud thump. Victoria couldn't feel anything. She waited for the pain to hit her in a sudden wall, but the wall didn't come, only another, lighter thud. When she opened her eyes, the shadow of Mallet towering over her had gone.

She lay still for a long moment, just listening, and then began to thrash against her bonds, suddenly desperate to get free while her tormentors were otherwise occupied. In her desperation she didn't hear the figure approaching, so the first sign of a fourth person in the room was the feeling of her chair being lifted beneath her, set right, and a moment later the tie around her wrists fell away with a single neat snip. A hand clamped over her mouth, and a face came into view - or half a face, anyway, since its top half was concealed behind a dark red mask she had never been so happy to see in her life.

From beneath the other woman's hand she gave a gasp, her eyes welling up with tears of relief. Reaching up, she pulled Marque's hand away from her mouth, though she did not drop it, instead clasping it tightly until her knuckles went white. "Thank you," she mouthed silently, beginning to shake slightly from shock.

Marque just nodded. Quickly slicing the rest of Victoria's restraints, she spared her wrecked clothes only a glance before turning her attention to the slighter of the two henchmen, pulling off his shirt and pants.

"I know," she whispered as Victoria shrank back. "But it's all we've got and we're leaving that way." She cast her eyes upward to where her grappling line was dangling down from a skylight above their heads. "Be practical for now, panic and vomiting later, 'kay?"

With a shaky nod and the words running through her head - Practical now, panic later - Victoria managed to pull on the clothes, hissing with pain as the fabric irritated the dozens of lacerations running over her body. Carefully she turned to Marque, the only sign of her tenuous grasp on her actions the wild look in her eyes.

"Okay, hold on really tight," the other woman said, moving close and carefully but firmly pulling Victoria against her, wrapping one strong arm tightly around her, and reaching for the grappling line with the other. The detective obeyed, clinging to Marque with all her remaining strength and resisting the urge to shut her eyes tightly like a child afraid of the dark as, with a tug from Marque, the line lifted them both from their feet and began to wind them upwards. Victoria could feel Marque's muscles, tensed, struggling to support them both, but she didn't doubt for a moment that they would.

Looking back, Victoria had no idea how they got down off the roof of the warehouse and into a waiting car. Her legs and arms shaking with pain and fatigue, she couldn't imagine, surveying the building through the fast-misting window, how they'd made it safely into the vehicle - not some space-age tank-sportscar hybrid like the one Kára drove but what appeared to be an entirely ordinary Sedan. As they left the district - one that even in her haze of shock Victoria recognised to be part of the Shades, she felt sleep - or unconsciousness - begin to fall over her. She let it, not caring much which it was.

 

"Hey, hey - wake up, you sneaky little... ah, there you are."

Marque's mask was off again, those expressive eyebrows drawn together in concern. "You weren't meant to fall unconscious while I was trying to drive," she said matter-of-factly. "What if I'd got lost on the way back to your place? This isn't my city, y'know."

"Where are we?" Victoria asked, a panicked edge creeping into her voice that made her frown to hear it. Practical now. Panic later.

"Your apartment." A strong hand found hers. "Your bedroom. You're okay, you're home. You're going to be fine."

"We have to call the station," she said then, pushing herself up on her elbows and casting a desperate glance around for her cell phone. "I have to report what happened."

"Hey, hey, relax," Marque said quickly, reaching for Victoria's shoulder. "I've put in a call directing them to that warehouse; they'll flush it out. If you want I'll take you to the hospital and you can call anyone you like, but..." She glanced away from Victoria and back to her, looking hesitant. "I dunno, I figured maybe you'd prefer some time to... gather yourself together... first. You've got no serious injuries, I can disinfect your cuts, see that you're okay for now." She paused. "But it's your call."

"Okay," Victoria breathed, "okay." Glancing down, she realised for the first time that she was naked, securely wrapped in her comforter, but even that could not protect her from the memory of Razor's eager eyes, his slim, searching fingers, Mallet's thick, wet laugh. "Oh Jesus," she moaned, feeling the bile rise at the back of her throat.

"Hey, you're okay, you're okay, c'mere, Marque said, hand coming to support her behind her back, pulling her forward and round a little so that she was looking down and over the side of the bed, where, she registered with a certain numb attention to detail, a bucket was already waiting with a little water in the bottom, although as Victoria retched nothing actually came up - unsurprising, since she'd had an empty stomach when she was taken. She flinched at first when she felt a hand on her face, pushing her hair back, although Marque's hand could not be more different from Deed's or Razor's, warm and strong, with that tough, smooth skin. "You're okay," she heard Marque murmur again.

"You have a very different definition of 'okay' than most people," Victoria managed, her bare shoulder pressing against the rubberised material of Marque's suit. Closing her eyes, she sucked in several deep breaths, grateful for the reassuringly familiar smell of her bedroom, her panic receding slowly.

"Hey, nothing all the iodine in your house and a few years of therapy won't fix," the other woman said with a dry chuckle. "Lie back. I'm going to go get something to clean you up, okay?"

Nodding, Victoria sat back against the mounded pillows behind her, pulling the comforter up until it nearly reached her chin. She was grateful for the other woman's no-nonsense attitude; somehow it made her own failure to cope easier to deal with.

When Marque returned, she had removed the top half of her suit, revealing a simple black vest beneath. She had Victoria's little first aid kit in one hand, a larger bottle of antiseptic in the other that she didn't recognise. "Brought this up from the car," she said by way of explanation when she saw Victoria eyeing the bottle. Off in the kitchen, the kettle boiled. "Be right back," she said, leaving the supplies by the bedside and leaving to fetch a steaming bowl of hot water and, as far as Victoria was aware, all the dish towels in the house.

What followed was at once incredibly uncomfortable and touchingly tender; limb by limb Marque began to clean and disinfect the cuts that Razor had left over Victoria's body, pressing a hot, damp towel to them to clean them of any dirt and grime before swabbing them with disinfectant. The cop hissed with each sting, twitching automatically in reaction but otherwise sitting rigidly still to allow the other woman to do her work.

The cuts were painful but in every case shallow, already closing up and beginning to scab in some places. Her neck and face were untouched, which, having seen his work before, Victoria knew to be part of Razors MO, and he hadn't been able to reach her lower arms, leaving those and her hands untouched (though aching from having been trapped beneath her for all those hours). Nowhere else that was accessible had escaped, however; fine red lines ran across her feet, her knees - there was even one that ran right across the edge of her areola. It was all the same to Marque, apparently, all treated with that calm, neutral expression on her face, that light touch and sure hand.

Eventually she finished, setting aside the bowl of water and bottle of antiseptic; Victoria gave a shuddering sigh and reached to gather the blankets around herself again, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. "Thank you," she murmured, unable to meet the other woman's eyes.

"I'll run you a bath in the morning," Marque said, leaning to help her cover herself, retrieving the bed-throw from where it had been pulled back off the bed and pulling that up over her as well. "Once everything's closed up a bit more. D'you need-" She broke off, and Victoria saw a rather pained expression cross her face. "Did they do... anything else... that you'll need looked at?" she asked carefully.

"No," Victoria said with a shake of her head, unable to suppress the shudder that ran through her at this suggestion. "No, it was just that."

"'Just'..." Marque tipped her head to the side, her face for the first time registering the tiniest hint of the horror she felt, and she shook her head in incredulity. "Man you're tough."

"I've seen how bad things can get. I got off easy. At least..." She remembered the terror she had felt as Mallet had roughly manhandled her legs apart, the looming mass of his hammer waiting to fall. "Jesus. If you hadn't gotten there when you did..."

"I'm sorry about the wait. I should've checked in right after the warehouse, I... Jesus, I'm sorry."

"What? No, that wasn't your fault," Victoria said, brow furrowed. "Why would you think that?"

"I didn't come check in with you because I was mad at you," Marque said regretfully. "I'm not saying it's my fault. But I could've prevented it."

"We just would've argued, you would've left and it would've happened anyway," Victoria sighed, too drained to inject the statement with more than the bare minimum of censure.

"Maybe. Or maybe I'd've mooned about outside considering another crack at you, or maybe-..." Marque broke off, shaking her head. "This is pointless. You're here now, and you're going to be fine."

Victoria turned gingerly onto her side, her hand curling around the edge of the blanket. "Thank you for coming for me," she murmured then. "I... I knew you would."

Marque smiled gently. "Me to the rescue," she said. "S'what I do."

"I still think you're a general menace."

"I guess that's just something I'm going to have to live with."

"Mm. Guess so." Despite, or perhaps because of the general stress of the day Victoria felt her energy flagging and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment before she forced them open. "You don't have to stay," she told the other woman, trying to keep her voice even. "Sure you have other things to do..."

She felt a warm, strong hand wrap gently around hers. "I'm not going anywhere," was the last thing she heard before she slipped off to sleep.

 

It was a good thing recovery was not solely a mental endeavour, or Megan's improvement might have halted altogether after her 'breakup' with Amy. Where once she had filled her hospital bed-bound days with research and conversations ranging from favourite vacation spots to discussions of literature and art she could now barely muster the energy to perform her physio exercises and the pain of her healing, which had been challenging but manageable with medication, now seemed to intensify until it was all she could focus on some days. She also flatly refused to see the hospital counsellor, despite the urging of her doctors and Walter, whose concern become more apparent each time he visited the morose and moribund young woman.

It didn't help that Amy was as attentive and as caring as ever - if anything slightly moreso in light of Megan's state, though she didn't crowd her or attempt to make conversation, just checking in regularly. The only time she stayed more than a few minutes was when Megan was asleep, or when she thought she was, when she would sit, sometimes for an hour or more, just reading in silence, her hand in Megan's, until she woke. Sometimes Megan would fake sleep just to prolong these sessions, almost able to convince herself that nothing had changed, though of course it was only all the more disappointing when she did rouse and Amy slipped away, her expression guarded and vaguely sad.

The only motivator that remained now was Kára, and Megan found herself resenting the persona almost as if she was a separate person standing in the way of her happiness. She still felt the same obligation as ever to return to City to act as its masked protector, but there was no anticipation there any more, no joy at the idea of helping those in need. She knew it was selfish of her to value her own happiness over that of the city, and that only served to make her feel worse - the spiral seemed never-ending.

Then of course there was that unspoken question, the one nobody dared ask, least of all Megan: What if she didn't recover?

 

Victoria woke in a daze. She hurt all over, her swollen cheek was throbbing, and her dreams had been haunted by a menacing figure with a sharp silver weapon. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room she realised there was a shadowy figure next to the bed and lashed out instinctively, her heart racing in panic, but hands caught her wrists, and a familiar face swam into view, close to hers, eyes on hers.

"It's just me," Marque said. "You're okay - you're safe."

She relaxed almost immediately, embarrassed at the overreaction and pulling her hands from the other woman's grasp. "Sorry," she mumbled, pulling a sheet around herself as she sat up.

"It's fine," Marque said, shaking her head. "Don't worry about it." She sat forward a little, resting her hand briefly on Victoria's shoulder as though to ground her. "How're you feeling?"

"Starving. What time is it?"

"About three in the morning. I'll go fix you something - preferences?"

"I don't have anything in the house," Victoria groaned, her stomach now more demanding than ever now that she had acknowledged it.

"All right, I'll pop out to a store - where's the nearest open-all-night place?"

Victoria sighed, shaking her head. "It's fine. I'll go." Gathering the throw around herself she slid her legs off the bed and stood, reaching out to steady herself on the back of Marque's chair.

"Hey, hey, hold on," the other woman said, immediately reaching up to support Victoria as her legs threatened to collapse beneath her. "You're not going anywhere, honey," she said. "Not tonight. Siddown."

"I'm fine," Victoria protested as she sank back down to the mattress. "Just hungry."

"Yeh, well, you can stay fine, in bed, while I fetch some food, 'kay?" the other woman said, glancing around the room. "Can I borrow a pair of jeans?"

"In the dresser."

"Thanks." Locating a pair that seemed as though they'd fit her somewhat broader, taller frame, Marque unzipped her leggings at the side and began to peel them off unceremoniously. "Where d'you keep your sidearm?" she asked then. "I assume you didn't have it on you when they grabbed you?"

"No... there's a safe, in the living room."

"You want me to fetch it for you to keep close while I'm gone?"

"I..." Victoria sighed, pulling her legs back onto the bed. "Sure. Oh six twenty-four eighty."

Marque raised her eyebrows. "Whose birthday is that?" she asked in a slightly teasing tone. "Not yours."

"No. Not mine," Victoria confirmed, though she said no more than that, folding her arms over her chest.

Disinclined to probe further for now at least, the other woman nodded, and disappeared, returning a moment later with the gun. "Any requests?" she asked.

"One of those frozen pizzas - the more chemicals and cardboard, the better. And beer. Bastard made me drop mine."

"Done. See you soon."

 

Victoria couldn't remember a better meal in her life, even after Marque managed to burn the pizza a little thanks to Victoria's temperamental oven. She all but scalded her mouth on the cheese but didn't stop until she had inhaled two slices of the pepperoni-covered confection, and then drained half her beer in one gulp to wash it down. "God that's good," she remarked, flicking crumbs from the collar of her robe onto the floor.

The other woman watched with obvious relief as the colour returned to Victoria's cheeks, grinning at her expression of appreciation.

"You sure you don't want some?"

"I'm really okay - I ate a sandwich on my way back."

"Suit yourself," Victoria said, shrugging and picking up another piece of pizza.

"Besides, I wouldn't want to fight you for it - I have a feeling I'd lose."

"I'm pretty sure even on a good day you'd win any fight." She had been too exhausted and hungry to really notice it before now, but with those words Victoria couldn't help but looking over Marque's well-defined arms and slim but solid figure - she had always known what was under that rubber suit, but seeing it in front of her was another thing altogether.

"Hey, I'm unarmed," the other woman said with a grin, leaning back a little in her chair and stretching out her legs a little, the jeans she was still wearing, a comfortable fit on Victoria, looking rather different on her somewhat thicker legs.

"I wouldn't shoot you."

"Today."

Victoria frowned. "This is a stupid avenue of conversation. Forget I brought it up."

"Aw, angel..." Marque's face fell a little into an expression that was a mix of sympathy and frustration, and she sat forward again, reaching out to touch her fingers to the mattress near Victoria's leg. "You need to try to take me less seriously, 'kay? I'd do just about anything for you but I'm not sure there's much I can do about my smart mouth."

I'd do just about anything for you. This was surely just something Marque said in her 'hero' persona, caught up in the rescue and Victoria's apparent neediness, not borne of any actual devotion, but all the same Victoria's stomach gave a small flip and it wasn't because she had wolfed her pizza too fast. "Yeah, sorry," she said gruffly, shaking her head and feeling her hair fall over her shoulders in an unruly mass.

"It's cool." The other woman smiled a little, showing her dimples.

Victoria tore her gaze away, taking a sip of her beer. "You don't need to stay all night - I'm sure you need your rest too."

"Eh, I got a bit of sleep, off and on - I'm used to grabbing naps where I can."

"Fine, then I'll make up the couch for you in a minute."

"Victoria..." Marque's smile turned gentle, and she shook her head. "What you've just been through... I can't even imagine what it was like. Please, for me, just get some rest. I could make up the couch myself just fine - if I was leaving your side, which, frankly, I won't be. So don't worry about it."

Victoria didn't want the vigilante hovering at her bedside like an anxious nurse, treating her like an invalid who needed to be watched over 24-7. There wasn't any way of saying that that didn't make her sound ungracious, though, and so she only sighed and took another sip of beer before leaning to set the bottle on the bedside table. "Fine."

Marque seemed to know, though, that a tension was slowly growing once more between them, and she sighed, leaning her elbow on the arm of her chair and planting her face into her hand rather wearily.

"Shit, I'm doing this all wrong," she said. "I'm sorry. You need to take control back - of course you do. I just wanted to... I wanted to be here if you needed someone. But I can go."

"You don't have to go," Victoria said quickly - too quickly, perhaps - and ducked her head, letting her hair swing over her face. "I mean. You don't have to leave entirely. But you don't have to sit up all night."

The other woman hesitated, looking at her as though trying to make her out. "Just... tell me where you want me," she said simply. "I really do work best with simple instructions, no bullshit, and I want to give you what you need right now - trust me, what I want can wait, it's not going to do me any harm just for tonight. D'you want me here, on your couch, or out of your damn apartment? What's best?"

'In bed with you' wasn't an option, and it was probably just as well, Victoria thought, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "The couch. It's really quite comfortable. I sleep there a lot myself."

"I bet you do," Marque said with a wry grin, and she pushed to her feet. "I'll go pretend to sleep in there, then, let you finish your dinner in peace."

"Oh, you don't have to..." Victoria trailed off, somewhat dumbstruck by the other woman's mere physical presence at her bedside. _You won't be the only one pretending to sleep tonight._

"It's cool," Marque said, looking down at her - for a moment Victoria thought the other woman was staring down her cleavage until she realised her eye had rather been caught by the long cut snaking up between her breasts, visible above the edge of her robe. At length, she tore her eyes away, obviously trying not to look too grim. "I'm still running you that bath in the morning," she warned.

"Are you saying I smell?" Victoria asked, pulling the robe more tightly about her.

"I'm sure you smell great, but stinging aside I reckon you'll still be glad of a bath."

"Mm. Okay."

The other woman met her eyes for another long moment in silence, and Victoria noticed her tongue dart out briefly to wet her lower lip. "Okay," she said eventually, nodding. "See you in the morning then. Rest well."

"Thanks." Victoria fully intended to finish her beer, but she found that as soon as Marque left she could barely keep her eyes open. Pulling the blankets up around her, she didn't even bother to take off her robe before switching off the bedside lamp and falling, once more, to sleep.

 

When Megan woke, it was dark, but she knew instinctively that there was a presence sitting by her side. Amy wasn't holding her hand, wasn't reading. She was just sitting there.

With a soft groan Megan shifted, turning to peer through the dark at the other woman. "Amy?"

"Hey," she murmured quietly, sitting forward a little. Then, "How're you feeling?" as though enquiring after Megan's health would make her presence less odd.

"Um. Okay. What time is it?"

"A little before dawn."

"Oh." A beat. Then, "is everything okay?"

"What will you do if the therapy doesn't work?"

Megan blinked. "What?"

"You went into this knowing it had a fifty per cent success rate, but you won't talk about the other fifty per cent. You can't just ignore it forever."

"I though I was supposed to be thinking positively."

"You're not _thinking_ at all."

"I'll deal with the eventualities when I get there."

Another long silence. Amy sighed, and Megan caught the faintest scent of alcohol from her breath. Then, "I think I've fallen in love with you. And I feel like the only way I'll be as important to you as you are to me is if I fail to heal you. It's... a pretty fucked-up prospect."

There wasn't anything Megan could say to this at first; she was shocked into silence by Amy's first revelation and it took some time for the rest of her statement to sink in. "Amy, sweetheart, I... please don't say that."

"Because it isn't true? Or because it is?"

"Because... because it's unfair."

"You're right," Amy said in a rather bitter tone. "I shouldn't assume, given you won't even allow yourself to consider the prospect, that you wouldn't merely spend your days mourning her, and shutting me out all the same."

"Of course I've thought of it!" Megan exclaimed, her voice ringing out across the room. "I barely think of anything else, except for the fact that the woman I've fallen for seems to want to punish me for something I don't even have a choice about!"

"I don't understand why you don't have a choice!" Amy snapped, her voice wavering. "You've been gone for months; the city hasn't gone to mob rule without you."

"Because Marque has been working her ass off to keep it that way!"

"But there must be something you could do without suiting up and getting yourself killed!"

"Yeah, I _could let somebody else do it_," Megan said, half-exasperated, half-despairing. "And I have the money and tech to do it more safely than anybody else."

"Can't you..." Amy sighed, slumping back in her chair. It was some time before she spoke again, this time in a low, almost resigned tone. "I've tried so hard to do the right thing here," she said. "For me, for you. I know it's a mistake for us to be involved. But... it feels like I don't have choice. It hurts - all of this hurts, and if it's going to hurt we may as well at least be hurting together."

Megan reached for the other woman's hands, eager to soothe her obvious distress. "Sweetheart, I don't want you to hurt. But I don't want to miss the chance to be with somebody so amazing, either. I promise I will do whatever I can to make you happy, if you'd just give me the chance."

Amy let Megan pull her closer, shaking her head, and even in the dim room she was obviously not comforted. "Don't make promises you won't keep," she said, bowing her head down closer to Megan's.

"Just let me try," the other woman murmured, reaching up to caress Amy's cheek. "I swear I'm very good at making people happy."

The glint of Amy's eyes disappeared as she closed them tightly. "I couldn't stop you trying if I wanted to," she whispered.

"Darn right," Megan said, trying for humour and mostly succeeding. She tipped Amy's chin up with one finger, her thumb brushing the other woman's lower lip. "Hey, sweetheart. C'mon, cheer up. Lemme see you smile."

Amy couldn't manage a smile. In lieu however, she closed the gap between them in a sudden, rather desperate kiss. Megan wasn't wholly shocked, tipping her head slightly to deepen the kiss as her hand slid around to cup Amy's neck. She could taste the alcohol on the other woman's breath now, and wondered if the confrontation had been a mistake, or if Amy had deliberately put herself in a situation where it would have no choice but to occur. Salt mingled with the sharp taste of the alcohol on their lips and Megan realised that Amy was silently but steadily crying, the tears spilling freely down her cheeks even as she cupped Megan's face in hers as if to keep their mouths in contact, to prevent her from pulling away.

Eventually, however, Megan did, her own cheeks slightly damp from tears shed not from happiness, but regret. "Sweetheart, Amy, I'm so sorry," she murmured, "I'm sorry. I'm being terrible, and I'm hurting you, and I'm sorry. If it doesn't work, if I... if I don't get better, then I'll find another way to help. So we can be together, and you don't have to worry about something else taking precedence over you in my life."

This didn't seem to be much comfort to Amy. "I want you to get better," she sniffed. "I don't want to be in this state where you'll only put me first if you're crippled. Please, I get it, I don't want to talk about it," she said, shaking her head. "It's too fucked up. Please..."

"If I do get better..." Megan hesitated, biting her lip nervously before continuing. "If I do get better, I'll... figure something out. Find somebody else to take my place."

Now she had the other woman's attention. Amy pulled back a little further to look at her, though of course she could barely see her in the dark. "You... mean that? Honestly?" Her voice was tiny, and hopeful, almost childlike.

"Everybody has to retire sometime," Megan joked, trying for a smile.

Like the last time, she got a sudden kiss instead, this one light and quick before the other woman leaned down to hug her. "I do love you," she murmured. "I didn't know how I was going to cope, watching you go back out there. Together or apart I felt sure it'd slowly kill me."

"That's the last thing I want," Megan murmured, wrapping her arms around Amy tightly, her expression over the other woman's shoulder uncertain and slightly sad. "You mean the world to me."

"You'll find other ways to help," Amy said determinedly. "I will too, if you want me to. Anything I can do."

"I know you will, sweetheart."

 

Marque had been right - the bath had stung like hell, but it had gone a long way to soaking away Victoria's aches and pains, though it would be a few more days before her arms and hands would stop aching from their hours trapped beneath her.

The other woman had woken her that morning at around eleven - later than the detective would've liked, but earlier than she actually felt like rising, so perhaps it was a reasonable compromise. The bath had already been run, and from the smell of it, some sort of breakfast involving bacon was already being cooked. To Victoria's simultaneous appreciation and frustration, she had taken off the rather tight jeans and was now wandering about the apartment in just her black vest and underwear - a very modest pair of 'girl boxers' that nevertheless left quite enough of her athletic figure exposed to cause distraction.

Victoria herself dressed in the lightest clothes she had - a pair of linen trousers and a well-worn long-sleeved t-shirt - wanting to cover her lacerations from the other woman's pitying gaze. Padding out into the living area she saw that Marque had made herself right at home, opening cupboards and pulling out plates and pans in her breakfast preparations. "You didn't have to do that," she muttered, pulling her damp hair back into a ponytail and securing it with a band from around her wrist.

"Sure I did, I'm starving. You?" The other woman turned around, looking Victoria up and down. "How you feeling?"

"Yeah, fine. The bath was a good idea."

"Yeah? Good." A dimpled grin was shot in Victoria's direction. "How're the cuts? You put some more antiseptic on them, just in case?" It was strange how, while she was drawing attention to them, Marque's matter-of-fact tone somehow made them loom less rather than more darkly in the older woman's mind.

"I think they're okay." Victoria wandered over to the divider between the kitchen and living room, leaning her forearms on the counter. She still couldn't quite believe what was in front of her - Marque, stripped of her suit, cooking breakfast in her kitchen - but it was a welcome diversion to the events of the past few days.

"Good. Great." The other woman turned her attention back to the cooking. "Most of them will fade to nearly nothing," she said. "Oh, your partner called, by the way, while you were in the bath. I told him you'd call back really soon but you'd better, I think he'll come charging over here otherwise."

"Shit, Jack called? Damnit, I should've touched base already," Victoria said, berating herself for letting things slip. She looked around for her cell phone before realising that it was probably still at the warehouse, or wherever the thugs had left it - would she ever get it back? Scowling, she picked up the landline and punched in Jack's number, leaning gingerly back against the counter.

"Hello?" came the somewhat tense response after a few moments.

"Hey, Lee, it's me."

"Jesus, Vic, are you okay? We found your jacket at a warehouse in the Shades, with your badge, your wallet - everything in it! What the fuck is going on? Who's this 'Jane' girl in your apartment? Do I need to come over there? I should come over there-"

"No, hey, listen, everything's fine," Victoria said, pursing her lips. "I'm fine. You don't need to come over, I've got someone here already, she's taking care of me. Did you sweep the warehouse - did you get anybody?" She felt her heart start to pound as she waited for his answer.

"Yeah, we swept it, everyone had cleared out - were they your clothes? Should you be in a hospital?"

"Shit. I mean no, I'm fine - a bit messed up but I don't need treatment. You didn't find anybody?"

"Well, we didn't follow up the tip-off until this morning. Why didn't you call in?"

"I wasn't really in a fit state, Lee," she said, resisting the urge to kick the nearest wall.

"Jesus," he said again. "Are you sure you don't need me to come over?"

"I'm in good hands. Don't worry about me, just focus on catching those bastards. Do you need descriptions?"

"If you can, that'd be good - we can compare against the ones we got from the call-in."

"Right. Right. Okay." Victoria took a deep breath and began to describe the three men she had seen, keeping the details as cold and clinical as she could manage. She wasn't sure if Jack caught the waver in her voice as she mentioned Deed's pleasant expression and spotless clothes, but it seemed someone had for a moment later she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder and, glancing over, she could see the other woman watching her sympathetically.

"Look, I really think I should at least stop by," Jack said when she'd finished. "At least to drop off your stuff - I've got your wallet with your badge, your jacket, your keys and your cell. You didn't have your gun on you, did you?"

"No, that's safe. You can come by if you want, I'm not going anywhere. Just call before you come up, okay?"

"'Kay, I'll come over at lunchtime. You want me to bring you anything?"

"No, you're all right."

"All right, then. See you later. Take care of yourself, Vic." It was clear from Jack's tone that he wasn't completely happy with the situation, but he knew better than to probe any further.

"Yeah. Thanks, Jack. See you."

[MENTAL NOTE: ITALICISE OTHER END OF PHONE LATER]

"They split, then?" Marque asked as she hung up. She didn't ask if Victoria was okay, although she didn't take her hand off her shoulder just yet.

"Yeah. Not surprising, really," Victoria said, trying to keep the disappointment and anger out of her voice. If only she had just thought earlier to call it in - they would've listened to her and gone right away, and then Deed and his henchmen wouldn't be walking free right now, somewhere out there.

"We'll get them," the other woman reassured her. "I promise."

"Mm. Is breakfast ready?"

"Yep - come and get it."

 

"So... Jane," Victoria commented, scooping up another forkful of scrambled eggs. "Is that actually your name, or did you just make something up when Jack called?"

The other woman looked up, smiling a little. "No, that's my name," she said. "Plain Jane, that's me."

"It's a nice name," Victoria said mildly.

'Jane' glanced up across the table at her. "What's in a name?" she said, for the second time.

"Just because it's not important to you doesn't mean it's not important to someone else."

"Well," Jane said. "My name is Jane. Jane is my name."

"All right."

 

Jane insisted on cleaning up after breakfast, brooking no argument. Victoria hovered unhelpfully for a few minutes but eventually went to sit on the couch, at a loss for what to do next. Normally she would be at work or, if she was indeed forced to take a vacation, she'd be at the gym, or the hardware store, or out somewhere doing something. She really didn't much time at all in her apartment except to eat and sleep, and neither of those options was really open to her at the moment.

"You going to let me take a look at you again, check everything looks all right before I go?" Jane asked conversationally as she slumped down onto the couch beside Victoria with a studied sort of casualness. "Or should just suit up and get going before I outstay my welcome any further?"

"You can look if you want to," Victoria said, trying to ignore the confusing frisson of excitement and disgust she felt at the prospect. "Not much to see though."

"I don't need to see..." Jane trailed off, her gaze flickering away from Victoria's as her casual, no-nonsense exterior faltered momentarily. "There were just a couple on your stomach I was worried about," she said lamely. "That was all."

"Sure." With deliberate nonchalance Victoria leaned back, hitching up her shirt to reveal her stomach, criss-crossed with thin red incisions, most of which had scabbed over quite nicely overnight.

Jane leaned over a little, a frown of concentration fixing onto her face as she looked for the areas of concern. "There are a couple of bits, just here, where lines cross, that you need to be really careful about," she said, her voice a little strained. Victoria could feel her breath against her skin, although she wasn't leaning in that close. "Just... here, and here." The touch of her fingers was feather-light, and she sat back up immediately, but there was no disguising a slight flush to her cheeks. "Just..." She cleared her throat. "Just make sure you don't wear any pants that sit that high, and take care when you're dressing - you might even want to cover them with surgical tape or something."

"Yeah. I'll get some out of the first aid kit," Victoria told her, nodding. She knew that the other woman's reaction was one of sympathy, but it only made her more upset knowing that she looked weak in Marque's - Jane's - eyes. "Thanks."

Jane nodded, then stood up quickly. "Right," she said brightly. "I should get going."

"Sure." Victoria stood as well, somewhat more slowly, rubbing idly at her sore wrists. "Thank you for... everything. I really owe you."

Jane shook her head, smiling tightly. "Least I can do," she said, before heading through to Victoria's bedroom to retrieve her suit, the other woman trailing along behind.

"Listen," the cop said after a few minutes of awkward silence as Jane shimmied into her leggings. "You've already been helping a lot - we should make this more official."

Jane looked up in shock, initially. "Make wh- oh..." Her expression relaxed. "Right. Um. What d'you propose?"

"I don't know. I guess I can go to the chief, let him know what you've done so far, and they'll set you up with a liaison like they did with Kára." Victoria shrugged.

"Thought I was liaising with you," Jane said, fighting her well-toned arms into her... jacket? "You could just tell him about it."

The other woman blinked in disbelief. "Wouldn't you rather work with someone who's used to vigilantes?"

Jane shrugged. "You said yourself: I'm not Kára. Who on the force knows me better than you?"

"...right." This hadn't exactly been how Victoria had intended for this conversation to end up, but she found she felt a strange sense of... pride? for the fact that the other woman would want to continue their professional relationship even after all the doubt she had expressed. "Uh, okay then."

Jane glanced up from her buckling and zipping, then back to her work. "Um, listen... those goons waited like three days to pick you up, right? Have you, uh, thought about why?"

"Not really," Victoria admitted, frowning. "I haven't really thought about it... 'officially', yet. Why, do you have a theory?"

"Well, you'd just gone on vacation, right? For a few days with pretty short notice?"

"Mmhmm."

"So who knew that?"

Victoria furrowed her brow. "Not a lot of people - Jack, my boss, a couple others."

Jane nodded, chewing her lower lip. "Look, this isn't really 'my area' per se. But I'd be crosschecking that list with who would have had access to the evidence lock-up at the time that detonator was stolen."

"Yeah... yeah, you're right. Damnit..."

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't want t-" Jane broke off as Victoria's door buzzed. Victoria shot the other woman a look - it was hard to tell exactly what she meant by it - and headed to answer the door, closing the bedroom door behind her.

"Hey," she greeted her partner, who was holding a bag (presumably full of her things) and wearing a concerned expression. "Come in."

"Hey," came Jack's reply and he followed Victoria through to the lounge before holding out the bag. "I... put your clothes in there too," he said. "Dunno what you'll do with 'em, but..." He stared at the bag for a moment. "Vic, will you please let me take you to a hospital?"

"Seriously, Jack, I'm fine. It looks worse than it was," she said, taking the bag and tossing it onto the couch.

"And who the hell is 'Jane'? I thought your girlfriend was called Chris."

"Geez, Jack, since when did you care about my private life?" she asked, raising her eyebrows incredulously.

Oddly enough, this response seemed to reassure Jack somewhat, and he nodded shortly. "All right," he said. Then, "Fine. Okay. Look, try and relax, the rest of your time off, okay? take an extra day if you need to. We'll hold the fort 'til you get back."

"Yeah, sure. You'll give me a call if you get in any leads though, right?"

"Sure thing." He hesitated. "You sure you don't wanna come out for lunch?"

"I'm good. Thanks."

 

Jack left without much fussing, and when Victoria re-entered the bedroom, Jane was already pulling on her gauntlets, a somewhat intent expression on her face.

"Got your stuff back then?" she muttered without looking up.

"Mm, yeah. It's all there. I guess they weren't too concerned about stealing my credit cards."

"Great. Good. Okay."

"Do you... need anything?"

Jane glanced up, looking confused. "Um... I think I'm good," she said. "Thanks."

"Sure."

Jane nodded, grabbing her flexible mask and wrapping it around her wrist rather than putting it on. "Got a coat in the car," she said, as though this explained it.

"Okay."

Victoria 'escorted' the other woman to the door, feeling more awkward now than at any other point in the last excruciating day. She wrapped her arms around herself and then winced as the cuts on her midriff protested at the pressure.

"Careful," Jane said, her own discomfort overcome by instinct as she reached to rest a hand on Victoria's arm. "I'll check back in soon, yeah? Tomorrow?"

"Mm. I mean, sure."

"Stay safe, okay?" Jane added impulsively. "We're going to get these fuckers - you and me, we'll see it done. But just now... do like your partner says. Take the rest of your vacation. Yeah?"

Victoria looked up at the other woman with a furrowed brow, unsure what it was about that innocuous statement that bothered her. "Yeah, I'll try. You take care too. Be careful."

"Always am."

"Good."

 

Amy's head ached when she woke, no doubt a product of the comparatively large quantity of bourbon she'd drunk the previous night. She rolled over to find the 'soothing' seafoam green wall of the on-call room inches from her nose and wrinkled it, pushing herself up slowly with a groan. She vaguely remembered stumbling to the room early that morning and crashing on one of the cots put there for doctors and nurses in between shifts, though everything else was a bit of a haze. Checking the time, she was relieved to find that she wasn't late for work - although she wasn't going to have time to do much more than shower and change before she was needed back in her office for a round of appointments.

It was only once she stepped under the hot spray of the shower that she flashed back to the events of the night before - the confrontation, her tears, their desperate kisses, Megan's promise to step away from Kára once and for all. The memories flooded back and Amy felt new sobs welling up in her throat, as she remembered her entreaties, her pleas, the vow she'd drawn from Megan not with reason but with tears and sorrow. Christ, what have I done?

Her morning appointments dragged on; between her hangover and her guilt it was hard to concentrate on anything and it was with some relief that she ushered her last patient of the morning out of her office and collapsed back into her chair. While a small part of her wanted to rejoice - she knew that Megan cared about her now, possibly even loved her - she was mostly miserable, recalling how manipulative her drunken behaviour the night before had been.

The question, of course, was whether anything could be done about it. Megan had made her 'deal', and would be unlikely to back out now. Amy's only options were to call things off again, to back out and tell Megan that she would be with her even if she wanted to remain Kára, or to leave things as they now stood.

All three options seemed impossible to bear.

Eventually she got up the courage to head down the hall and up a level to Megan's room, dreading the disappointment and depression she was sure was waiting for her. Megan was dozing lightly when she arrived and she nearly turned on her heel and left, but before she could the other woman's eyes were fluttering open and a smile was curving across her lips. "Hey you. I was wondering if maybe you had pulled a Ferris Bueller on me or something."

For a moment, Amy was dumb. Then, in spite of her own stomach clenching with nerves and discomfort, she found herself returning the smile reflexively. "Um, hey," she said, moving over to sit by the bed, swiping Megan's chart on the way. "Nope, just... recovering from last night with a lovely relaxing day of first appointments."

"Poor thing," Megan said sympathetically, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse at her chart. "Does it have my gold star for trying very hard today at physio?" She asked with a grin.

"Actually there's a note suggesting I check your urine for contraband meds," Amy said as she scanned down the chart. "But I suppose that amounts to the same thing," she said, glancing up with a slightly more amused expression.

"Ooh, you want me to pee in a cup? Kinky..."

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"Aww. You're no fun."

"That would be my job, yes. To suck the fun out."

"I thought your job was to be gorgeous - and you're very good at your job," Megan said, leaning in to nuzzle the other woman's cheek.

"Hey, enough, I'm on the clock."

Megan pulled back immediately, looking embarrassed. "Sorry, sorry. So this is a work visit. Okay. So... everything look okay?"

Amy tipped her head to one side, relenting a little - she reached and stroked the backs of her fingers down Megan's cheek. "Looks fine from here."

Confused, but not about to turn down the affection, Megan offered a small smile. "Good. I want you to get that paper."

"Mm, well, we've a long way to go before that. You're due an x-ray in a couple of days; we'll see what sort of state your bones are in then."

"Yeah..." Megan was still smiling, though it looked a little nervous now. "I guess so."

"Hey..." Amy's hand found hers. "One way or another, we'll get answers."

"Good ones, hopefully."

"Hopefully, yes."

"Amy..."

"Mhm?"

"Will you come back and see me later? When you're off the clock?"

"Um... sure. Of course."

"Okay. Great. Good." Megan looked relieved.

Amy nodded, as though for extra confirmation of this, dipping her head a little shyly. Megan squeezed her hand, wondering if it would be too crass to have flowers sent to the other woman's office - from a 'secret admirer', of course.

"Megan," Amy began now, hesitantly. "About last night... well, this morning, really..."

"Yes?"

"I'm... sorry that I said those things. Demanded those things of you. It was... unfair of me."

"No, sweetheart, don't apologise. You were right."

"That doesn't make it okay."

"But it is okay," Megan insisted. "Really."

Amy frowned a little in bemusement. "Really? 'Cause what I remember was me being... pretty unreasonable. And, y'know. Tired and Emotional."

"Well yeah... you were that," Megan said, smiling. "But it wasn't unreasonable of you to want to be the most important thing in my life. I just... I've never had someone who was before, so it took a while to sink in."

"I just... I mean, it's a lot to ask of someone before you even start seeing someone. You know? I'd understand if... you wanted to put a... hold on things. Or something."

"But I don't. Like I said weeks ago, if I wasn't in this damn bed I'd be 'seeing' you already. I hate that we have to wait."

Amy nodded hesitantly. "All right," she said.

"Listen..." Megan looked around furtively, leaning closer to the other woman and lowering her voice. "I know before I said I'd have nothing left to live for without... her. But it's just because I felt like there was no other way. But maybe there is. I hope there is."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do! I'm not just some thrill-seeker looking for the next adrenaline rush, sweetheart. I just want what's best for City."

Amy nodded slowly. "All right," she said.

"But I still want my legs back," Megan added with a small smile.

"Of course," Amy said quickly, squeezing her hand. "We're doing everything we can." She glanced behind herself. "I should... probably get going. I'll come back later, though, after my rounds."

"I won't be going anywhere."

 

"All right, so we've got three on the ground outside the building. Two up on the roof, anything else?"

"Besides the unknown number inside? No, that's it."

The young cop looked between Marque and her 'liaison', as though to confirm that they were agreed on this information. "All right," he said, "okay. So what are our orders?"

Victoria shifted, one hand hooked over the collar of her flak jacket. "Marque will take care of the guards on the roof; we're to neutralise those on the ground. The first team will then head up to cover the roof and once they're in place we're going in through the main doors, with Teams Three and Four covering the two exits. There's a lot of product inside so these guys are going to be armed and looking out for trouble, so be careful."

Marque nodded, and immediately made her exit, heading stealthily toward the wall that would allow her to access the warehouse roof. The uniform watched her go with slight trepidation - it had been a month now since Marque had officially become a 'force asset', but it still took some getting used to.

The look Victoria shot him was as reassuring as she could manage, though it was still a strange enough thing for her to watch as Marque smoothly mounted the wall and then the building with an acrobatic series of flips and leaps. The other woman then disappeared from sight, but Victoria knew there'd be a radio call as soon as her part was done, on the shared channel that only she had access to.

The CPD had changed a little for Victoria since that twenty-four hours she'd spent in the tender care of Henry Deed III's assistants. Being rescued by Marque with a speed and method that the CPD could never have hoped to use, their inability to act fast enough when alerted to the building to even catch the perpetrators... she'd done a lot of thinking since. She still didn't believe that vigilantes were a force for good, necessarily. But she was softening when it came to this particular vigilante. Perhaps too much.

Besides the weekly 'briefings' she was mandated to have with Marque there were also the debriefings after every raid - five so far, four of them successful, a far better ratio than even Victoria had managed previously. And then there were the 'off the record' meetings, when she would come home to find the other woman waiting in her lounge and they would discuss the state of City and what could be done about it, sometimes late into the night.

Then, of course, she was Jane, not Marque, and although she was usually still in her skintight suit, her mask would be off. Her wisecracking and sarcasm hadn't decreased particularly, but it was somehow so much easier to see how little harm she meant with her manner of expressing herself when you could see her whole face. Victoria wondered if she would have hated Marque at all, back at the start, if she hadn't been wearing that mask.

Still, the company was welcome. Since the incident with Razor, she hadn't been able to put any energy into maintaining her budding relationship with Chris, meaning that the other woman was growing more distant by the day. They hadn't been serious, but their acquaintance had run on good conversation and no-strings sex, and Victoria had been left short on the former and had shut down the latter entirely, unable to face the idea of the questions and sympathy she would get should the other woman see her body as it was now. An explanation would take them into uncharted territory and would push their relationship into a seriousness it wasn't ready for. Realistically, she was just treading water, waiting for its inevitable demise as Chris, alienated and disappointed, drew back completely.

"You're up," came the staticky interruption to Victoria's thoughts, and she roused herself from them and gave the signal for the men around her to move out. If successful this raid would be the biggest bust for them yet - both her chief and the mayor had expressed their wishes to see it succeed.

The warehouse itself was known to be one of Dragon's - his trade was continuing in the city unabated despite his incarceration, and there was a growing public sentiment, fuelled by some of the more hostile newspapers, that the CPD were powerless to fight the current tide of lawlessness sweeping across the city in the absence of its 'saviour'. This made Victoria bristle, and it was a good thing she wasn't part of the PR team for the department or there would've been some choice words offered to the reporters from those particular tabloids. Still, she wanted to prove that CPD did have what it took to keep order in the city, and that alone was enough to make her use every resource available - even Marque - to get the job done.

"Okay, boys and girls, go - you know your instructions, let's do this thing," the cop barked into his radio as Victoria gave him the nod. Like a well-oiled machine the armoured officers advanced on the building from all sides, stopping before they left cover to wait for the patrol cars to roll in, lights up, sirens kicking into life at the last moment, and Jack's voice coming over the tannoy.

"City Police Department! You're surrounded! Come out with your hands up!"

 

Victoria still couldn't believe it. "Fuck!" she shouted at no one in particular, knowing she might be waking the neighbours and not really caring. The warehouse had been pristine - not a whiff of product in sight - and the men who had obediently filed out had regarded her with satisfied smirks, knowing there was nothing they could be held for. Jack had tried to console her with a pragmatic 'you win some, you lose some', but Victoria wouldn't be soothed so easily.

When the tap came at the window she stalked over and threw it open with a squeak of protest from its frame, and then returned to the kitchen to pour herself another shot of vodka as Marque climbed inside. She didn't bother to pour another for the other woman - Marque hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in the time she'd known her, and always refused her offers of beer or spirits on nights like these.

"They were tipped off. I'm sure of it."

"No shit," Victoria said sourly, throwing back the shot and feeling the icy liquid trickle down her throat.

"Hey... don't beat yourself up about this," Jane said, pulling off her mask and tossing it on the coffee table before approaching. "We're going to figure it out. We've got it down to three, right? Jameson, Williams and... shit, the other one, Dorset? Denver?"

"Whoever it is, they've already done the damage! By tomorrow we're going to be a laughingstock - can't you just imagine the headlines? "City Police Get The Address Wrong". God, I could kill whoever did this."

"No you couldn't," Jane said, coming up behind her and resting a stilling hand on her shoulder. "And that's why we'll win. Because we're better than them. Didn't I promise you were going to get these bastards?"

"And have we?" Victoria asked, her voice stretched thin and high.

"Workin' on it," Jane said in a wry tone, giving her shoulder a squeeze before releasing it and moving past her to help herself to some tap water.

"That's not good enough. Do you realise how many man-hours were wasted today? How many resources could've been allocated elsewhere? We can't keep letting them get the runaround on us, we can't afford it."

"It wasn't wasted - sure, we didn't get everything we wanted, but it wasn't useless - we can check logs on this, see who was involved at the station - you've been keeping a close eye on our three suspects, right? Will this let us narrow them down further?"

"Fuck knows," Victoria said with a wave of her hand. She was wound tight, having already been over every eventuality already in her head - she didn't want to talk, she wanted to do something. The problem was, what? "I'll get my notes out later, we can pore over them then," she added in a desultory tone, reaching for the bottle again.

"We don't need to tonight," Jane said in a conciliatory tone. "If you just want to get wasted and forget about it for a few hours, you should do that. Well. Y'know. I advise against getting too wasted or you'll hate yourself tomorrow, but other than that..."

"I hate myself right now," Victoria muttered, measuring out a double with great care.

"What? No you don't," Jane said, almost dismissively, turning toward Victoria and taking a long sip of her water.

"How would you know? You have no idea what it's like to be part of a team, to know that someone you've placed your trust in has betrayed you!" the other woman spat.

Jane's brow furrowed. "What? She sounded immediately defensive and rather wounded. "What the hell does that have to do with- and hey, you don't know who I am or what I've experienced, so don't assume I don't know how you feel!"

"Well, do you?" Victoria challenged.

"I've been on a team," Jane said reluctantly. "And I know what betrayal feels like. This isn't about me."

"What team? What betrayal?" Victoria pressed, taking a step towards the other woman.

"This isn't about me," Jane repeated, her jaw clenching, and she stepped back a little herself, though as there was nowhere to go in the tiny kitchen area she ended up simply backed against the counter.

"Yes, it is! You're trying to placate me with empty words about how this isn't such a big deal, but why should I listen to you?"

"I didn't say it wasn't a big deal! I just said you shouldn't hate yourself for it!"

"Well I do. This is my problem, and so far I've not done anything to fix it!"

"You've done loads - it's just not that easy. What else could you have done?"

"I don't know," Victoria said, frowning. "Something. When were you ever part of a team?"

"I was a marine. You've done all you could - without knowing where the leak was, you had to work carefully."

"A Marine? You?"

"This isn't about me."

"Well I'm tired of talking about me! Fuck's sake, Jane, the mask is off! Talk to me!"

Jane looked for a moment like she was going to leave. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. "Fine. What do you want to know?" she asked in a defeated tone.

Victoria looked shocked, obviously not expecting the other woman to actually acquiesce to her demands. "I... how long were you in the Marines?"

"Only eighteen months. Spent longer in training." Jane smirked mirthlessly.

"Why'd you leave?"

"Dishonourable discharge."

"What? Why?"

Jane's face was deliberately impassive. "Because I'm an arrogant idiot," she said. "I thought I could break their bullshit rules and not get caught for it."

Victoria opened her mouth to press further and then thought better of it, merely pouring another drink and taking a sip. "So that's where you learned to leap tall buildings in a single bound."

"I was a gymnast in school. That helped."

"I see."

"Victoria. None of this is your fault."

"That bastard is taking over City and I can't stop him. It's my job and I'm not doing it."

"That doesn't reflect badly on you! There's only so much you can do - even with me."

"Well I'm tired of it! Fuck's sake, I've spent seventeen years in the department and I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle!" Victoria exclaimed. "How the hell am I supposed to keep doing this, knowing that whatever I do is never going to be enough?"

"What else would you do?"

Victoria gave a bitter laugh. "I was going to be a a musician."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What do you play?"

"I played the clarinet."

"But not any more?"

"Like I said. Seventeen years I've been in the force."

"That's a shame. Everyone could use a hobby."

"What's yours?"

"Sarcasm."

For once Victoria couldn't help it; she snorted with laughter, reaching up to cover her mouth with one hand as the other held onto her half-full shot glass. "Right. I should've known."

"Yeah, well, I like to live dangerously."

"Why's that?"

Jane just shrugged, taking another sip of her water. "D'you want to order pizza?"

"My question first."

"I don't really know what you're asking. It's just a manner of speech."

"Hm." Victoria tipped her head to one side, considering the other woman for a moment before taking a sip of her drink. "Fine. Pepperoni?"

"Sure."

 

The pizza arrived within its specified half hour; unfortunately it came too late to wholly offset all the alcohol Victoria had drunk. Her head was reeling by the time she paid and tipped the delivery boy, and throughout the meal she could barely concentrate on the conversation she and Jane were having, too distracted, as always, by the other woman's good looks and body to offer anything more than the most general banalities.

Jane seemed to her to be not wholly unaware of this, and indeed when the pizza arrived she rose and, without prompting, fetched them both large glasses of the coke that Victoria had in the fridge for when she felt like a hit of caffeine and sugar but couldn't be bothered making coffee.

Like a child being coaxed to eat her vegetables Victoria drank the soda, reluctant to relinquish the mind-numbing buzz that the vodka had kindly bestowed upon her but knowing that she would regret it in the morning if she didn't.

The pizza wasn't great, but it was hot, and filling, and that was enough for the two women, neither of whom had eaten in hours. After a few slices Victoria sat back, drawing her legs up beneath her on the sofa as she turned towards the other woman. "How is Kára?"

Jane almost gave a start at the name, but she relaxed a moment later, perhaps having to remind herself of the company she was in. "Still recovering. She's trying a new type of reconstructive therapy which is apparently working quite well, but it'll still be months before she's fully recovered."

"Well, I guess that's good," Victoria replied non-committally. "Once she's back I suppose you'll go back to your old haunts."

"I don't know what I'll do. I'm not totally sure what Kára will do - she may not want things as they were."

"No?"

"Would you? In her position?"

Victoria frowned. "I don't know."

Jane nodded, frowning thoughtfully at her pizza before taking another bite, chewing dutifully.

"Do you want to stay?"

"What?" Jane looked up at this, an almost guilty expression crossing her face, as though caught in a lie. "Oh, do I want to stay in-... I don't know. It's nice to be siding with the cops rather than against them for a change, I'll say that."

"Mm. Well that's good, at least."

"I guess I hadn't really thought about it, exactly."

"Surely it must be on your mind."

"I have other stuff on my mind."

"Like what?" Victoria asked, leaning forward with an expression of interest on her face. "What goes on underneath the mask, I'm dying to know."

It was immediately obvious from Jane's expression that she regretted saying that, and didn't want to share what was on her mind at all. But then she just smirked and shrugged.

"How to get nosy cops to mind their own business," she quipped, in a fairly gentle tone.

"That's not what you've been thinking," Victoria stated, shaking her head. "But fine, don't tell me. I'm used to people keeping secrets."

"Thanks," Jane said, glancing up at her with a wry smirk. "I won't."

Victoria's expression darkened, and she pushed herself up from the couch and padded back towards the kitchen to retrieve her shot glass and bottle. Every time she started to relax around Jane there was something - usually a well-timed quip from Jane herself - to remind her of the distance between them. It was getting more and more annoying.

"Something I said?"

Jane wore an expression of a sort of grim amusement that said she knew that it was of course something she'd said as she got up from the couch and approached the other woman while she poured herself another generous measure. Was it possible that she didn't know she was doing that hip-swing? Was the swagger just automatic when she was wearing those ridiculous red armoured leggings?

"Doesn't do a girl's ego much good to know she drives her friends to drink," she said as she came to a halt before Victoria.

"Something tells me your ego can withstand a few blows," Victoria said dryly, tipping the bottle to pour herself another drink. "In fact, it may be the most robust thing about you."

Jane's expression flickered, suggesting momentarily that it was perhaps nothing of the sort. "It's not invulnerable," she said, more quietly this time. "Just not brittle like some."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ever since we've met, you can't take a fuckin' joke with me. I don't get it - you take banter from Jack Lee and even the other DTs without batting an eyelid. But every little remark from me... I matter less than any of them; I have so much less going for me than you, and yet you can't just let me wash off your back..." Jane shook her head, shrugging her shoulders (which were bare now that she'd removed her jacket, leaving her in her ever-present black vest) and taking the slightest step back from Victoria, as though wanting to put more distance between them, or perhaps expecting that Victoria wanted to.

But Victoria moved forward, as if following the steps of a strange and awkward dance, her expression intense. "I've learned how to take a joke from them because I have to, Jane. I don't care if they tell me about their past, or share their secrets, as long as they get the job done, and I can joke and bullshit with them to make my life easier. Maybe I just don't want to do that with everyone all the time. Maybe I'm just tired of getting the fucking runaround every time I try to see you as a real person, not just some made-up character you like to play."

Jane's brow furrowed now. "You can see how that wouldn't make much sense to me," she said, "seeing as you pretty actively tried to avoid dealing with me at all until you felt so guilty about me saving your ass that you had to give me an honorary badge. How can I tell my 'secrets' to someone who made it pretty clear at one point she'd quite cheerfully see me locked up - or, hell, why not committed? Am I supposed to give you enough rope to hang me? How about a surname? Would you like my whole employment history or just my military history - or hey, why don't I just turn myself in, save you the trouble?"

"Jesus! I can't believe I actually-- you know what? Nevermind. Clearly I'm still the same asshole cop I always was, and my interest in you is purely so I can figure out what to put on the warrant. It couldn't possibly be because I actually care about you and who you are - no, it's definitely because this is all part of some grand plan to screw you over in the end. Great. You've figured it out. Well done, have a gold fucking star," Victoria flung at her, the shot glass clasped in her hand as if any moment she might throw that, too.

"Well, what am I supposed to think?" Jane shot back. "You can barely stand to look at me, most of the time. Every time I've tried to be friendly or casual you're the one who clams up - eventually I just gave up!" As if to illustrate this, Jane threw her hands in the air, then she folded her arms across her chest, looking momentarily for all the world like a petulant teen. "Christ, I came over tonight thinking you might want some company and you thought I wanted to go over your case notes! What the hell do you actually want from me? Because you clearly think it's obvious but I've gotta tell you I am completely in the dark over here."

"I find that very hard to believe," Victoria said, her voice low, almost dangerous. "You're smart, Jane, you put it together."

Jane apparently couldn't help herself - the returning quip was almost instantaneous. "I'm flattered, but I don't know how to Salsa."

With a noise that was half cry of frustration, half growl Victoria lunged forward, grabbing Jane's wrist and, before the other woman could throw her off, leaning in to kiss her. Even as she did so she was suffused with shame, knowing that forcing herself on Jane was to force the end of whatever shaky friendship they could claim, but unable to fight the urge to press her lips to the other woman's perfect mouth at least once.

She felt the other woman resist - wrenching her wrist away from Victoria's hand with a sound of surprise, and as their lips met it was clumsily, far from the passionate, epic kiss Victoria had imagined. She felt herself being pushed backward and she thought for a moment that that was it, that would be all, but as her back hit the fridge she realised that Jane's mouth was still on hers, and the other woman's body kept coming until she was pressed against her, almost knocking the wind out of her as her lips parted and her head tilted to deepen the kiss.

With a groan Victoria widened her stance, one leg hooking around Jane's rubber-clad leg and pulling her flush against her as their lips met and parted and met again, Impatiently she tugged on the hem of the other woman's vest, drawing it upwards until she could smooth her hands along Jane's skin uninterrupted, swiftly upwards until her palms crested the swell of her breasts.

The other woman gasped, but arched into the touch, her own hands finding their way to Victoria's hips as though to anchor herself, tongue slipping against hers, the fridge tipping back to bang against the wall behind them. Victoria cupped Jane's breast for a moment, shivering at the sensations it sent through her, before finding the nipple and tugging it, at first gently and then more insistently, between thumb and forefinger.

What emerged from Jane's throat now could only be described as a moan, and her hands gripped Victoria's hips where they lay, her mouth moving from the other woman's mouth to kiss her face, her jaw, catching her earlobe between her teeth and nipping hard enough to hurt. Victoria gave an echo of the other woman's moan, turning to catch Jane's lips in another deep kiss before pushing away from the fridge and mumbling "Bed. Bedroom. Now."

Jane seemed disinclined to argue, letting Victoria half lead, half drag her through to the other room, stopping only to make use of a particularly handy patch of wall in the hallway to exchange a few more fierce kisses, as though they needed to come up for air and could only breathe when their lips were touching.

Together they tumbled into the bedroom and towards the neatly made-up bed, falling in a tangle of arms and legs onto the mattress. Victoria rolled on top of the other woman, covering her with kisses, slipping a thigh between hers and rocking forward to press against her.

Jane's reaction was instantaneous and effusive, hips shifting against Victoria's, her hands going to the hem of her shirt, tugging it up rather impatiently. "No, don't," the other woman muttered, capturing Jane's hands and pulling them away.

"What? Why not, c'mon..." Jane said, lifting her head to press her lips to Victoria's again. "I want to see you..."

"Later," Victoria said gruffly, shaking her head and sliding her own hands over Jane's flat stomach.

Obviously confused, Jane was nevertheless in no position to argue as Victoria's hands traced the toned lines of her abdomen in an ever descending direction, and she instead pulled a hand away to fight with the side zip of her leggings. Victoria ducked her head, lips finding the other woman's nipple through the thin fabric of her vest, hands tracing lower as Jane slowly pushed the leggings off her hips. There was another gasp as Victoria's fingers grazed her iliac crest, a brief sort of calm befalling them in the face of their earlier desperation as she stilled, trembling at the other woman's touch.

Victoria pulled back, watching the quick rise and fall of Jane's breathing as she brushed her fingers lower, reaching the waistband of her underwear in short order. Then, with an impatient sound, she grasped the leggings and tugged them off, depositing them on the floor next to the bed and then bending to follow the path that her fingers had taken, this time with her lips.

Another, louder moan reached her ears as Jane squirmed beneath her, reaching to stroke her neck and shoulders, fingers combing through her hair in a somewhat distracted fashion as her lips and tongue worked their way down over her well-defined stomach. Hooking her fingers under the waistband of her boxers she pulled them off as well, stroking her fingers over the neat triangle of hair while her lips played across the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

"Oh, Jesus..." Jane arched toward her again, wriggling and shifting until she could pull a leg out of her underwear, her hands grasping for something to hold onto and finding the headboard, as though to prepare for what was to come. It wasn't long before she was glad of the anchor as she writhed on the bed, driven by the delicious sensations Victoria was sending coursing through her with her nimble fingers and tongue. The older woman wasn't at all surprised to find that Jane liked a forceful, perhaps even almost painful approach, her cries at their loudest when Victoria was pushing a little harder, nipping with her teeth, gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise or perhaps stretching her just a little beyond the bounds of comfort with her long, seeking fingers.

It was almost a relief having someone else to concentrate on, something other than her own dissatisfaction to occupy herself with, and Jane's enthusiastic cries were a more than suitable diversion, each utterance sending a thrill straight through her.

It seemed almost no time at all before Jane's whole body stiffened, her cries coming louder and faster as she came. She had no sooner regained her senses than she was tugging at Victoria's hands, pulling her up to lie beside her, kissing her cheeks, her lips, any part that fell beneath her mouth in her post-orgasmic haze. Victoria closed her eyes, sighing as she let the other woman cover her in kisses. "Jesus..."

"No kidding," Jane said, shifting to roll on top of Victoria, straddling her. "Your turn," she murmured, leaning down to kiss her again.

"Mm..." Victoria returned the kiss readily, her body responding eagerly to the other woman's touch until she felt her begin to tug on the hem of her shirt. "No, wait," she protested, pushing the shirt down again with one hand.

Jane blinked, pulling back with a slight frown at this second knock-back. Then something seemed to occur to her. "Is this about... you know I've seen them," she said quietly. "I don't care."

"Maybe you don't," Victoria muttered, squirming with half-quashed arousal. "But I do."

"So... I don't get to see you? To touch you?" Her tone was obviously torn between sympathy and irritation.

Victoria shut her eyes tightly for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. Fine."

Jane hesitated, obviously unsure, now, whether she should proceed, in spite of her reluctant go-ahead. Eventually she leaned down, but only to reach for the lamp by the bedside, clicking it off and plunging them into darkness. As her eyes adjusted, Victoria saw the other woman leaning down once more to kiss her. "Is this better, for tonight?" she asked, her voice suddenly gentle.

Victoria gave a small shiver and a sigh, glad the lights were off so that Jane couldn't see the sudden glint of tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she murmured, smoothing her hands up the other woman's back.

"Don't thank me," Jane murmured between light kisses across Victoria's neck, her hands once more sliding Victoria's top up across her stomach, fingers brushing across skin that was smooth but for the thin raised lines of her healed scars. "I'd do anything for you. I've wanted you since the first time we met."

"Since the-- mm... but you insulted me multiple times," Victoria pointed out, tipping her head back and arching her back.

"You made me feel awkward, immature," Jane said, just before her lips closed around Victoria's newly-exposed nipple. "I really do have a fragile ego, whatever you might think."

A gasp interrupted the bark of laughter Victoria was about to give; she felt Jane's strong hands run over her sides and around to support her back. "You made me feel like a stick-in-the-mud."

"You are a stick-in-the-mud. I like it. It's charming."

"Charming? Now you're just making fun of me..."

"You are charming," Jane said, punctuating the adjective with a kiss, "and determined. And sexy. And I can't wait to hear you come in my mouth."

Victoria's only response was a low moan as the other woman's hands slid down her sides and over her hips, pulling her trousers and underwear off together and throwing them aside without hesitation. Jane seemed to know from the way that her stomach tensed when she kissed it that even in the dark Victoria was not entirely comfortable with her attention to an area of her body so heavily crisscrossed with scars, and so she was soon kissing her way down to her inner thigh, fingers gently stroking higher and higher on her leg before smoothly slipping inside her.

Victoria was wet and ready, her limbs stiffening as Jane began to slowly curl her fingers, the sensations that ran through her almost foreign in their newness. It wasn't that she hadn't had good sex before with her partners, but this - this wanting, this needing - this was different.

Soon Jane's mouth joined her fingers, tongue flickering against Victoria as she pushed up inside her, as deeply as she could go, Jane's appreciative moans reverberating through her and adding to the sensations coursing through her body. An almost embarrassingly short time later Victoria felt her climax begin to build and tensed her muscles, gathering the blankets beneath her in her fists and shutting her eyes tightly until stars blossomed behind her eyelids. Jane could feel it coming, and her pace quickened, her own tiny moans growing more frequent in her eagerness.

"Oh God, oh Marque!" Victoria shouted hoarsely as her climax ripped through her, the other woman rising with her as she arched her back with pleasure.

She realised what she'd said a moment later - too late, of course, and she knew from the quiet, careful way in which Jane pulled herself up to lie next to her, both women on their backs, staring at the ceiling above them, that Jane hadn't missed the slip. Eventually, Jane broke the silence.

"Should I fetch the mask?" she asked. Her tone was at least slightly amused as well as hurt.

"Christ, Jane, I'm sorry," Victoria said, wincing and covering her face with her forearm. "Really. I don't know what to say. I'm an idiot. You're amazing."

"Mm." Jane turned, wrapping an arm around Victoria's waist and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "So are you," she said, obviously trying not to sound too wounded.

"Hey," Victoria replied, pulling her arm away and twisting to look over at the other woman in the dim light of the bedroom. "It was just a stupid slip of the tongue. For a long time Marque was all I had. I still feel like I'm getting to know Jane. But for what it's worth, I really like her."

"You'd just rather fuck Marque?" Jane was trying to joke. It was just coming out a little raw.

"No! Can't you just believe me when I tell you it was a mistake?" the other woman asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Hey, shh..." Jane said, immediately chastened by the tone of Victoria's voice, and she leaned in to nuzzle her neck. "It's okay. It's fine. You're right, it's no big deal."

Somewhat shocked by the other woman's change of heart, Victoria wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Turning onto her side, she reached up to stroke the other woman's face with the back of her fingers soothingly. "If you want, next time you can call me Detective," she said lightly.

"Only if you'll cuff me," Jane muttered, hand smoothing up across her stomach to cup one breast, palm grazing across her hypersensitive nipple.

"Mm, but you're so good with your hands..."

"Fine, I'll cuff y-..." Jane fell silent, immediately shifting her hand from Victoria's breast to wrap her arm around her.

Now it was Victoria's turn to sound slightly shaken. "Hey, it's okay. Can't walk on eggshells all the time."

"I'm sorry, hon," Jane murmured. "That was careless. We'll just... keep it vanilla for now, hm? That is, I mean... assuming you want to do this again."

"Yeah. I mean... if you do."

"Hey, I could go again right now," Jane said with a chuckle, squirming against the other woman, trailing a single finger down her side. Victoria felt a tingle of need follow along with it and gave a groan, leaning in to kiss her deeply.

"I'm gonna regret this in the morning..."

"Mm-m, don't think about the morning, think about this..." Jane murmured, reaching for Victoria's hand and guiding it between her legs, where she was newly hot and slick all over again. "And try to remember to call out the right name, this time - just Jane - or 'Oh God' will do," she teased, slipping her own hand between Victoria's thighs.

"Oh God..."

"That's right."

 

Thus began a strange and unpredicted turn of events in the life of Victoria Akin, all focused around one Jane, surname unknown. That night was only the first of many others; the two women couldn't seem to get enough of each other and often celebrated - or commiserated - with a good fuck or three. That wasn't to say things were without tension, as they just as often ended up arguing over who was responsible for something going wrong, but even then more often than not Victoria would wake in the small hours of the morning with the solid figure of Jane asleep beside her, looking younger than ever in the throes of slumber.

They never tried to put a name to what they had, although that wasn't to say that it was casual - Jane had a romantic streak and wasn't ashamed to show it, often bringing gifts or making little gestures that showed that she definitely considered Victoria to be more than a 'fuck-buddy'. She also, very slowly, began to work with Victoria to return her confidence in her body, to help her to feel less conscious of her scars and to accept them as a part of herself. It was difficult for Victoria, both the shame as well as confronting it, but the other woman was endlessly patient with her, and though she couldn't bring herself to talk about it she slowly began to grow more comfortable with herself, and with Jane - who, she had to admit, was becoming more and more important to her every day.

It was partially this growing sentiment that led her to finally call up Chris and invite her for 'a talk' over drinks, knowing that she owed the other woman a proper goodbye. It wasn't without some nervousness that she arrived at Silver's, but she could tell as soon as she saw Chris that the other woman knew what was coming, and strangely that helped ease her nerves as she ordered two vodka and sodas and took a seat at their booth.

"Hey. Thanks for coming tonight," she said, sliding a glass across the table to the other woman.

"Turn down an opportunity to see the elusive Detective Akins?" Chris smirked dryly. "I wouldn't dare. How are you?"

"Yeah, I'm... good, actually," Victoria said, as if this was news to her. "You?"

"Oh, you know. Liminal."

"Always with the big words. I saw your article on corruption in the housing department the other week - it was really good."

Chris's smile tightened a little. "Thanks." Then, "Liminal means in limbo. Not one thing, and not another." She raised a single eyebrow.

"Oh. Right. I guess that's my fault, huh?"

"I guess so. I assume I'm here for my marching orders."

"Listen, Chris - I'm sorry. I know I've been crap these last few weeks," Victoria said, frowning. "I've been going through some shit recently and I guess it's made my already-underdeveloped social skills suffer."

Chris shook her head, sighed. "It's fine, really. I should've known better than to go for the mysterious detective."

"Hey, this isn't your fault. You're great. And I appreciate you giving me as much of a chance as you have - I really didn't deserve it."

Pursing her lips, Chris nodded thoughtfully. "Mm. So... you've met someone new, right? I mean, before you were bored but you were letting us plod along anyway, now you're all philosophy and gentle let-downs."

Victoria shrugged, trying to refrain from looking too guilty. "I'm... seeing someone else, yeah."

"Right. Well." That tight smile again. "I'm glad you eventually remembered I was still kicking around." Her tone was milder than her words, almost as though she was reading from a script rather than feeling too cut up about the whole situation.

"Hey - I've missed talking to you... you're my one dose of intellectualism in a sea of meatheads. I just... like I said, some stuff happened, and I kind of withdrew for a while. But I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's fine," Chris said. Then, realising she sounded a little short, she added, "Really, it's okay. I was... waiting for it anyway."

Victoria sighed. "Well, I'm sorry I kept you stringing along for so long. At least now you'll be able to get out there and find someone who really deserves you."

"I guess I will. Are we... do we still get to have these drinks together, once in a while?" Chris asked now, trying to sound casual. "We've been pretty platonic for a while now but it's been... nice having you to chat to in any case."

"Hey, like I said, you're my only refuge from the burly and braindead. I'd miss our talks even more than you do."

 

"So what do you think?" Amy was almost vibrating with tightly controlled nerves, arms folded tightly, as she stood beside the other woman - her boss and the head consultant of Kingswell, the formidable Ms Anna Hopkins - staring up side by side at the lightboxed films on the wall in front of them.

"I'm not wrong, am I? There's definitely new growth, and it's actually taking."

"Hm... yes, there's definitely growth," Anna agreed, leaning in to peer more closely at the films with a critical eye. "Quite a lot of it, actually. And it appears to be taking, though we both know that any structural repair that occurs before it's put under stress may not hold up."

"I know, I know. But if the muscle regrowth treatments have similar success..."

"Then it'll certainly be a positive for the therapy study. Is this one of ours?"

Amy nodded. "Megan Cochrane."

"Ah, her. Wasn't she the one who managed to get stress fractures during her preparatory physio?"

"Mm - nearly got herself kicked off the trial," Amy said, stomach clenching unpleasantly as she remembered the day she saw those x-rays. "But it looks like we were right to keep here."

"Well, good on you for setting her straight," Anna said with a smile, her Kiwi accent briefly surfacing. "Our job is as much dealing with people as it is performing research or writing papers. If you can't connect with your patients then ultimately what are you there for?"

"Mm." Amy hoped her cheeks weren't as pink as they felt as she took this particular compliment.

"And how's the patient's pain levels - are you managing it with the regime we set out?"

"She's... coping," Amy said, looking slightly pained herself for a moment. "She doesn't complain, but we've got her on the max dosage anyway given her history of underreporting."

"Right, well, keep an eye on that. And she's seeing a counsellor, correct? How are those sessions going?"

"Um, actually, we never managed to convince her to sign up for counselling."

"No?" Anna's eyebrows winged up. "Well, of course, we can't force it for elective therapy like this, but all the same, she needs someone to talk to."

"Yes. I mean, I know. I've been meeting with her more often myself, in the hopes that if she needed to talk she could..."

"Any luck?"

"Oh, um, well... I guess she has days and days. But we do... have a connection. I think," Amy said carefully, knowing that she was definitely blushing now.

Anna studied her carefully for a moment, her expression inscrutable, before finally giving a nod. "All right, that's good. Just remember, there's a fine line between caring for your patient's well-being and becoming too over-invested. At the end of the day you need to be able to look at things clinically if needs be."

Amy nodded fervently. "I know," she said. "I know."

"All right. And you're hoping to start the second stage next week?"

"I think there's no question that the bone regeneration is good enough that we can start to grow muscle around them," Amy said. "Even if we still need to build up any weight-bearing."

"Well, I will leave that in your capable hands," Anna said briskly. "Keep me up to date with your progress - I look forward to seeing how it goes."

"Me too."

 

"So that's it. You're booked in for surgery next week, and we'll start a new battery of treatment to encourage muscle regrowth. You'll also start some very gentle weight-training."

"Really? Really really?" Megan's eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together with joy. "That's amazing! I knew this was going to work!"

"Hey, hold on," Amy said, reaching for Megan's hand. "not so fast. Step one looks like it's working - and there's no saying that your new bones have the strength and density they need, not 'til we've run further tests. There's a long way to go."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you have to be all pragmatic, but... it's working, right?"

"It's... looking good."

"So that's good!"

Amy nodded, smiled. "Yeah. It's good."

"Thank you."

Leaning in, Amy pressed a light kiss to Megan's lips. "Don't thank me yet," she murmured.

Megan glanced towards the door before turning back to the other woman, bumping noses with her. "But I owe so much to you."

"Mm, you don't owe me anything. That's not what we are."

"I know, I know, but still... I'm so glad I have you, Amy."

"And I'm glad I have you."

"God, I can't wait to get out of here, go back to City, take you on a real date, not just to a hospital cafeteria."

"I've got to warn you, back in the city I'm not sure I could afford the kind of food you get at the cafeteria here..."

"Oh, it'd be my treat," Megan assured her. "All you would have to do is show up and look gorgeous - and since you could do that in a potato sack that wouldn't cost you a thing."

"You're far too nice to me."

"You saved my life. I think a little niceness is called for."

"You'd've lived without my help."

"Maybe, but you gave me a reason to live."

Amy dipped her eyes shyly, shaking her head. "Don't be silly," she murmured.

"I'm not, I'm serious. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Don't say things like that in a hospital," Amy joked with a tiny smirk.

Megan chuckled. "Oops. I won't do it again, promise."

Amy smiled and shook her head. "I won't tell." She leaned in and bumped her nose to Megan's again. "I should go," she murmured.

"Yeah... okay..."

"I need to get home sharpish tonight, but I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure." Megan gave a small sigh as she sat back, looking distracted.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hm? Oh... I dunno, I was just thinking how weird it is, that you can come in and see me anytime, but I can't go see you when I want to. It's kind of like... Girlfriend in a Box, or something."

"Believe me," Amy said as she pushed to her feet, giving Megan's hand a squeeze before releasing it, "I'll be almost as relieved as you are when you're able to do some of the running around."

"Hey - hey, if there's anything that you need done, I can always get Walter to help. Seriously, he's probably dying of boredom without me to chase after anymore."

"I'm sure a man like that will never be short of little jobs he's been meaning to do - I know the type."

"Mm, maybe. But still, if you need any help you'll tell me?"

"Absolutely."

 

When Megan woke that evening there was already a figure sitting by her bedside; with a sleepy smile she shifted, yawning widely. "Mm, how long have you been there?"

"Oh, not long," Henry Deed replied with a smug smile, the cellophaned stems of the bouquet he held crinkling as he held them out to her. "But you looked so peaceful, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

Megan gasped and recoiled as if he was offering her a venomous snake. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded harshly.

"Oh, you know, I thought it was long-past time I paid my respects - I hear you're recovering well. Delightful."

"You can't be in here - get out!"

"But I just got here, Ms Cochrane," Deed said, putting the flowers aside and brushing his hands lightly across his legs. "Well well well, Megan Cochrane, the hero Kára... who would have thought? Other than me of course - I must say, I had my suspicions but it's nice to be proven right..."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Megan said, reaching for the remote that would summonn the nurse on duty. "You sound insane."

"I'm sure you'd like me to think that. I'm afraid the hospital intercom is temporarily down, Ms Cochrane - press that button all you like; no one is coming."

Megan clenched her jaw, fighting down the panic that came of facing down her arch-enemy while in her hospital bed. "What do you want? Or did you just come here to gloat?"

"Well, now, would I do a thing like that?" Deed said, sounding wounded. "This is just a social visit... although now that you mention it, it does occur to me to wonder... you probably don't want anyone finding out that you're Kára, do you?"

"You don't have a shred of proof."

"Don't need it. Rumour will ruin you all by itself."

Megan tried to keep her expression calm. "There have been rumours before. They always die down."

"I can make sure they don't die down. I can make sure the press are camped on your doorstep waiting for you to come out each day, monitoring your movements against sightings of Kára... oh, I can make Kára's life near impossible if I want to."

"You're not going to bully me, Deed. You and your petty tactics don't scare me."

"That's a shame." Deed's voice dripped with faux disappointment. "Oh, well, perhaps they'll scare that nice cop who liaises with Marque on CPD's behalf. Razor would love to meet her again..."

"Too bad Marque will kick your ass the moment you try anything again - just like she did last time," Megan replied hotly.

"You're confident of that, are you? Stake her life on it, would you?"

"I'm not betting anyone's life, Deed. I don't play games like that."

"I see. Very well." Deed stood, brushing down his suit again.

"So you failed to make me flinch and now you're running away? Real brave, asshole." Megan knew she shouldn't bait him like this, but he made her so angry. "No wonder you always have other people do your dirty work for you - you've got no guts."

"I'm sorry, would you like me to stay?" Deed asked smoothly, not missing a beat. "I'd be happy to, but it didn't seem as though you were feeling very receptive to my conversation..."

"No, go crawl back into whatever pit you came from."

"Very well."

 

When Victoria stepped out of her front door, and the first flash lit up in her face, temporarily blinding her, it took a good few seconds for her to register what was happening. By then the questions had already started.

"Detective Akins, Detective Akins, a few questions please!"

"Do you have any comment on your relationship to Henry Deed the third, Detective?"

"Did you steal vital evidence to the Dragon case from lock-up, Detective?"

"Detective, is it true that you and the vigilante Marque have a sexual relationship?"

"Is it true that you and Marque have been using your liaison status to play the CPD for fools?"

"How did you meet Marque, Detective?"

"Has Marque replaced Dragon as Deed's man in the city?"

She stood, shocked, for a moment, taking in the horde of reporters ringing her front step. Her training in public relations and media handling was all that kept her from snapping at them and their stupid questions, and she eventually muttered 'no comment' and pushed through them, heading for her car. They barely parted to let her out of her parking spot, and she knew there would be at least a few of them waiting there when she returned later that day. How the hell did they get my address?

It wasn't to end there, of course - the station was mobbed, too, and she had to shove her way past to get in. When she did, she was unsurprised to see the her captain waiting for her.

"My office, please, Detective."

She followed him inside with a sigh, standing straight-backed as he took a seat at the desk. "Sir, I don't know where they all came from, I didn-"

"Detective, I'm going to need your badge and gun."

"Excuse me?"

"You're suspended with pay. As of now, while we conduct an investigation. I'm sorry, Akins, this is just too much, we can't absorb a hit like this right now. We have to be seen to do something."

"Do something? There's nothing to do! You're just going to throw away money and man hours you don't have to prove there's nothing there!" Victoria fumed. "How does that help?"

"Look, the only way we can be known to have cleared your name is if our investigations are conducted in your absence - otherwise it looks tokenistic."

"I can't leave now! What about the Dragon case? What about my other investigations? What about Marque?"

"We couldn't use her now if we wanted to; her integrity's been questioned, as is her relationship with you."

A wave of futility welled up within Victoria; what point was there to arguing? Wordlessly she removed her badge and firearm, checking the safety before dropping both with a loud clatter onto the desk and then turning and stalking out of the office.

"I'm sorry Akins," her captian called after here. "We'll have you back as soon as we can."

Stonefacedly Victoria made her way to her desk, picking through the various case files and notepads for anything she could bring with her. She could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her but didn't look up until a familiar pair of shoes stopped by her desk. "Vic, what the hell? What's going on?"

"I don't know!" she snapped, looking up guiltily at Jack a moment later. "I don't know," she repeated, this time with a sigh. "I went to bed last night like normal and when I woke up, there were a dozen reporters outside my door."

"This is bullshit, Vic - everyone knows you're not the leak. Hell, you've been trying to find the leak!"

"Yeah, well. Consider that investigation fucked beyond belief," she muttered, shoving a half-full notebook in her bag. "I'm sure whoever it is feels pretty smug right now. Bastard."

"I'm sorry, Vic."

"You're on the Dragon case solo now," Victoria said grimly. "Though it'll probably get postponed while I'm under investigation. Fuck!"

"Hey, we'll work it out, okay? You'll be back in no time."

"Yeah, if I'm not sacrificed on the altar of public opinion first."

"People have a short memory."

"Well I'm not forgetting this. Whoever's responsible is going to pay."

"Damn right."

 

The worst thing about the reporters camped outside Victoria's apartment was that it effectively made it impossible for Jane to visit - she certainly couldn't come down from the roof, and though Victoria wouldn't put it past the other woman to walk brazenly through the crowd unmasked she hoped that she wouldn't be so stupid. Fuming, Victoria considered going out to make a statement - she wasn't representing CPD now, she could say what she liked - and had just slipped on her shoes when the knock came at the door.

Jane was indeed without her mask, wearing at least a top layer of street clothes, but at Victoria's aghast expression she shook her head. "Came in the back way," she said, slipping inside the apartment and pulling off her coat.

"What if somebody saw you? They'll know, if they see you sneaking in they'll know-"

"No one saw me, hon, relax," Jane said, turning and slipping her arms around Victoria's waist, pulling her into a tight hug.

The older woman almost pulled away, but then Jane tightened her arms and Victoria's resistance crumbled; with a gulp she buried her face in Jane's shoulder, not quite crying but not quite able to ignore the hot sting of tears in her eyes any longer.

"I don't know who did this," Jane muttered darkly, "though we can take a guess. But I swear I'll get to the bottom of it. I promise."

"What's there to get to the bottom of?" Victoria asked bleakly. "The damage has already been done."

"It can be undone," the other woman said determinedly. "If we find the real culprits, it will be undone."

"That's not how rumours work. You should have heard some of the things they were asking me..."

"That'll all pass. You're not a celebrity and there are plenty of way crazier people to get their attention in this city." Jane pulled back to look at Victoria, stroking her hair. "They're going to forget about it, and we're going to get past this."

"They put me on leave!" Victoria said, her voice anguished. "Like I actually was guilty! Took my gun and my badge and kicked me out of the station and now... now what do I do?"

"Take a holiday?"

"That isn't funny."

"'Sa li'l bit funny."

"No, it's not. My career, my life is being fucked about by some asshole for no good reason, and there isn't anything I can do but sit back and watch it happen. Do you know how that feels?"

"I just don't accept that there's nothing you can do," Jane said resolutely.

Victoria sighed raggedly, unable to argue any further in the face of the other woman's relentless optimism. "I told you, they took my badge. I'm benched."

"Yeah, 'cause I let my lack of badge stop me doing anything..."

"I'm not going to become a vigilante."

"No, no, of course not," Jane said. "But you could moonlight a little?"

"What, be your sidekick?" Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Security consultant, please..."

The older woman snorted, smiling for the first time since she stepped out the door that morning. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"I'd love any distraction right about now."

"That I can definitely provide..."

"Mm, I don't know, I feel like I should be doing something."

"We can do something," Jane said, leaning in to nibble on Victoria's neck.

"They're not going to be working with you, you know. CPD. You've been compromised as well."

"Eh, don't need em."

"Seriously?"

"Got my own pet cop right... here..." Jane punctuated her words with a squeeze as her hands found Victoria's rear. The other woman gave a groan but leaned in for a kiss all the same, closing her eyes as if that would help her ignore the events of the day. Jane hummed in appreciation, wrapping her arms around Victoria and backing her up to the wall.

Victoria tipped her head back, sighing as Jane's lips made their way down her throat, raising her own hands to delve them into the other woman's thick, dark hair, running her fingers along her scalp and along to the back of her neck and getting a tiny moan for her trouble.

"C'mon, let's go somewhere less hallway-like," Jane said, stepping back to take Victoria's hands.

"Just make sure to stay away from the windows," the other woman muttered, allowing Jane to pull her towards the bedroom.

"Shh, don't spoil the mood."

 

"Goddamnit!" Megan clicked from tab to tab with ever-increasing frustration, wishing Henry Deed was there right then so she could strange him.

"What's up?" Amy said, leaning over to look at the screen.

Megan frowned, stopping on a page that declared "CITY COP CAUGHT CANOODLING WITH CAPED CRUSADER". "It's Deed. He's proving a point."

"Well, could be worse," Amy said with a grim smile. "Could've been SOCIALITE SUPERHERO SWOONS OVER SEXY SURGEON... I'm sorry, I don't mean that; I just couldn't resist the alliteration."

"Yeah... Amy, about that."

"No, I know, I know, I was just joking, it was in bad taste, I'm sorry."

"No, listen." Megan set aside the laptop, turning to take Amy's hands. "Sweetheart, I... didn't tell you this because I didn't want you to worry. But I saw him... he came here the other night."

"What? Deed? Are you serious? Why didn't you call security?"

"I couldn't - he had disabled it so I couldn't call out."

"Shit..."

"Yeah. It gets worse. He... knows who I am."

"Well, so I assume given her appeared here... Jesus, Megan, what're you going to do?"

"I don't know. I mainly just insulted him when he was here and... I think this is the result," Megan said shamefacedly.

"Ah."

"I need to do something, get his attention back on me somehow..."

"Are you sure that's the best idea?"

"Well I can't just let him go after innocent people!"

"I know, I know, but..." Amy made a face. "You're very... vulnerable right now."

"I know, that's a hurdle, but I'm sure I can adapt for it," Megan replied, frowning intently. "Maybe... shit, no, it's probably too late for that..."

"Can't I do anything? Get a message to someone, or..."

"No, no, it's fine. Well, actually..."

"Yeah?"

"The last thing I'd want is for this to happen to you. So... until I figure out how to stop him we should probably make sure we're being discreet."

"We're... pretty discreet, Megan. No one even knows here at the hospital."

"Okay, all right, good..."

"Other than you and me, the only person who knows is my sister. And Tyrone, obviously."

Megan looked alarmed. "Tyrone?"

"The cat?"

"Oh. Oh right, your cat."

"I'm sure I've talked about him in crazy cat lady terms before..."

"No, of course, I remember now." Megan smiled and nodded obligingly. "I'm sure he won't tell Deed."

Amy chuckled. "So you can still joke," she said. "That's good."

"Mm. Now what does your sister do again?"

"She's a care w- hey..."

"What?" Megan asked, blinking. "I know she's a care worker, I just meant where, and how secure is it? How gullible is she? Does she talk to strangers a lot?"

"Well, I can't speak for how secure her work is, but she's no idiot - wait, you don't think she's in some sort of danger, do you?"

"What? Oh, no, she should be fine, I wouldn't worry about her..."

"Well, I wasn't before, but..."

"It's fine. If you want I can get Walter to put a watch on her, but it really shouldn't be necessary."

"No, better not, she'll probably notice it and... ask difficult questions."

Megan smiled indulgently. "That's okay then. Just be careful yourself - be wary of 'innocent' conversations with people you don't know well."

Amy nodded, looking thoughtful. "I will," she murmured. Then, "Can we beef up security here, somehow? Is there anything we could do to make sure Deed doesn't get in so easily again?"

"If he wants to get in, he will. And it isn't like he did anything illegal while he was here - sadly being a megalomaniac bastard isn't a crime."

"Well, he was definitely outside normal visiting hours; you're supposed to sign in and out and have a visitor's pass," Amy said with a dry smile.

"Sadly he has the kind of cash that makes rules like that impossible to enforce."

"Sounds like your kinda guy."

Megan frowned. "I don't endorse his actions in any way - contrary to popular opinion I don't think that having a lot of money puts you above the law."

"Oh, I didn't mean... Never mind, I'm sorry - that was a silly thing to say."

"It's okay. I just don't like being lumped in with him in any way."

"No. No, of course not. Sorry."

"Anyway, just be careful, okay? I don't know what he's going to do next, but he's clearly got something planned."

"You think there's more to come on this discredited detective thing?"

"Maybe not on her directly... he wants to turn the same thing on me, though. It just remains to be seen if he's trying to extort me first."

"You think he's going to try to expose you?"

"He seemed pretty gleeful about the prospect," Megan said grimly.

"Ah. How... well, ironic, I guess."

"Hm?"

"That he would come out with a threat like that just when she was gone for good anyway?"

"Oh, yeah, right... well, he didn't know."

"No, no, of course not."

"Mm... I wonder if he'd still bother if he did know."

Amy smirked mirthlessly, "Well, you could try telling him if he gets back in here somehow, I suppose."

"Mm, maybe. We'll see. I'd rather not make that announcement if I can help it, the idea that Kára isn't coming back could have a big impact on public morale."

"If you've been in contact with Marque you couldn't... er, convince her to occupy both roles? Just for a bit, to give the public the idea of a 'handover'? Or d'you think she's only going to be able to help our temporarily?"

"I don't know. I'll have to see how open she is to putting in a bit of overtime."

Amy nodded. "Well, I mean, you've done a lot for her over the years, haven't you? I'm sure she'll be delighted to help, if she can."

"Oh, I'm sure she will, but being a hero is a big job, I don't want to overwhelm her or take advantage of her."

"Does she have a day job? Or do you not talk about that sort of thing?"

"You know, it's never actually come up," Megan said, tipping her head to one side curiously.

"Might have an effect on her time for her cities."

"Mm, yeah, I know. She wouldn't need to full-time as Kára, though, just make a few appearances..."

"True enough, I guess."

"I'll talk to her."

Amy nodded, brow furrowed in thought.

"Hey," Megan said, reaching for the other woman's hand to give it a squeeze. "It's gonna be all right. Don't worry."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll try not to."

"Good girl."

Sighing, Amy leaned in to rest against Megan. The bedbound woman reached up to stroke her hair comfortingly, secretly wishing she had someone to reassure her.

 

"So. Have you heard? You've probably heard," Chris commented with a sly smile, dragging her finger over the condensation-heavy glass in front of her.

"Heard? Heard what? I'm completely out of the loop here, Chris, remember?" Victoria couldn't help but frown at the other woman - she did not need to be reminded how out of touch she was, now that she had been shoved out of the way by CPD.

"There's been a sighting - apparently Kára's back."

Victoria blinked, confused. "She is? But I thought... huh."

"Yep, she was sighted the other night aiding a drug bust - looks like you were right."

"I was?"

"About her coming back one day?"

"Oh, right, yeah..." Victoria frowned. "I didn't expect it to be so soon, to be honest. I thought she had been hurt pretty badly."

"Well, maybe she has super healing or something," Chris said with a grin and a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Well, in any event, people are stoked that she's back - she's trending hard on Tw1tter."

"Trending? Twitter?"

"Oh, come on, even the CPD has a Twitter..."

"Well, if they do I don't have anything to do with it."

"Well. Kára is totally trending, that's all I'm saying."

"I'm sure that's very meaningful," Victoria said with a tight smile. "Good for her."

"Mm. Well, anyway, people are happy. Is what it means. Happy, and totally distracted from all that... bullshit."

"So can I go back to work?"

"Hah. Well, one thing at a time, huh? You know I've been keeping my ears open?"

Victoria raised her eyebrows. "Mmhmm..."

"Nothing. Whoever did this, they don't plan to take credit for the smear."

"Well, it's not like Deed needs to sign his work for everybody to know exactly who it was."

"And that's the thing - people have raked over your life backward and forward now. So they know you're a lesbian, sure. But they also know you're squeaky-clean. Once you figure out who the real culprit is, they'll welcome you back into the folk with open arms. Regardless of the circumstantial evidence you're so frustrated by."

"Yeah..." Victoria looked down, tapping the tabletop with her fingers.

Chris smiled wryly, shook her head. "You'll sort it out, Vic. Toria," she amended quickly as Victoria looked up.

"Yeah. Thanks," Victoria said, giving the other woman a mostly-genuine smile. "Anyway. How are things with you? How was your date the other night?"

"Oh, y'know. Fine." chris made a face. "Not bad."

"Sounds... promising?"

"Mm. Not so much."

"Damn. Well, next time, eh?"

"Maybe. Oh, who cares, anyway?" Chris said with a shake of her head, taking a sip of her drink. "Don't know why I bother."

"Hey, buck up," Victoria told her. "Now that I'm 'out' in the news I'm sure there will be plenty of women throwing themselves at me... I'll pass any good ones your way."

"Oh, I get your cast offs, do I?"

"Only the best!"

"After you're done. Unless things are still on with lover-girl who you never talk about and frankly I'm beginning to suspect is a fiction concocted to get rid of me..."

"She's not a fake," Victoria exclaimed, scowling. "We're just... being discreet."

"So discreet you might as well be dating Marque, for all anyone can tell."

"Oh come on," Victoria said, hoping she sounded convincingly dismissive. "Don't tell me you want to go on double dates."

"Christ, heaven forbid. I was more thinking that if you went public with a different relationship maybe things would die down a bit."

"Uh... yeah. That's... a good idea."

"'Course it is, I'm the king of narrative, remember?"

"Well, I'll keep that in mind."

"That advice is free. Next tip you'll have to pay for, so enjoy it while it lasts."

"Why don't I just buy you another drink?"

"I guess that'll do."

After 'tipping' Chris several more times Victoria headed home, more than a little tipsy herself. She was grateful - not just for Chris's continued friendship, though she was glad of it, but also for her insider information, which was frankly divined from sources Victoria couldn't even begin to fathom.

Not that Chris had been able to find out too much, but the very fact that she couldn't was in itself interesting - and though not terribly encouraging it at least tallied with what she'd found herself. Which was also nothing.

If a cop and a journalist can't find out anything... then I'm fucked. It would blow over, Victoria knew, but the indignity of having her integrity questioned, the time lost to pointless investigations, and the sheer tedium of having nothing to distract herself was wearing on her more than a little.

 

When she arrived back at her apartment she was unsurprised to see a figure waiting for her on the couch. She was a little surprised, however, by the fact that this figure was not Marque, but was in the distinctive black and gold suit of Kára.

"Oh, uh... hello," Victoria remarked, somewhat confused why the other vigilante would have found her way there - unless Jane had asked her to come; she knew the two had some communication... "I guess the rumours were true."

"Sort of," an all-too-familiar voice said, as Jane stood and pulled off Kára's mask.

Though she was surprised, it didn't take long for the pieces to fit together in Victoria's head and she nodded knowingly. "Marque just wasn't enough for you?" she said, somewhat teasingly, making her way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

"Marque isn't good for morale. I'm not upping my hours," Jane said quickly. "At least, logistics will drive them up a little, but not much. But I'll be doing some of my time as Kára for a while."

"All right. Will you be working with CPD?" Victoria asked, a hint of sourness entering her tone.

"A little. Not much. The real Kára sent then a communication letting them know that she was back, but that she'd be easing herself in gently - support work rather than big operations, and encouraging them to come to Marque for help."

"Mm. Okay."

"Yeah, I don't like it either. But she's right. The city needs Kára. And she's not going anywhere right now."

"I thought it hadn't been long enough for her to recover from... whatever happened to her," Victoria said, retrieving a mug from the cupboard and then turning to the other woman and raising her eyebrows inquisitively, lifting the mug.

Jane's expression flickered. She hesitated. Then, "Her legs were crushed," she said. "With a sledgehammer."

With a clatter the mug fell to the countertop, the handle snapping off and skittering onto the floor. Victoria looked down at it, feeling as if a great weight was pressing on her chest, making it hard to draw breath. "Jesus," she muttered, stepping back to lean against the counter behind her momentarily. Jane was at her side in a few strides; her instinct was obviously to pull Victoria into her arms, but she only touched a hand to her arm, inviting the comfort should she want it.

"I'm okay," Victoria said shakily, reassuring herself as much as the other woman. "I should've been expecting it, really."

"I should've broken that particular piece of news a bit more gently," Jane said apologetically.

"How, by saying a bad man gave her a boo-boo with a hammer?" Victoria asked with a dry laugh. "Don't worry about it."

"She is going to get better. They're pretty sure now. She's on an experimental treatment and it's going really well."

"Good. Good. I'm glad."

"Anyway..." Jane said, turning a little in toward Victoria now, slipping an arm around her waist. "This suit's a little unfamiliar. Don't suppose you could help me out of it?"

"Yeah... sure." Glad to take her mind off the sick feeling that still gripped her stomach at the memory of 'Mallet' and his rough manhandling of her legs, Victoria led the other woman into the living room and got to work finding the clasps and buckles of the strange suit. It was a relief to remove the thick, segmented plates to reveal the familiar and comforting planes of Jane's body, firm and warm beneath her hands.

Jane responded in kind, reaching to unbutton Victoria's shirt, leaning in to press a kiss to her collarbone.

"Mm," Victoria hummed, smelling the clean, herbal scent of the other woman's hair. "You know, Chris says I should be seen 'publicly' with someone, to quash the rumours about Marque..."

"Hah, little does she know," Jane said with a chuckle, her fingers skating lightly across the other woman's skin. "Hey, this one's nearly faded," she said then, running her index finger along the now barely-visible line that ran across the other woman's breast, ending her caress with a featherlight stroke across her nipple.

"Mmhmm," the other woman replied, her inflection rising at the end, almost like a question. "Hopefully they'll all go soon."

"You know I use them as a roadmap, right?" the other woman jested gently, allowing one hand to illustrate by following the line of one scar down Victoria's now exposed abdomen. "How will I find my way around you without them?"

"Maybe you'll just have to use one of those nifty gadgets you keep stashed away..."

"A Victoria navigator? Hrm, I don't think I have one of those yet..."

Victoria smirked, fighting to keep her hips from moving against the other woman's hands instinctively. "I'm sure you'll make do without."

"Guess I'll have to go by feel..."

"...works for me."

 

It was later, lying on the bed after an uncharacteristically slow and gentle session of lovemaking that Victoria felt the tears well up, unbidden, the tension from earlier washing over her as the dam of her resolve crumbled and scattered. She turned her face to one side, one hand still splayed over Jane's belly, and sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep silent as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

The other woman didn't notice immediately, still her in her post-orgasmic haze, and it wasn't until she turned to wrap an arm around Victoria and felt her trembling that she realised what was going on, and pushed up a little, craning her neck to look at her. "Hey, hon, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing, just can't s-seem to stop," Victoria mumbled, turning to burying her face in the other woman's neck. It was true, she couldn't seem to stop the tears once they started, but as she stopped fighting them it became easy to detach herself from them, letting the panic and misery flow out of her, leaving only numbness behind.

Jane held her tightly, making soothing sounds, arms wrapped tightly around her. Eventually the other woman's sobs subsided and she relaxed, stroking Jane's hip distractedly with her thumb. "I don't know what I would have done without you," she murmured then, almost too softly to be heard.

"Hey, shh, you'd've made it fine; you're tough as hell," Jane whispered. "But I'm glad I was here anyway. I'm not going anywhere."

"I've been through a lot of shit alone. All my life. But I'm glad I didn't have to this time."

"Me too," came the reply, accompanied with a light kiss to her forehead.

"But if you tell anybody I cried, you'll be sorry," Victoria said then, trying to regain a bit of her usual gruffness, though it was somewhat betrayed by her red-rimmed eyes and the way she clung to the other woman still.

"I won't breathe a word."

 

"Owowowowow..." Megan paused, breathing heavily, and debated whether to look behind her. It was a bad idea, usually, and yet she still couldn't help but peeking at the distance she had managed to travel, judging herself and her improvement day by day, a slow and torturous process. Still she couldn't resist, and much to her delight the wheelchair was much further away than she remembered it. She grinned.

Of course, she had to make it back, too. This was one of her 'extracurricular' sessions, where she took it upon herself to practice walking and work on her mobility alone. That meant that once she had left the chair, the only way to return to it was to be able to make it back the way she'd come.

Executing a shaky but effective turn, Megan started for the chair again, concentrating on taking measured, steady steps just as her physiotherapist had coached her. While the pain was strong, the adrenaline was more than enough to override it and she made good progress towards the chair without even having to pause for breath.

So deep was her concentration on her goal that she didn't hear the door open and shut again, and it wasn't until she reached the chair and turned to carefully lower herself into it that she saw that she wasn't alone.

The short-haired woman raised an eyebrow. "Just as well I was about to add to your physio regime, hm?"

Megan had the decency to look embarrassed, leaning down to adjust her legs in the chair. "I just can't get over the fact that it's working - I can walk, it's getting easier and easier every day."

"Yes, your progress is very impressive - almost scarily so, actually," Amy said, moving over to lean against the bed. "The restructuring of your muscles is taking place at an unexpected pace."

"The fact that you're not flailing your hands as you say that reassures me slightly, but still - is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Oh, good, it's good. Just... well, this is a trial of course, so we didn't know what to expect but this would mean... some pretty far-reaching potential for this therapy. We've never seen anything quite like it."

"Well, I am very extraordinary," Megan said with a grin. "And I have a very good surgeon..."

"Mm. Well. We'll see. It's still early days."

"So I guess cracking open that bottle of wine I asked Walter to bring on his last visit is a bit premature?"

"Oh..." Amy smiled. "Er... I really can't drink at work anyway," she said. "I'm sorry."

"And I can't while I'm on these meds. It was a joke, Ames."

"Right. Yes. Of course..." Amy shook her head. "Sorry." Then, impulsively, she leaned in to press a kiss to Megan's lips. "There," she murmured as they parted. "Will that do for now?"

Megan smiled. "If I walk twice as far tomorrow do I get two?"

"You get as many as you ask for. As long as you ask nicely."

"Well, in that case... a dozen more, please."

"Coming right up!"

 

 

'Kára' became something over a fixture over the next couple of weeks - she was back working with the CPD again, apparently, albeit in a rather more tenuous way than before. Her appearance seemed to take the wind out of Henry Deed's sails for a bit, and for a time things in City seemed to be going well, though albeit without Victoria's help. Her 'investigation' dragged on, and though Jack tried to offer what he could in terms of support she found herself growing more and more disillusioned with the force the longer she was away from it.

Victoria was hard at work one night, poring over what files she could, when the feeble knock came at the window. By now Jane knew just to let herself in, so it was with some trepidation that she got up to part the curtains and lift the sash to reveal Marque, dangling at the end of her grappling hook slightly below the level of the apartment. "Hey," she said with a tired smile. "Help a girl in?"

Frowning, Victoria reached down to help haul the other woman in in; it was only once she was in the lamp-lit living room that she could make out the wet, dark stain spreading over the fabric of her suit at the shoulder. "Shit! You're bleeding," Victoria exclaimed, a flash of panic racing through her.

"Mm, just a scratch," the other woman muttered, though she pitched forward, then, and Victoria found herself supporting most of her weight as they stumbled together over to the couch.

"Hey, stay with me," Victoria told her, propping her up on the couch and then whirling away to grab a kitchen towel to hold over the wound. "Talk to me, what happened?"

"Got in the way of a bullet," Jane said, sucking in a breath as Victoria pressed the towel to it. "It's not bad but I think it's still in there."

"Shit. Okay, we'll stop the bleeding, get you out of the suit and then call an ambulance, all right? It's going to be o-"

"Can't," Jane cut in simply, shaking her head. "Sorry. You're gonna have to do it. Don't worry, I'll talk you through it."

Victoria blanched. "You've got to be kidding. You need a doctor, Jane."

"I can't, not here, I don't have one here. You fix this now, and I'll go to my doctor tomorrow."

"Jesus, you mean you didn't plan for this?" Victoria leaned on the wadded-up towel; she hoped it was just her imagination that could feel the other woman's pulse through her palms, pumping her precious blood out through the bullet wound. "Fuck. Okay. What do you want me to do?"

"D'you have a really sharp knife, and a pair of pointy pliers? If not I have some in my car..."

"Yeah, okay, I'll get them. Here, keep you hand on this..."

 

Jane was remarkably calm for someone with a pair of pliers embedded in her shoulder, particularly with a person with an only moderate knowledge of first aid on the other end. Victoria, on the other hand, was a wreck, but her training and natural gruffness kept her hands and voice steady as she worked to extract the bullet from her lover's shoulder. It was tiny, but by the time they were done the hole itself was much larger, Victoria having had to go largely by feel as the blood pooled in the wound to constant reassurance from an increasingly woozy Jane.

As soon as she heard the 'clink' of the bullet in the nearest receptacle - in this case a used coffee mug - Victoria got to work bandaging the wound the best she could with the supplies from her first aid kit. It took four large squares of gauze before the blood stop showing through, though she didn't stop there, winding crepe round and round the other woman's shoulder firmly and setting it in place with clips. "Okay, let's get you into bed," she said then, sitting down on Jane's 'good' side and sliding a hand under her armpit.

"Mm, no, have a... surveillance... to get to. Kára's supposed to be out tonight," Jane said, shaking her head and straightening up, shoulders squaring with a determination that Victoria would never have believed she had left in her given her near unconsciousness a moment before.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Victoria said, her worry making her sound even harsher than usual. "You're not going anywhere."

"I don't have any choice," Jane said, "Kára's expected, and Deed will know that Marque's down for the night - now more than any other night I need to be seen out there."

"If you're not going to the hospital, you're not leaving this apartment. You've lost way too much blood, you won't be able to stay on your feet."

"I've got a shot of something in the car that'll keep me going. Hon, I don't have a choice - Kára has to be seen tonight."

"For fuck's sake, if it matters so much I'll go!" Victoria exclaimed, cheeks flushed. "Where's she surveilling?"

Jane frowned. "I... you can't."

"I wasn't shot in the shoulder today, I think of the two of us I'm the only who can."

"You're..." The other woman seemed to scramble for words. "Too short," she said eventually.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not tall enough. For the suit," Jane tried feebly.

"I'll wear lifts," Victoria said dryly, her mind apparently made up now. "Where is it?"

A mixture of defeat and fear flashed across the other woman's face, and she leaned in toward Victoria, gripping her arms. "You'll be careful, won't you? Just put in an appearance, no... heroic... stuff."

"I'm a cop, Jane. Was a cop. I can take care of myself. If I don't die of embarrassment at how stupid I look."

"Hey, I thought you liked her costume better," Jane said with a weak smirk.

"Mmhmm. Just like how I like plaid better than paisley - but it's still an ugly-ass pattern. Now c'mon, before I do any crime-fighting I'm putting you to bed."

 

Jane's car, parked a few blocks away from Victoria's apartment, was a strange place to keep a suit, but then, perhaps it made sense, for who would think to look in a battered old junk-heap like this for the costume of a superhero? It was well-chosen, she realised - an area of town that was run-down but comparatively low-crime, though she had to be careful to avoid being seen by any of the area's CCTV cameras as she changed, exiting the car in an old trench that smelled as though it had been stuffed behind many a dumpster in its time, and indeed that was what she did with it now as soon as she got around the next corner, taking the route Jane had carefully mapped out for her before falling into a half-unconscious sleep. She felt worried about leaving her, but she knew that if she hadn't it would be Jane herself walking the streets now, so what choice had she had?

There was of course something she had had a choice about, and that was mentally taking down the surname and license number she found slipped behind the sun-shield in Jane's car. It wasn't that she cared any more - after all, she knew where Jane was from, who she was in every way that mattered, didn't she? Knowing this little piece of information - 'Johnstone' - did it really mean she knew any more about Jane herself?

I can ponder that later. Right now I have to focus on... being a vigilante.

Never in a million years could Victoria have ever imagined herself suited up in a costume - a very heavy-duty, well made costume - and prowling the streets like some sort of crazy person. And yet here she was, and strangely it felt almost good to be doing it. She missed her work, missed being a force for good in a city that needed all the help it could get, and people seemed to like and trust Kára, even if she was a vigilante. One young man even spotted her straying too close to a streetlamp and waved.

She had broken into a run then, though, and kept even more to the shadows and side-streets - Jane had been very adamant that she should remain unseen until she was in position - unless she was posing on a rooftop, apparently. Kára took her bike or car through the streets; she didn't jog.

Would've been nice if she had left her keys, not just her suit, Victoria thought to herself, breaking into a sweat under the heavy armour. The rest of her journey passed without incident and she soon found herself outside a nondescript parking garage. She checked the access points and exits and then climbed up the fire escape of a nearby building until she reached a good vantage point from which to watch, one where she could easily be seen by those who knew were to look.

She knew the venue - many a drugs bust had gone down here, and yet the idiot thugs still used it, it seemed, and now, with the city awash with crime and contraband, it was perhaps unsurprising that every old haunt was the likely site of a trade.

In many ways this wasn't unlike a stakeout with CPD, and Victoria settled in for a long night of nothing happening. So it was with some surprise that she spotted movement not half an hour later, a car sidling up to the garage and then disappearing inside, its tinted windows rolled up tightly.

Tuning into the channel she'd been told to on Kára's radio, she muttered to the cop on the other end - likely, she knew, to be a Lieutenant Bill Fellows, who was the superhero's usual liaison.

"Suspect car spotted, license plate [BLAH], inside garage," she said quietly, deliberately making her voice a little huskier than usual. There was a short pause before she got her answer, the man on the other end sounding a tad confused for a moment.

"Uh, right, Kára - sorry 'bout that, got distracted over here for a second. We're with you. Moving in."

Her job was technically done, but Victoria couldn't bring herself to just sit back and watch, so she quickly descended the fire escape and made her way across the street towards the garage, aiming for a side door she knew to be one of the most-used quick getaways. She could feel rather than see the presence of the team around her - she knew from instinct and from several previous raids she'd conducted on this very property in her time exactly where they'd be.