#sharcarters

Things hadn’t been great for Simon recently. Hell, things hadn’t been great for Simon since he was ten years old and his life was forever changed on live television by people who twisted the beliefs they shared with people like him into something violent and unrecognizable despite the fact that that violence went against everything those beliefs were about. But recently... things had gotten worse. And for the most part? Nobody even knew. 

He still hadn’t told Jessica or the other Lanterns about his living situation. Things with Sira were still tense. Natasha was helping him navigate the government of it all, but he still felt like he was on shaky ground. And it was a little lonesome, if he was being honest. So... Maybe he was losing it a little bit. Muttering to himself when the vending machine stole his dollar probably wasn’t the best look. A quiet shit, I just need someone to give me a damn break that he didn’t expect a response to... and a surprising rebuttal from behind him.

Turning around, Simon blinked at the familiar face. He’d already made an ass out of himself in front of her once on a bus... and it seemed he was doing it again now. She must have had one hell of an impression of him. “That’s a little cynical, don’t you think? Everybody needs somebody. Right?”

Things since Danny had been back had been a whirlwind. Between getting himself reinstated at Rand and everything that went down with the Hand, he’d hardly had time to breathe, much less process all of it. But... It was slowing down now. And the emotional exhaustion of it all was piling up fast. Ward and Joy doing everything they could to keep him out of Rand, Harold selling him to the enemy, Colleen’s revelation that she’d been with the Hand all along, Davos leaving, Birch. He felt a little overwhelmed as he made his way into his office, dropping his bag on the ground and leaning against the door for a moment with his eyes closed.

He was so overwhelmed, in fact, that he didn’t recognize the presence of another person until she spoke, causing him to jump in surprise as his eyes snapped open again. The words felt like they had teeth as they sank in, and he immediately went rigid, thoughts of Birch still so fresh in his mind. “I’m not crazy,” he snapped. “Nobody’s supposed to be in here. If you leave, I won’t call...”

He trailed off, eyes focusing on her for the first time. Familiarity tugged at his gut, and he shifted. “Sharon?”

By 2099, paranoia was a way of life. Everyone treated everyone with suspicion, expected to be stabbed in the back even when there was no blade in sight. It was never a surprise when someone threw you to the wolves, no matter how awful it was to find that your boss had drugged your scotch or your coworker had messed with the controls on your machine in an attempt to force you to kill yourself. Miguel saw most things coming, even if he never saw much of a way to stop them.

So he knew someone was in his apartment the moment he turned the key in the lock.

It was a feeling, really, a hair-on-the-back-of-the-neck-standing-up kind of thing. He didn’t have a spidey sense in the traditional sense, but he had more than enough paranoia to make up for it. The lock clicked in a way that was just off, the door opened just a little too easily, the air in the apartment was a little too unsettled... There were a thousand tiny things that brought it all home. His talons were out as he stepped into the apartment, his breath faltering in his lungs as he prepared himself for a fight.

Instead, he was greeted with words. 

Miguel paused in the doorway, studying the unfamiliar woman who looked a little too at home seated on the lawn chair currently occupying the space where his couch used to be. “Hard to give either to a stranger,” he replied, not taking his eyes off her even as he made his way into the kitchen. “If this is Ty’s idea of a job offer, I’m not really interested. He kind of turned me off Viastone with his whole... personality thing. Plus, my feelings are still hurt. Getting fired’s a real kick in the ego.” He took a glass down from the cabinet, still watching the woman warily. “And if you’re some kind of cop, I’m pretty sure you need a warrant to be in here. And I haven’t broken any laws.” He was pretty sure. “Glass of water? Don’t have much else to offer here.”

The body hit the concrete with a quiet thud, scream still etched into the man’s face as the life left his eyes. In the back of his mind, the Rider gave an appreciative hum. It wasn’t often that Robbie took things into his own hands while the Rider watched, but... Things had been odd since they came back together after the blackout. There was a new jumble of memories in his head that didn’t belong to him, and the Rider seemed interested in taking a backseat to sort through them. There were still scores to be settled, of course, and the killing was a pretty decent distraction from everything else even if Robbie wouldn’t cop to it.

He looked down at the body, kicking at it with his foot. You gonna help me turn this thing into ash, or is it going in the dumpster? The question was directed towards the presence in the back of his mind, but before the Devil could reply, Robbie heard the familiar click of a gun’s safety turning off behind him. And then, a voice. A familiar voice. Robbie let out a quiet curse.

Hands raised in a position of surrender, he turned around slowly. “Pretty sure I made that advancement a while back, actually,” he commented with an easy smile and a quirk of his brow. “Hi, Sharon.”

Safe. Oh, that was adorable. Did this woman actually think she was safe? Did she think any of them were? While Death might not have known what force had allowed him to become strong enough to actually split from LeBeau, he would not forsake the opportunity he had been given. Especially not when he was wearing LeBeau's normal form, not Death's typical stark white hair and onyx-skinned appearance. That would allow him to wreak even more havoc, since no one--not even LeBeau's friends--would suspect his true motives.

Initially, he smiled warmly at the woman, hoping to lull her into a false sense of security. "Oh, dat's so kind of you, chere," he drawled, trying not to grimace at his use of LeBeau's favorite endearment, "Looking out for others is such a noble gesture..." He trailed off as his smile turned decidedly malicious. "...and such a foolish one. To actually think you or anyone else is safe. No one is ever safe. Not from me--not from Death." In an instant, he had a several of LeBeau's cards in his hand, and if this woman was brave enough to challenge him, he would not hesitate to use them.