#thelastbertinelli

@thelastbertinelli 

“Not enough,” Colleen muttered, her gaze still locked on the people just around the corner. She wasn’t sure what Helena was doing there, she had been quiet and out of sight for what felt like months now, but maybe the cops finally got their heads out of their asses about the disappearances in Chinatown. Based on how the kids were dressed, she was sure that they weren’t the group she was looking for. They looked more Triad and less… less like what she remembered. Or was looking for. (But then again, maybe they had changed their recruitment tactics, maybe they had changed up everything to stay quiet for a little while longer — maybe Colleen wasn’t seeing it. Or maybe, she was just seeing what she wanted to see.) With a frustrated sigh, Colleen glanced at Helena. “Are you here as a cop?” Or are you here to help?

@thelastbertinelli

@thelastbertinelli

Helena was the kind of woman who did things on her own constantly. Even if she didn’t have to. And Natasha was the same way. (There had been a time when she would have argued that she was better solo than on a team, but between being partners with Clint and the family that had been forged among the Avengers... team life didn’t seem so strange or terrible.) “I know I haven’t given you any reason to doubt me,” Natasha said easily, her eyes locked on Helena as she tried to figure out what Helena was getting at. Because while the question was posed to suggest that Natasha wasn’t up for whatever was ahead of them, Natasha had a gut feeling that something had shifted — something had gotten more complicated. “What changed?” 

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"I'm not," Jessica mumbled. True crime was one of those things that... she liked to close her eyes too when she could. When the ring wasn't demanding her action or sending messages — if it was something she could ignore, she would. Burying her head in sand if she could, but that wasn't what heroes were supposed to do. "Chasing down bad guys and you know... saving the world, totally get it. Sounds super awesome."

It also sounded like a bunch of bad things waiting to happen. "And I will totally cheer you on if you want to do that but I... am going to stay home, if you don't mind. I have pasta calling my name. And a movie. And a bedtime. I don't want to go."

"Jesus fucking Christ, 'lena!" Dinah yelled when the familiar figure of an old friend appeared in a dark alley next to her. Black Canary had just stopped a robbery and ducked into the alley to assess herself for any damage when Huntress had appeared suddenly beside her. "I haven't seen you in forever and you show up to give me a heart attack? Seriously?"

At his core, Scott was a soldier. He was good at fighting in wars, but he’d never been one for espionage. Perhaps it was because his power wasn’t a particularly subtle one, because it was difficult to hide. Hank had theories, after all, that a mutant’s powers were reflective of who they were in one way or another. He didn’t suppose it mattered, one way or the other. He’d never needed to be subtle. There were other mutants far more capable of that, others who could lead Black Ops teams with no issue when needed.

It did mean that he didn’t often sneak up on people. It was rarer still for him to do so accidentally. And yet, when he stepped into the alley, the woman standing within it jumped. She’d been concentrated solely on her phone screen, it seemed, so focused that the rest of the world must have melted away. Scott had been there more times than he could count. He offered her an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he replied. “Just trying to take a shortcut. This alley cuts a good ten minutes off my commute.” He paused a moment, studying her under the faint light of the streetlamps. “Hey, I know you. You were at Colleen’s wedding, right?”

She found him on a rooftop. Dick wasn’t sure if she’d been looking for him or not but, if she had, he probably hadn’t been hard to find. It was an unspoken rule for both Nightwing and Dick Grayson, the kind of thing anyone who knew him knew well. If you wanted to find him, just look up. He’d always gravitated towards heights, always felt most at ease with the wind ripping through his hair and the world miniaturized beneath him. 

He heard her before he saw her, because they’d all learned how to move silently by necessity but they’d all learned how to listen for one another, too. Gotham vigilantes, especially those associated with the Bat, learned the same lessons. Dick kicked a foot where it hung off the ledge of the roof, contemplating taking a dive just to get away from the conversation. A dramatic reaction, perhaps, but no one had ever accused him of being anything but.

For a moment, he didn’t reply. He let the question settle in his mind for a moment, let himself consider it. Normally, the answer would have been fast, would have come without hesitation because even if no wasn’t the truth, he would have said it to spare her feelings. That was what Dick did. With her, with his siblings, with everyone. He was the peacekeeper, the one who told everyone what they needed to hear, the one who took the hit so that other people wouldn’t have to. But it ached, after a while, to take every hit. It hurt to bend over backwards to catch bullets for everyone else when you weren’t sure they’d do the same for you.

Finally, he sighed and shrugged a shoulder, not looking away from where his gaze was fixed on the city’s skyline. “I hate what you’re doing,” he replied. “I hate how you’re acting. I hate that you’re working with the people who made me an orphan. I hate that you’re pretending I have no reason to be upset by any of it. I hate that you keep... discounting what I’m feeling because it’s inconvenient to you. I hate that you’ve either actually become this person or you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s actually going on. I hate that you’re treating me like an obstacle instead of a friend, after everything we’ve been through.” He paused for a moment, drumming his fingers against the bricks. “I don’t know if I hate you,” he admitted, “but I hate this.”