take the pain away

in the grand scheme of things, no. doesn’t mean it hurts any less than it currently does, doesn’t mean it’s not an all consuming type of pain that, in the moment, feels like the most pain she’s ever been in. her hand trembles against her stomach - eyes going in and out of focus as ryoji speaks and she wants to say she doesn’t need the help but she can’t think straight when everything hurts this much so she relents, takes the hand still offered to her though she’s seated firmly on the ground with her bloodied one.

doing so reveals the wound on her stomach; stitches will fix it and she’ll look good as new. the carbon fiber armor did it’s job. when she risks a glance down, she can see it shimmering through her blood. it makes her queasy so she puts her head back against the wall and breathes deep through her nose- unaware of how hard she’s squeezing ryoji’s hand. “see? i’m fine. just a flesh wound.” she laughs, the sound a little more than desperate, and tries not to think about how pathetic she feels. “it’s.. thank you. for being in the right place at the right time.”

her wound steals his attention. another moment of surprise, this time echoed by a soft hum. light fingers press against the torn clothes to peer at the how the bullet lodged into carbon fiber. curiosity rips through them at lightning speed; questions bubbling on their tongue, scenarios of what-ifs for friends dead, and wonder if saskia chose this as a precaution.

but he stills every thought. saskia never gave explicit permission to take her pain. just a flesh wound --- a blessing, but still a wound that he could help ease. and yet ----

"you're welcome. i'm glad i was nearby." a beat, then another, hesitation dancing across their face. but they squeeze her hand back. slowly tugs at the thread that pulls at her pain as they release their own suppression. the pain thrums at their stomach, a dull ache. not carrying the full weight of what saskia feels, but enough to alert her. to wonder, if she wants them to take it all. "any better?"

“no one can say you ever rest on your laurels,” he comments around his cigarette. it keeps the saccharine scent of her vape from penetrating too close to him; he’ll never understand the allure of them, as if smelling like artificial fruit is somehow more tasteful than old fashioned nicotine and tobacco.

cecil glances her way, plucks his cigarette from his lips. “the body’s recovered. it’ll be yours soon enough.” smoke curls from his lips. he’s never cared for the eagerness she displays when he brings supers to their black site labs but finding someone as skilled as his sister would be borderline impossible. “i hear rumors about the role kronos may have played in samael’s newfound powers. is that you or is that nero?”

how often were insinuations of blame placed on her shoulders when she had done nothing? and how, no matter her protests, the leash around her neck simply pulled tighter?

from her parents to cecil and benjamin--- she cannot escape the claws of her family.

"you know nero's network is wide; he's smart enough to slot pieces together. buchanan's gala coverup was pointless; nero was always going to get his hands on our serum information --- even if that involved heavily relying on trix." a flicker of a smile crosses her face at the thought of the ex-employee; a wonderful mind wasted on getting caught. but trix was lucky too, for having such reliable friends still employed at kronos.

"i'm sure samael won't be your only headache soon enough." another smile draws on her face, wider, sharper. "if you snag somebody that took nero's serum --- dead or alive --- i could easily inform you of the differences. and how those differences influence the creation of powers."

"you want to help me? and how do you plan on doing that, exactly?"

and there is more venom in his words than he wants there to be, recklessness in his petulance, only because he is desperate for ryoji to see that the people around them are the very same ones doing the most harm.

perhaps if they'd met all those years ago, he might have learned to more forgiving.

"it might be people that make this world better, but it's supers that destroy so much of it. you -- you burn down buildings to catch one villain, and you get away with it, too. because people love a good hero. we have to figure out how to come back from that. not you."

his shoulders drop as he lets out an exhausted breath.

but their counterpoints never sound. it's the mention of burn; buildings falling; one villain. perhaps any other time, it wouldn't strike their heart. but the conversation with suzu remains fresh --- how the person that destroyed an orphanage, that burned a building full of kids to ash, had always been baz.

dread slowly crawls through their veins. the image of suzu, the twist in her face as she confessed. how she believed her source, even at personal cost.

a backward glance. the thief at the start of this remains still on the ground, jaw slack as they remain unconscious. a flick of his gaze up, around, scanning for cameras.

only until they're sure there will be no trace of them to follow, do they swallow and turn back to isaac. as they step toward him, a hand lifts to disengage their mask. it unlatches from the connection points, and as they pull it away, it folds into itself with a click. for the first time that night, ryoji's bare face is alight from flickering neon lights.

"isaac." the name softly falls; a drop in the ocean. the first to ripple into an unstoppable wave.

he has to be certain; after this, there is no going back.

there are so many things they still want to say to ryoji, it can't end like --

when their eyes meet, elijah swallows. of the two of them, they cannot be the shaky one now.

step by step, they think back to their training. eyes scan downwards, trying to pinpoint the source of the bloodflow. then carefully, they lift the end of ryoji's shirt, a nervous puff leaving them as they examine the wound.

"deep breaths, okay?"

elijah follows their own advice and lets their lungs fill with air, eyes closing for a brief moment as they concentrate. you know how to do this.

a familiar warmth begins at their fingertips, and steadily spreads throughout their hand, a soft, golden glow at their palm. slowly, they press their hand to ryoji's skin, feeling the hot stickiness against their palm.

"ryoji," they whisper, "is it going to come back? the pain?"

immediately, they shutter the train of thought. sucks a deep breath at elijah's instruction. forcing their mind, their body, to slow the rising panic. at the exhale, they repeat, again and again, matching elijah's pace.

ryoji concentrates on the rise and fall of his friend's chest as the golden glow casts a soft light in the room. in, out. he cannot think of elijah's hand straining red. in, out. he will not drift to memories long buried. in. out.

but the mantra's broken at elijah's question. a shared fear spoken aloud. and ryoji desperately wishes they could provide reassurance; that what they were facing was their norm, that they would recover, that none of this was unexpected.

"it's not about the pain." a pause; a shudder. "i can't feel anything, elijah. i can't sense your hand on me at all. it's --- it's happened before. but --- only for a few moments. it's never lasted this long."

“oh, i should be thanking you for the help. it’s definitely less —” clinical? elijah’s not quite sure that’s the right word for it, so nod in vague agreement before looking down at kiran’s knee. 

“hey, can i —?” they ask, holding a hand out that gives a faint glow as they speak. “your knee. i can take a look at it.” 

it’s not something everyone is comfortable with, they’ve learned, ( and briefly, very briefly, they think of their mother ) so they keep their distance, holding their breath without even realizing it. 

but that doesn't mean he dismisses the feeling of pride and happiness at the current heroes and their accomplishment. those like elijah have done well, and something strikes deeper in his heart to know that elijah is working within the community. it's something that the nsa --- and him as well -- forget is just as crucial.

so when elijah raises a hand, a near halo-glow around his hand, kiran smiles. "thanks for checking. i ---- you know what, might as well. can't hurt to double check everything is in order."

he starts pulling up his pants leg as he adds, "i do have a new-ish set of implants. not that i think they'll interfere with your powers. but -- a heads up, really."

that's saskia's conclusion anyways when it comes to delphine and her brothers. she's only met the oldest a handful of times which was more than enough for her to find he sets her teeth on edge; the other brother comes across as a narcissistic manchild.

and then there is delphine.

she's got years of experience on saskia, but she's also her subordinate in the kronos hierarchy. funny how that works.

"ugh, please- that's the last thing i want to think about when i'm having spaghetti for lunch." she makes a face. she spends more time than she cares to think about trying not to think about the consequences of someone making a bootleg of the serum. "i just want the nsa to do their job and get it off the streets before we start seeing it every other day."

a pause. "has cecil said anything to you about that? it feels like he's called his hounds off of us for the whole gala thing at the least after samael."

there's no official betting pool, nothing more than bragging rights if her prediction is correct, but delphine wants it regardless. the more bodies she can examine, the further she can take her research, and the stronger she can become in breaking cecil's chains on her.

as if reading her thoughts, saskia turns the conversation to her dear family member. "cecil remains tight-lipped as always. wouldn't be surprised if they've managed to grab the fake and examine it in their labs by now."

popping her knuckles --- from pinky to index, twice over --- she asks, "and what about buchanan? surely he had some directions for the team leads, no?"

because as much as she’d like to convince herself he wouldn’t notice, he has simply always been good at pretending he hasn’t. it is a dance they are both familiar with, and one they should stop practicing. 

just maybe not tonight.

“your jokes are still bad.” a smile creeps into her voice, and she shifts, resting her head in the crook of her elbow. “well, that’s why i liked them. in any case, we can’t all function on the night shift.” 

he gives her two options, a halting pause preluding the second before he darts forward: —if that’s a lot right now. 

"are they really that bad if you still laugh at them?" he teases. "at some point, maybe you should just admit they're at least decent."

but his smile falters a fraction. he hadn't expected her to talk about what was going on. he offered her an out, and he wasn't going to retract the offer. but there wasn't much to his life outside of work. everything in his life--- from meetings with andy, to slipping information to isaac, to writing notes in the middle of the night --- revolved around his position as an officer.

scratching at his chin, he clears his throat. "i, uh --- unfortunately no new hobbies to speak of. wish i could tell you i've become the best billiards player this side of novus, but i think the last time i picked up a cue was the night we met. but when has rusty skills ever stopped me?"

it’s only instinct brought upon by years of being beaten up by those more well trained than otto that keeps kiran’s elbow from shattering his nose. he twists his head at the last second, jerking away from the grip on the back of his head so the elbow glances off his cheekbone. it’ll bruise and swell, but it’s better than a broken nose gushing with blood. at the same time as otto twists away, he takes a sweep at kiran’s legs with his own and stumbles back to put distance between them.

the room plunges into total darkness then - the shadow monster ripping the panel from the wall - and otto rubs at his stinging eyes. “that’s a dick move, kiran!” he snaps, kicking off his shoes so they clatter, one at a time, around the blackened room. he closes his eyes, clicks his tongue, cants his head to one side to listen. “i didn’t think you had it in you.”

but otto is a beat faster. kiran tries snatching otto's arm as he stumbles, but his hand only grabs air as he lands on his knees.

and then the light vanishes.

the panel clatters nearby, wires sparking in fits. only the flashlight burns bright, and it's only by years of teaching light manipulators that he keeps from sweeping it across the room. the element of surprise is long gone, and the beam cannot overtake all of the surrounding darkness.

kiran slowly stands, eyes darting around the room. above him, claws click---click. he takes a step back, trying to estimate the monster's location.

he barely registers the hands on his back until he's tipping forward. twisting in the air, he lands on his shoulder, the mechanical whirs of the weaves softening the blow.

"god---" he swallows the rest of the curse, forcing himself to swipe over his watch and finally immerse himself in the dark.

he quickly gets on his feet. "and why did you think it wasn't in me?" a belated question in hope of an answer. otto may not take the bait; but kiran only needs a second.

years of teaching, years of overseeing; the room is as familiar to him as his own apartment. despite the changes and renovations, each dip from trainings past, each rough scuff mark littering the floor, aides in his path.

so he darts toward the nearest wall, trying to keep steps light. but all he needs is a second; a heartbeat; a breath.

in the observation room, when monitoring heroes, trainers will sometimes manipulate each training area. minor shifts chosen by which heroes are training. fires here, water showers there, loss of gravity from time to time. but that control is placed in each room too --- randomized, of course --- to use at the trainer's discretion.

and kiran ensured it was active before finding otto.

he asks why she wouldn’t know, and a string of reasons as to why sit on her tongue: she’s just a trainee, they have other heroes to go after, she’s not worth the time. they all sound like excuses now, film over the truth: she’s an easy target because she’s a trainee. because she’s a new super. she’s one of the nsa’s darlings, and wouldn’t you nip that in the bud if you could?

“i don’t know what it is, either,” she mutters. “there’s a lot i don’t know.” 

you will always have a target on you, says ryoji, and all she can think is that the nsa never briefed her on this. maybe they didn’t think they had to; what else have they done with her other than parade her in front of journalists and allow her to do brand deals? the real work doesn’t start until you’re promoted, so just focus on training. ( what good are you if you’re not good at your powers? ) 

it’s an odd dichotomy—they claim they’ll protect her, while she’s the one that’s supposed to be doing the protecting. 

but he swallows the apology. he's not certain how she would take it, especially since it would highlight the difference between them. he chose this life; walked into it with eyes open and aware of how important it was to keep the mask in place.

neither of them could change the past. but for now, at least, lunara knew more than she did before.

"if you have any questions," ryoji starts, the robotic voice softening despite the mask, "i'll do my best to answer. i have --- dolor has --- been doing this for so long that the knowledge has to pour out somewhere, you know?"

he doesn't wait for an answer; he settles against the wall, hands cupping, knees bending. "only way is up; get to the pipe, grab on, and feet on wall as you climb. building opposite the wall is shorter, so once you're at the top you can jump over there.

he remembers being seven years old and feeling as if he were fighting for his life - and he may very well have been, considering the community raising him - against people more than twice his age, twice his size. training with kiran and the other nsa runts most often feels like a walk in the park for him, making it hard to even so much as garner his attention much less keep it.

still, he makes a lazy show of stretching - joints popping as he does - though he knows in a real fight he wouldn’t have this opportunity. kiran ought to not have enabled him. ought to have bull rushed him the moment he could. in otto’s opinion, it’s a disservice but then the nsa doesn’t typically care about his opinions when it comes to how they handle their training. they’re in the business of making supers marketable, not necessarily in being dangerous.

but this isn't a regular training session or practice battle. there's a connection being sought. he's most likely doing it int he worst way, and he's certain otto will think less of him once this is over, but he doesn't know what else to do.

he had to do something.

he darts away from the shadow monster, barely catching sight of movement. forcing a direction change at the last second, a clawed hand barely misses him. he's being directed like a puppet on strings, the control of battle continually tipping in otto's favor. there is only so much a non-super can do against shadows that can kill.

but they have never been the main target.

in the next breath, otto cuts the distance, eyes pooling black. a gasp of shock is quickly swallowed, a deep breath forcing an even heartbeat. fear will always course through kiran's veins in combats like this. but he wouldn't be alive if he hadn't learn how to suppress the panic it causes.

"sure sounds like you want it to be first blood." kiran smiles back, light and easy. his right hand swipes over his watch. "but it's first break."

MISANDRISTE’S 2K CELEBRATION! 💭 make me choose

“what, that i’m doing this because i’ve got no other choice?” she arches an eyebrow and leans back. “yeah, that’s not changed.” 

say she did quit. where would she even go? what would she do? people know who she is—the nsa made sure of that. and those people include those who apparently want to kill her; would they touch her family, too? 

then comes the real question: don’t you still want to be known? not like this. not like this.

“what’s in this for you, anyway?” she asks as she stirs her drink with her straw, ice rattling in the cup. “heroes get all that fame, a nice paycheck, they get to save the world or whatever—what do you get out of this? you’ve been here for, like, ages, but i don’t get why.”

but now, he's not sure he believes he's capable of that anymore. not with doubt slowly eroding his trust within the nsa.

so her question strikes deeper than it should have. his usually honesty remains clouded, the truth needing a filter. "i followed my sister here. so i started this because of and for her. but i stay because i do believe in guiding the trainees. trying my best to give them space to grow. to learn. because removing evil is not the same as doing good, you know? i want to help everyone the best i can."

but there was no easy way to admit that all he built led to little. that for all he's done, all the trust and care he's poured into training the heroes --- and all the secrets he buried for them --- it wasn't enough.

kiran smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "anything else you want to ask to sate your curiosity?"