#finally?

There’s the thing about getting fucked up on the job: As a superhero—when at least twenty percent of superhero teams are some varietal of regenerator or magical healer or bio-hacker or whatever—the idea of medical recovery gets a pretty wishy-washy. SDN has healers on site, one or two for every shift to say nothing of the half-healers and combat medics. Everyone gets fucked up. Everyone gets healed up. Everyone gets back out there.

The point is: Getting shot really isn’t that big of a deal.

“Getting shot is a big deal,” Malevola shouts over the wind, annoyed as they soar over the rooftops of Torrance. Her grip is comfortable and secure at the back of Sonar's neck, where the ruff gets thick and she can safely hold on without pulling all his damn fur out. She adjusts her thighs slightly where she’s tucked them over his ribs, just below his armpits. Wing pits? Whatever.

“I’m just saying—” he beats his wings a few more times to get some elevation before locking his arms and gliding again— “I got shot seventy-two hours ago and I look fuckin’ great today.”

“You do look great.”

“Right?”

Sonar sees something in his peripheral and turns his head. A couple of window washers are waving from the side of a skyscraper. One of them flashes a hand-heart, their bright orange uniform a spot of neon against the building and in the gleaming glass Sonar sees his own blurry shape—his and Mal—cutting like a shadow across the reflection.

Mal lifts a hand to wave, and the window washers pump their fists.

“Did we save this building or something?” Sonar tries to remember.

“Nah, mate. We’re just cool as fuck.”

It’s just before 8AM as they land on the SDN Torrance Branch rooftop. Sonar hits the deck going a little faster than he would for anyone but Mal and waits patiently as she hops, effortless even in her heels, from his back to the concrete. She slings her duffle bag off and starts pulling out Sonar’s neatly folded dress shirt, jacket, and shoes, shaking them out while Sonar rolls his neck and shakes his entire bestial body.

“You gonna stay beasty for a bit?”

“Nah, gimme a sec.”