#f!sidestep

You made sure to divert the media before you came. Ever since Argent kissed you and scarred your lip, your fights have taken on a new, private meaning. Cameras would be an intrusion; news reports would taint everything. So now she’s chasing you through an abandoned tower block, and the world’s silent except for your feet and your punches, dark except for the occasional flash of moonlight against her skin.

She hurls you through a door and it shatters against your back. Painful, yes, but not enough to stop you from springing back up almost as soon as you hit the floor. Fists raised again, feet light on the ground. Argent lingers in the shattered doorway, the usual smirk playing about her lips.

Shit. How does anyone have lips that impeccable?

‘If you wanted me alone,’ she says, claws drumming on the remains of the doorframe, ‘you could have got out of that armour and taken me to a bakery.’

‘Wow. Rude. I go to all this trouble, and you pretend you’d have preferred some normal date to this? We’ve got it all here. Starlight. Privacy. Adrenaline.’ And the thrill of this strange dance with your enemy, your ally, the woman who saw your face and thought it was worth kissing.

Her eyes sweep the room’s peeling walls and broken roof. ‘You have a strange idea of romance.’

‘Says the woman who kissed a villain’s helmet.’

The claw-drumming stops; that memory clearly still rankles. Or, at least, its aftermath does. ‘I didn’t hear you complaining at the time. But if you’re going to complain now... take it off.’

An order. Your insides give a sickening twist, and you don’t move, because for a moment you’re back in the Farm and you can’t –

Then Argent’s hair stirs in the breeze drifting through the broken windows, and the memories drop away. You’re not back there, you’re here. And she’s so beautiful that you don’t even think about another tower, another pane of broken glass, because you’re not there either.

You’re here. With her.

‘I said, take the helmet off,’ Argent says. ‘Unless you’d rather carry on our dance. I don’t have a preference.’

You take in a deep gulp of air. Playing to others’ rules is something you swore off a long time ago. But she played your game, didn’t she, when she showed up for this fight? You owe her for that. You owe her for giving you a shining hour where every breath in your lungs and every beat of your heart felt like it was real, like it mattered.

So you snap open your helmet fastenings and pull your head free.

Maybe you expected her to lunge for you, crush her lips over yours again, snag teeth against your skin. But she doesn’t. She moves towards you slowly, almost warily, talon-like fingers reaching up to rest against your cheek. One stroke to the side and she could cut your throat open, but her touch is enough to make you lower your fists, lower your guard, lower everything.

This is so incredibly stupid. This is leaving yourself vulnerable, it’s putting yourself into someone else’s hands, and you promised yourself, you swore never again. You can’t afford this.

But you want it. Want her. Want to trust her.

Delicate claws trace the rise and fall of your cheekbone, sliding strands of hair behind your ear with a light flick. Your breath stutters and you slam your eyes closed. Maybe if you don’t look at her, she won’t see how she’s affecting you.

You feel the claws melt back into fingers. Soft and smooth against your skin. And then her lips, closing around your own.

She steps in close, metallic skin snug against your armour, and you reach up to slide your nanovore-free hand into her hair. Her mind leaps in response, fierce and warm, like machinery jumpstarted. All her thoughts are melting together, filling up with –

With you. She’s thinking of you, your lips, your hands – and she likes it. She wanted this, hoped for this when she came out here, she was eager to have her lips full of yours and her mind full of you and only you.

You, who swarmed into her mind and enslaved it.

Your helmet falls from your free hand and rolls away over the floor as you tug her in tighter. This is why you’re doing this, showing your throat to her claws. She has no reason to trust you. You don't deserve her trust. So you’ll take the first step, you’ll trust her, bare yourself, bring everything in you that can be hurt right up to the surface. You’ll kiss her with everything you have. Offer her everything you are.

(You’re not much. You know that. But she must know that too, and yet here she is.)

It hurts so much less than you feared, letting go of the control you’ve always clung to so tightly. There’s a thrill in surrendering. In trusting. In choosing to leap from an edge for once, not being forced over. And right here, right now, with Ximena’s lips warm and so wonderfully, surprisingly gentle over your own, you feel the same way you did when you first marched out on the world in your armour. 

julia’s hair is long and braided, and there’s wispy curls around her face as she turns her face up to the sky. dawn watches her eyes close in momentary bliss, a smug smile on her face as she breathes in the salty air. salty air?

dawn looks out in front of them, and she sees the ocean, and the sun glittering on the water.

oh. they’re sitting by the sea. that makes sense.

“i used to hate the ocean when i was little,” julia says, glancing sideways at dawn with amusement in her tone. dawn looks back at her. she’s young, and golden in the light, and beautiful as always. it’s ridiculous. “i don’t know if i’ve ever told you that.”

“you haven’t,” dawn responds, and her own voice sounds far away. it’s a dream, so that happens sometimes, though now dawn is unaware that she’s dreaming at all.

“well, i used to be scared of sharks. and dad used to tell me stories about people getting swept out to sea by the currents and waves. i thought that was the most terrifying thing i’d ever heard.” when she talks about her father, she uses a neutral tone. dawn could never speak neutrally about someone that she resented, even when reminiscing about simple memories like this. but that’s simply apart of julia’s survival system - don’t give power to things that have hurt you, and the hurt won’t own you.

“you never struck me as someone who would have been scared by that,” dawn remarks, spitting out a piece of hair that gets in her mouth when the wind blows. having long hair is such a hassle. it’s too bad she’s too insecure to cut it all off, even if she spends most of her time in public in a suit and mask.

julia laughs, at both dawn’s comment and hair struggle. dawn notices she’s fiddling with a seashell between her always moving fingers. “well, i was. just imagining getting swept out gave me nightmares. i refused to even stick my feet in the water.” she shrugs as she always does. “i guess it was the lack of control that scared me. but i don’t mind it much, now.” she sets aside the seashell and picks up another one, looking it over with curious eyes.

fear of a lack of control. dawn can certainly empathize with that. but she also wonders what changed julia’s mindset about it.

“what changed?” dawn asks, and inwardly cringes. wow. she really couldn’t have phrased that inquiry any more pointedly. for someone who values privacy, it seems she has no shame impeding on others’.

julia looks at her, and to dawn’s relief, she’s not surprised or offended. rather, she looks truly thoughtful. her dark brown eyes are honey colored in the sun. damn. the sunlight on the sea doesn’t hold a candle to her.

“i almost died,” she answers. “and i became a vigilante. after a while, control was way more of an act than a reality. i knew i had no choice to accept that, so i did.” she pauses, looking like she has something else to say, but decides better of it. instead, she sighs, and continues. “and now… somehow, the lack of control feels nice. sometimes i want to take advantage of it and do whatever the hell i want, but i don’t really have the choice to do that when i’m relied on so much.” her smile is semi wistful now, and dawn’s heart pangs for a reason that she can’t decipher.

“maybe someday you’ll have that choice,” dawn suggests, a bit quieter as she turns her gaze away. in her gut, she’s definitely jealous that there’s even a ‘maybe’ in julia’s forecast. julia could throw everything to the wind and stop what she was doing, nevermind the consequences that would come with that.

dawn? she had never had a choice in anything, and she never would. that had been for sure from the moment she was created.

but... what if she did have a choice? what if they could both leave all of this behind at the drop of a hat someday? it’s immensely unrealistic to think about, and she’s well aware of that.

somehow, in the warmth of this moment and the fuzziness she feels when julia smiles, “what if”s don’t sound all that bad.

“maybe,” julia responds thoughtfully, looking out at the waves with her eyebrows knit. she’s quiet for a moment, and then nudges dawn with her elbow, a playful grin blossoming on her face. “but i don’t think i could do that without at least taking you with me. you can’t get away from me that easily.” her words are playful, but there's a hint of sincerity underneath - one that only she can pull off.

dawn chuckles, managing to hide the ache in her chest as she nudges her back. “i’ll hold you to that.”

they’re both quiet after that, looking out to the water and listening to the waves crash. it’s late afternoon, almost evening - they should be heading back soon. but there’s a sense of calm in dawn’s chest that she hasn’t felt in a long time. maybe she’s never felt this calm before. it’s nice. julia is nice. the sun on the water is nice, even if it’s bright.

so bright that there’s still spots behind dawn’s eyes when she wakes up.

there’s no jolt, no gasp, no throwing of covers. just darkness and the mixture of feelings in her chest as she becomes aware of her own consciousness.

maybe. 

what if.

those phrases still echo in the back of her mind, and fuck, she hates them. she runs her fingers across the buzzed texture of her scalp. things have changed. there’s no room for the stupid fantasies she had before her world turned upside down.

unlike when she has nightmares, she doesn’t get up to get a cigarette. instead, she lays in bed, and she thinks, and the tears come before she can stop them. so she curls into herself, and she lets herself cry, mourning the loss of everything exchanged in that memory. the laughter. the warmth of the sun. the notion that there was a future for the both of them, as bleak as it was.

it turns out that she has a choice now. she won’t change what she’s going to do with that choice.

Specialization: Tech-savvy tactician

Puppet: Eden, a tall mixed race woman with green eyes and long curly black hair

Villain Identity: REDACTED

Suit: Mysterious, “a shadow with a mirror for a face, revealing nothing” with the telepathic boosters and speed/jump-jets upgrades, and the cape (still attached)

Love Interest(s): Ryan and Ortega had a thing in the past and Ryan kissed her in the hospital, and in Retribution they’re at “open attraction,” with genuine feelings involved. Eden had been flirting with Ortega, but Ryan got jealous and steered that relationship into pure friendship. meanwhile, Eden and Dr. Mortum went to the gala together and are now lovers, with genuine feelings involved. Puppetmaster and Lady Argent are certainly...something