#and then i changed all my answers so ortega and chen could save me and we could all kiss and be happy and IGNORE THE LOOMING THREATS

[localcryptic]

hey guys i got a really good happy ending to Fallen Hero Retribution where everything went well <- guy who just reset to Checkpoint 5 like four times to try and fix his shit

[nln4]

close

Pairing: M!Ortega/NB Sidestep Word Count: 2735 Rating: T for Terrible Acting Warnings: Depiction of Anxiety, Panic Attacks

close /klōs/ adjective 1.  a short distance away or apart in space or time.

close /klōz/ verb 1.  move or cause to move so as to cover an opening. 2.  bring or come to an end.

Ortega has become a part of your routine lately. Increasingly so.

Worryingly so.

You wake up to good morning texts and bury your smile under a pillow. You eat breakfast while thumbing through the morning paper for more news about The Rangers and even in the grainy-print of the black and white photo, it’s still the same face that lingers on your mind, just with a few more lines. He should maybe start paying rent with how much time he spends in your head.

Or haunts you, really. You have plenty of room for ghosts up there. 

Since being a villain has sort-of become the way you pay your bills, your “day job” consists of sitting in your little apartment and trawling through online message boards, gathering information on potential targets. 

In the end, it all comes back to him. 

You wish it didn’t.

Hours pass and before you know it, the sunlight streaming through the crooked blinds has gone from pale yellows of daytime to the orange-gold tones of dusk. 

Your phone buzzes and you already know it’s him. 

[Dinner?] the gray-green screen reads. He’s been getting awfully bold lately.

But you figure it wouldn’t hurt and you take some small comfort in being absolutely stupid so you text him ‘[yes]’, put on the leather jacket slung over the wooden chair (a step up from the old worn hoodie you used to wear) and head the ten or so blocks to the station crosswalk that’s nearest to the Rangers’ HQ.

Neon signs bloom to life as you walk to your destination and Los Diablos just feels right, like you’ve always belonged here. When you reach the corner of the crosswalk and wait for the light to turn green, you cross, just as everyone else does and he’s already there waiting for you. 

His eyes crinkle when he spots you. They do every time he sees you. His eyes search your face endlessly. They say so many things, but most of all they say “Welcome home.”

(You fear the day that they don’t.)

“Hi,” he says, still smiling. His hand automatically goes to yours, holds it close. The metal Mod embedded in his palm press into the back of your hand and it’s warm, so warm. The pressure feels familiar and yet foreign somehow, in a way that you can’t explain but you don’t pull away. You can’t pull away.

“Hey.”

“So? Dinner?” he goes on, still keeping a hold on your hand. “Where do you want to go? Hoots? Or maybe - there’s this diner, not a lot people. Kinda reminds me of where we first met. Danny also told me about this place he goes to. What do you think?”

“Anything is fine.” 

He turns back to look at you and you’ve realized you’ve been lagging a half-step behind, lost in the blur of colors of the city. His eyes ask ‘what’s wrong?’ but he doesn’t speak it out loud. Does he fear the question or the answer? you wonder.

“We,” he begins, thumbing circles against your wrist. “We can just go to my place. Order some food. Maybe watch that awful movie.”

“How many times has it been? Twenty?”

“Maybe twenty-first time’s the charm.” 

So you nod and let him lead the way.

You have been to Ortega’s apartment since that night of the gala, more and more - but by more, you mean that the visits have increased from zero to perhaps two. Two too many. Any more visits and you risk someone remembering you, connecting you to him. So far no one has, but your powers aren’t infallible, despite how strong they’ve gotten.

He ushers you inside and it still appears to be the same apartment. Perhaps some changes here and there but the same minimal low-tech place, bookshelf-lined walls. It’s still very him, you think.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads into his bedroom, presumably to change into more comfortable clothing. “Decide on what to eat.”

“Mm.” You decide that you’d rather leave the decision making to him. You’re not terribly picky with food. He, however, is. 

In a few minutes, he returns in a white t-shirt and sweats, phone and a flat case in hand. He tosses the case to you, dialing on his phone with a roll of his eyes, probably knowing that you didn’t choose anything while you were waiting. 

You catch the case, already knowing what movie it is. You will never be over how terribly photoshopped the cover is or that the actor they chose for Chen looks way too young, even taking into consideration the time the movie came out. 

He’s talking on the phone, placing his usual go-to order of pizza while you turn on the television and fiddle with the disc player. Waiting for disc to load, you look at Marshal Charge, front and center on the case. Perfectly styled hair despite the artistic wear and tear of his Rangers uniform, the painted on bleeding scratch on his cheek - there to show he takes some damage but nothing even remotely resembling the absolute mess that looked like the actual aftermath of the nanovore incident. 

And there you are. A figure in shadow, turned away from the others. Edited in like an afterthought.

Over by the counter, Ortega drums his fingers on the marble countertop, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rolls his neck and pops his shoulder, anything to keep from staying still. When he catches you watching, he grins and mouths “fifteen minutes” to you. 

You both settle onto the couch, waiting for the food to arrive and you’re aware of just how much closer he is. You remember old nights like these - finding bad movies to make fun of, curled up onto a couch big enough for three. You miss Anathema’s infectious laughter and your heart twists. 

He still runs warmer than average and you can feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of your shirt. Fingers trail across the couch cushion, then onto your knee where you hand rests.

On screen, The Rangers argue on how best to approach the nanovore strike. You and he both laugh because you know what scene is coming up next. An extra announces that the nanovores have been sighted inland and winks at the camera all too conspicuously.

“You make a terrible actor,” you comment. 

“Hey, maybe I was being bad on purpose,” he says. “It’s called acting.” 

“Nope.”

“At least my mustache is real now,” he replies. 

“I’d hate to think that ‘Rangers: The Final Stand’ was your inspiration for growing that out.”

“It might have.”

You’re now fixated on his mustache and the stubble growing along his chin. And you’ve definitely noticed that he’s been letting it grow out more after you made that comment about during your hospital visit. You’re close enough that can see the faint scar left from where his lip was stitched up all those months ago. You don’t know how he managed to convince PR to let him keep it but then again, he probably didn’t - and wouldn’t - care what they told him anyways.

It does make him look older. 

You suppose that that’s what happens as time passes. People grow older.

(He should have just grown old, the vicious voice in your head thinks. Old and happy, with someone else.)

You hate that it looks good. That years have passed and he looks better, after all this time. 

That after all this time, he might still feel the same way. 

He traces a thumb against your jaw, presses his forehead to yours, and you hate that you still feel the same way because it just makes everything so much worse.

Save yourself, you think. Run away. Don’t get hurt. 

You don’t know if you’re thinking this to him or if you should take your own advice. Probably both. 

Your noses touch and you flinch, standing up so abruptly it makes you dizzy. Your head might have clocked his nose because he’s clutching it, brows furrowed, tears starting to leak from his eyes. Only the dullest pain throbs at the top of your skull.

“Ow, hey-”

He blindly reaches out with one one hand, the other still pressed to his nose. You do what you do best and sidestep away into the bathroom. In your haste, the door slams a little too loudly and you flinch at that sound too. 

Fuck.

Why did you think you could do this? Why did you come here at all?

Your reflection glares back at you accusingly, red-rimmed, dark shadowed eyes and all. 

Why did you come back after so long?

Just why?

Months ago, when he asked if you would tell him if anything was wrong, you readily agreed, despite it being a lie.

What could you even tell him now? 

“Is everything okay?” His voice is quiet, muffled by the door. 

You don’t answer. You can barely breathe. At least, that’s what it feels like. The throbbing pain from headbutting him is finally hitting you too and you massage your temples. Try your best to calm down.

Your silence must have him worried, if the sound of him shuffling his feet and the pop of his knuckles from clenching-unclenching his fists are anything to go by. 

“If you don’t answer, I’m knocking down this door.” An empty threat, when it comes to you at least.

“I’m fine,” you croak out. Your voice sounds quite the opposite of ‘fine’ though.

“Did I-” and he’s fighting to find words. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“You sure?” You imagine that he’s having a hard time trying to process “if nothing’s wrong then why did you run away?” You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe - god, I don’t know.” 

“Please open the door.” It isn’t a command. He’s always been good at that. At giving you choices. 

“I can’t.” You’ve never been good at choosing though.

“Okay,” he says, although it’s more of an agreement than acceptance. You know him too well. He’d stand there for hours if he knew there was a chance. 

He did for seven years. Maybe even ten.

The throbbing of your head doesn’t hurt nearly as much as that thought.

A distant knocking comes from the other side and you hear him curse; must be the pizza. His footsteps shuffle off and there’s a brief muffled exchange before the door shuts once more. 

It takes about a minute.

(Save yourself.)

Another twenty seconds.

(Run away.)

Another inhale. 

(Don’t get hurt.)

You reach for the doorknob, turn until the lock clicks and open the door - or you try to, at least. There’s some resistance when you pull and you find that he’s standing there and the shock that’s on his face probably mirrors your own because you weren’t expecting him to be standing there. So much that you hurriedly close the door until it’s only barely open, until you can only see his half of his face peering back at you. He doesn’t fight it.

“Uh. Pizza’s here.” His voice is quiet. The sort you would adopt when speaking to a spooked, cornered animal.

You can see every line on his face, half cast in the shadows of the dark hallway, half illuminated by the old light of the bathroom that does nothing for him. He looks old and tired and there’s a crease between his eyebrows that did not used to be there ten or so odd years ago. The mustache makes him look stern. Maybe he should have grown one out when he was still Marshal. Maybe you would have taken him more seriously. His hair is mussed, even more unruly than usual, from his habit of carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

And then there are his eyes. Warm, brown, still brimming with hope, with all the things you can’t read in his thoughts. 

“We can always eat here, in the bathroom,” he offers and you laugh, despite the buzzing panic in your throat that threatens to spill over. His eyes crinkle at the sound, the relief washing over his face. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would.” Your voice is low and, despite your wishes, quavery.

“Can I come in?” 

You nod wordlessly and release the doorknob, the dull ache making you realize you were clutching onto it like a lifeline, then sit yourself onto the lip of the bathtub. The door creaks as he pushes it open.

You can’t look at him, even when he sets the toilet seat cover down and sits. He’s close enough to speak quietly but still giving you a respectable distance, should you decide to get up and leave again, if just to keep his nose safe from any more collisions. Instead, you look at the red welt indented into your palm, and you start to rub the ache away.

“I think I get it,” he says. “Maybe. Not totally. But you need things to be slow. Right?”

You’re grateful that he at least gets part of it. You doubt you could fully untangle the jumbled mess of thoughts in your head. Your eyes flicker to him and in the clear light, his nose is definitely red. A little swollen. Nothing broken though, to your relief. You don’t want to hurt him anymore than you already have.

“I’m sorry for headbutting you in the face.”

He chuckles. “Not the first time you’ve done it. But apology accepted.”

“You deserved it that time though.”

“I probably did,” he says, laced with rueful laughter.  “Even though I don’t remember what happened.”

“You and I were arguing on how to take out Iconique’s laser ray and you wouldn’t listen when I told you more electricity would have blown the whole thing up.”

“Oh yeah,” he recalls and suddenly annoyance crosses his face. “Well, we were trying to take it out, of course blowing it up would be an option.”

“Blowing it up would have left a crater the size of a city block in the garden district,” you counter dryly.

“You don’t know that.” He repeats the same thing, the same words he said so many years ago when you were having the exact argument. You don’t know what will happen. No one does.

You shoot him a look, the are-you-really-arguing-with-me-about-this look. He grins crookedly at you and you slowly return it. 

This is good, you think. The banter is good. Whatever pressure weighing down on your chest has lifted just a bit and you can breathe again. You don’t know how long it will last but for now, it is enough.

He gets up and holds out a hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. The pizza’s gone cold by the time you settle once more on the couch and you force yourself to take bites and swallow, despite not tasting it at all. The movie’s been left running and it’s almost at the end now.

“Are you okay?” actor Charge asks, arms bracing the shoulders of his longtime partner. The voice sounds tinny, even through the state-of-the-art sound system speakers.

“No, not really,” you quip, echoing the actor’s lines.

“It’s fine, I’ve got you,” Ortega quotes, mimicking his actor perfectly. “You’re my best partner after all.”

You’ve forgotten how just how corny this movie was and you frown at him in disgust. If you remember anything from that day, there was a lot of screaming. He was out cold from the pain, almost going into shock. And there certainly was no touching dramatic speech about friendship.

“You are okay, right?” he asks tentatively, eyes searching your face for answers, hints.

“I won’t be if you keep asking.” 

He exhales sharply in amusement. “All right. I’m just checking.”

He keeps watching you though, as though you might fall apart any second, as though if he’s fast enough, he might be able to catch up the pieces. 

Because the last time, he wasn’t able to but he would gladly spend seven years, ten years, a hundred years, picking up little shards of you and putting you back together. And that you might not be totally whole again but that’s enough for him.

That it’s okay to not be okay.

At least that’s what his eyes are telling you.

“I know,” you say. 

On screen the credits start to roll.

[erintoknow]

Wait, are we not fighting?

fallen hero fan fiction, with some chargestep ~2.5k words for [12.3/50k] [ao3]

–––

Can’t avoid the Rangers forever.

Julia’s making sure of that now that she’s extracted these promises from you.

First it was ‘fix her computer’ then it turned into ‘help me sort through these old boxes,’ now it was ‘help me organize all these old files.’ At some point on the phone you joked that she ought to start paying you. She called your bluff pretty fast on that one. Offered to fill out a W-2 and to start negotiating salaries.

You’re grateful actually. Between this, your cover job working the tech repair shop, and fiddling with the Regenerator you haven’t had much time to think. Thinking is the enemy right now. Well. It’s always been the enemy, really. The impossibility of a future with Julia. The impossibility of a future at all. How you utterly blew things with Dr. Mortum, –

Had it been a mistake to be honest with her? It’s hard not to feel like it was. You were honest with Argent. Will that also be a mistake?

Lady Argent… You’ve been rehearsing your inevitable encounter in your head, during the dangerously mindless parts of work. Can’t afford to slip up. It’s too much to hope for that you can avoid her forever. At the very least she’ll probably want progress updates. Assurances that you’re keeping up your end of the deal.

The secretary at the front desk smiles and buzzes you in with a hello. Who is it this time? Donna? No, fuck. Why is it such a struggle to remember peoples names without digging into their heads? Feels weird to be recognized like that. Smiled at. It’s all wrong. The two of you trade some perfunctory small talk about the weather before you can slip away. 

Forgot to ask her name. Damnit.

Elevator ride up, up, third floor. There’s so much of the new Ranger’s Headquarters you still haven’t touched but you’re getting to know this route like the back of your hand. Come in, say hello, hang out in the break room until Julia or Herald or whomever you are meeting on any given day.

Oh, that’s another knot to untangle. You’ve ditched Herald’s training sessions for over a month now. Is he going to want you to start training him again? Do you want to? It’d be one more way to keep busy at least.

As you walk down the hallway, Chen steps out of a conference room, a packet of paper folded under one arm. Is he going to let you pass without comment? Please let you pass without comment.

He stops, blocking the hallway, staring you down.

It was, you suppose, too much to hope for.

“Becker.” He nods at you, mouth in his trademark tight frown. His thoughts are… hard to read, distracted from the present moment. Still on whatever meeting he just finished?

“Chen.” You answer back, crossing your arms.

“I was wondering why you had stopped showing up, but I see you’ve returned yet again. Like a bad penny.” His stance is stiff, drawing the conference room door closed behind him. Interesting. Something going on in there he doesn’t want you to see? You’re not picking up anyone else in that room.

Just shake your head. “Disappointed?”

“Hardly.”

“Well too bad for y– w–w–wait, what?” You misheard that, right?

“…certain people have grown accustomed to seeing you around.” Chen shifts his weight, uncomfortable as he talks. “I’ll be glad to have Herald and Charge off my back.”

Ah. He’s thinking about the other Rangers. Okay. Everything’s still right with the world. “Well b–breathe easy tough guy. I haven’t fallen off any– any more buildings.”

Chen presses his mouth into a tight line, staring you down. “Are you… doing okay?”

Again, where is this coming from? “I’m… f–fine?”

“You look like shit, Becker.”

Quickly pulling your hand away from the scar on your face, you narrow your eyes at him. “Just had a, uh– bad cold is all. Thanks for your c–c–concern Chen.”

“Hrm.” Chen steps aside to let you pass him in the hallway. “Here for Ortega today?”

“Am I really th–that predictable?”

Is that a smile on Chen’s face? No, that’s crazy. Chen doesn’t give you the dignity of a proper response, heading down the hallway towards the elevator you came out of. You huff to yourself as you watch him leave. Seriously, what was that about?

Whatever.

Whatever’s going on with Chen, it is – hopefully – not your problem. You’ve got enough of those on your plate without piling on more.

The break room is mercifully free of anyone this time. You stretch your arms out, up and over your head as you suppress a yawn. It’s safer to wait for Julia to fetch you, but you’ve half a mind to go looking. Waiting around means time to think. And thinking is the enemy right now.

So don’t.

Don’t think. Pace the room, check the windows, still nothing, no one watching. There hardly ever is. Maybe a starry-eyed kid, once or twice, but not the kind of people you need to worry about. You crack open the fridge for want of anything to do, cool air running down your front as you lean in, sort through the shelves.

Someone’s gone through and labeled them recently. That’s a good idea. Keep everything tidy. Chen, Ortega, Becker, Sullivan, Smith – wait. You run your name over the taped down notecard with your name on it. It’s not a full shelf, more like a basket stuck left on Ortega’s. But that’s your last name alright. There’s some chocolate bars, an apple, one of those pre-packaged salad dinners, a pair of empty plastic containers for keeping leftovers. “W–what the fuck…?”

“Hey.” You jump with a start, slamming the fridge door shut behind you as you spin on your heel. Argent crosses her arms, unimpressed. “If I catch you stealing my food, you’re. dead.”

Fuck! Letting Lady Argent sneak up on you? What the hell is wrong with you? You step away from the fridge as Argent pushes past you. “W–w–wouldn’t dream of it…”

Argent ignores you, pulling out a box of leftovers and sticking them in the microwave. It doesn’t take long for the smell to start filling the room. Chinese takeout? She keeps her back to you, watching the digital timer tick down.

“So, how’s the project going?”

You wince. Does she not get how risky it is to even dance around the subject? “It’s… going. Maybe a month?”

“Maybe?”

“D–d–depends how much time I have for working on it.”

“Good, I’m getting sick of this.”

You don’t hide your frown. “Sick of what?”

“None of your business.” Argent huffs. “Surprised you’ve got the guts to show up here again.” There’s a transparent change of subject if you’ve seen one. What does Argent want the machine for anyway?

Nervous energy vibrates through you, a struggle to keep your face neutral. “Y–yeah, well… Jul– Ortega k–k–keeps asking me to help with shit, so…”

Argent lets out a sharp ‘hah!’

“W–what?”

“Does she know?”

It takes a moment to catch on to her meaning, at which point your eyes go wide as you wave your hands. “What? N–no! No way!”

“Typical.” Argent raps her fingers against the countertop. “You’ve been a disappointment since the day we met.”

“Excuse me?’ Okay, of all the ways you expected this conversation to go, this was not one  you had anticipated.

“You have no idea how much Julia talked you up, do you?” The microwave beeps but Argent makes no move to open it. “Sidestep always came through, always saved the day. Always had some masterplan to get the bad guy and keep everyone safe, on and on.”

“W–what? That’s crazy, I–”

“You were years dead by the time I met her, and she was still trying to get over you.” Argent huffs. “She’d throw herself into fights like she was expecting to die.” She shakes her head, pulling out her leftovers from the microwave and stirring the noodles before popping the container back in. “On the really bad days, she’d get blackout drunk. One of us would have to escort her home.”

You pull back, away from Argent, as you cross your arms. There’s a coldness to the woman’s thoughts that makes you tense up. The kind of cold that can sublimate into fury at a moment’s notice.

“When Julia called me out of the blue saying she had found Sidestep of all people in some random diner, I didn’t know what to expect. I was… terrified.”

“Why are you t–t–telling me this?”

“Shut up, I’m not done. I’ve been thinking about what I was going to say to you all week.” Argent cuts you off. The microwave beeps again, and gets ignored. “After… you know,” Argent growls. “I had never felt so… Helpless. And then Julia’s legendary asshole – who I could never measure up to – was back from the dead to poke around my head and judge me?” She shakes her head, pulling out her leftovers again and finally turning to face you. “Only, guess who Sidestep turns out to be?”

You try to meet her glare, pulling from your own anger. It’s not enough. You look away first. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what I expected, honestly. Say you’re sorry all you want, that doesn’t fix anything.”

“I–I’m trying, okay?”

“Sure you are.” Argent’s voice drips in sarcasm. “If you’re actually sorry, then return what you made me steal.”

Panic at last overrides shame. “Are you c–c–crazy?” You hiss, glancing towards the door.

Argent rolls her eyes. “Relax. I turned off the surveillance equipment before coming in here. And anyway, you could tell if someone’s coming.”

“Not Ortega!”

That gets a raised eyebrow. “Not Ortega?”

Oh. Wait. Did she not know? “Shit.” You stare Argent down. “Uh, it’s n–n–nothing.”

“No, it’s not, what’s this about Ortega?”

“It’s nothing!” You shake head. 

“You’re going to destroy Julia, you know that right?” You flinch at that. Like you haven’t had that line of through running through your head nonstop even before you slept with her. “Unless that’s the whole point?” Argent narrows her eyes at you as she leans back against the windowpane. “Because don’t think I’m just going to sit around while you hurt my friends.”

“Are you two talking about me?”

You jump, heart pounding as you turn to see Julia enter the room. When did the door open? Surprised by people walking up behind you twice in one day? That’s three times too many. “J–j–julia! Hi!!”

“Hey Ari, sorry to keep you waiting.” She pulls you in to a hug. It is mercifully, painfully, short. She raises a hand towards Argent. “Hey Angie.”

“Julia.” She looks pointedly at the two of you, Julia’s arm around your shoulder still. “You two made up, then?”

“Uh–” Julia glances down at you.

You can feel your face heat up as you push yourself free. “It–it–it–it’s not like that!”

There’s a sharp edge to Argent’s smile. “Oh, so you’re still fighting? I told her the dance thing was a dumb idea.”

“Uh, hey Angie,” Julia rubs the back of her neck, avoiding you. “Let’s not get into that right now?”

A strange calm settles over your panicked heartbeat. “Julia…” You strain to keep your voice steady. “W–w–what were you t–talking to Lady Argent about…?”

Her response is immediate. “Nothing!”

Argent’s laughter is as loud as it is alarming. “She wanted my romantic advice, because you and I are both, and I quote: ‘loner types.’”

Wait. Julia asked her what? But Argent knows that you’re–

But then she–

But why would–

What?

You cover your face. This isn’t really happening right? Are you really this close to absolute disaster? No. No. This can’t be right. You’re missing something here, right? Have to be. Right??

Next to you, Julia groans. “Angie, that was in confidence…”

Okay, that’s enough.

You grab Julia by the arm and drag her out into the hallway with you. Try not to listen to Argent’s hyena laugh echoing after. Julia lets you pull her into an empty office, an apologetic smile on her face as you shut the door. “I c–c–can’t believe you.”

“In my defense, you two never talk. I thought I was safe there.” Julia rubs at the back of her neck, watch you pace the width of the office. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I…” You stop, the anger already draining out of you. If it was even anger in the first place. “…you d–didn’t do anything wrong.” The quicker you can move past this whole mess the better.

Julia tilts her head. “Wait So… are we not fighting then?”

“I–I–I guess not…?” You run a hand over your face, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I just– I panicked I guess.” You pull your purse in front of you and fiddle with the straps before you start messing with your make-up any further.

There’s silence and then the creaking of wood shifting as Ortega sits down on top of the desk. “Hey, Ari…?”

You look up at her. She doesn’t quite meet your eyes, an uncharacteristically vulnerable expression on her face. “No sé cómo decir esto… You’re not like, ashamed to be seen with me, are you?”

Woah, what? “W–w–where did that come from?”

“I know you’ve got other–” she glances at you, “–very mysterious reasons, but… You don’t want to be out in public with me, keep trying to ghost me, don’t like public PDAs, and I know you said you aren’t mad about me talking with Angie, but you definitely aren’t okay with it either so…?” Her hands grip the edge of the desk on either side of her. “Did I mention not wanting to screw this up, before? Because I really don’t want to screw this up.”

You pull your shawl tight around you, a pain in chest and behind your eyes. “W–w–what? N–n-n-no! Julia, I–“ You can’t stop stop yourself from giggling, which only makes you more nervous. “I have a lot of… p–p–problems but that is– that is not one of them. I swear.” You chew the inside of your check. “Hey, I–I–I promised that’d I go out somewhere fancy with you, remember?”

Julia lets out the breath she’d been holding and smiles at you, her confidence slowly returning. “That’s true, I still can’t believe you said that.”

“W–w–well, I can’t believe it either. But I d–did and I will.” The idea just scares the living hell out of you, you don’t add.

“Thank you. I knew I was worrying over nothing,” her smile broadens into a grin, “imagine someone being ashamed of being seen with this?” She gestures towards herself.

Shaking your head, you try not to smile. “Okay, th–that sounds more like my favorite smug idiot.”

“Oh, I’m your favorite am I?”

“Got a whole list.”

“Who’s second place?”

“Also you.” Julia takes a light swing at you, easily dodged even while giggling again. “Actually, the – the whole list is just you.”

[chaniters]

Empowered

Exploring some of Sidestep’s possible reasons for hating Ortega and Chen, after some discord chat! What if Sidestep just decided to turn the page on them?

Spoilers ahead!

Also, MortumStep :D

_____________________________________

“Do you really hate them so much?”

“Wha…? Yes. You have no idea”

“But you used to work with them… they were your friends”

“Well, they stopped being friends after they abandoned me in that hell-hole for seven years I think.”

“To be fair, there was no way for them to know…”

“They knew enough Mortum. A reporter spouted the whole truth at Ortega at my funeral and they didn’t listen to him. And Chen investigated, and he said nothing about what he found. And all Ricardo did, in the end, was get drunk.”

“He was in grief…”

“Well his supposed grief did me no good while I was busy being a lab-rat, did it?”

“I guess not… What about the other two?”

“What about them?”

“They didn’t do anything to you”

“Argent stabbed me. The other one’s collateral. Let’s just say I don’t like heroes like I used to... They’re all working to keep up this fucked up system anyways”

“I see...” he says cryptically

You sigh tiredly, lifting your gaze from the console before turning.

“What’s on your mind Mortum? I mean I’m about to ask whose side are you on. I thought you hated them too”

“It’s not about them. I’m just trying to learn more about you… I find it hard to understand that you would hate them so much”

“Ugh… ok … look, I trusted these guys, you know? Ortega and Chen. I almost spill all my secrets to Ortega more than once. I thought I was attracted to him at the time…  And I almost died saving him a million times. The Void. The Nanosurge. Heartbreak. Same goes for Chen, I mean he didn’t trust me but I put my life on the line to save him. And what did I get? I got sent back to the pit, that’s what I got.”

“You said Chen investigated”

“Oh. That. Yes, he told me he didn’t believe the reports of my death and started digging into it, and he said he found something and then…” you pause, trying to find the right words.

“And then what?” Mortum asks, closing in, holding your hand, looking at you with concern.

“He stopped looking into it Mortum. He CHOSE to stop looking… He chose to do that.” you look down, trying to keep the tears from his sight. No use, his hand goes to your cheek, clearing them out. “And Ortega... He was the Marshall… He knew how to investigate crimes… and … he just … he didn’t… Even after that reporter told him EVERYTHING, he didn’t listen. He CHOSE to quit, got drunk, forgot about me, slept around… I thought we had something but he just quit on me...“

“You know what the farm can do… Charge’s apartment got bombed once, did he tell you that?”

“Yes… I know that… but… I wouldn’t have quit if it had been the other way around.”

He says nothing. He takes your other hand, holds them together, pulling a chair and sitting next to you. He knows you’re reading his mind right now, and his thoughts are comforting, protective, outraged at what you just said even… And above all, he’s not judging you. You don’t need to read minds to know that, you can see it in his eyes.

Another difference between Mortum and anyone else you met before. His mind isn’t a disorderly mess of mashed up consciousness. He is always in control, and when he’s with you, he goes a great length not to allow careless thoughts to go rampant for you to catch out of context and feel miserable about. He knows how to treat a telepath. He knows how to make his mind a safe place.  

You finally gather the strength to speak again. “They both feel guilty. Ortega tries to make up for it, rekindle what we had, help me all the time whether I want it or not… And Chen is just plain uncomfortable around me because I make him remember all the old times. He’s even thinking he treated me unfairly in the past… acting almost friendly... I don’t know what he found about my death, but I know he thinks if he had said something, things could have gone different, and he didn’t. ... and that… that guilt… it just makes me hate them even more.”

“How so?” Mortum asks, curious.

You swallow before answering “When they took me again… I thought they would rescue me… And of course they didn’t, and years passed. And I started to think It was all my fault… Ortega and Chen were not going to rescue me because I wasn’t worth it. Because I was just a thing, just a piece of government property that no one could ever care about… And when I saw their guilt… I realized it was never like that… They thought I mattered. They thought I was a person… but they just didn’t care ENOUGH. They did care, they just didn’t care enough to try to solve the mystery. Ortega was hurt and didn’t want to dig into it any further. Now he just wants to feel better with himself, that’s why he keeps following me everywhere like some abandoned puppy. Help me now to make up for forgetting about me before.  And Chen, he just doesn’t know what to say to me. And it fucking hurts, you know, to realize the people you trusted only cared to an extent?. Not enough to actually do something, to take the blindfold off their eyes...”

“You know I do care about you, always,” he says both with thoughts and words.

“I know Mortum… that’s… that’s why you’re my favorite Doctor” you say with a tearful smile.

“And you’re my favorite... person” he grins, leaning into your chair for a kiss.

Person. There is no way to think you’re not, at least while Mortum is around. The kiss seems to transport you to a whole new world. Kissing Ortega was madness, but kissing Mortum, it is transcendent. It takes you to a different place… a safe place. It works each time, and he knows it.

You lean back on the chair and close your eyes as the parts.

You never thought it could get so easy to just calm down and juggle strong emotions. But of course, you never had a real caring adult by your side. Someone who you positively knew loved you unconditionally and would be there for you no matter what.

Loving and feeling loved have changed you. Empowered you in a way you never dreamt.

You turn to the screen, pointing at the display showing video of the rangers latest exploits “Those are not my friends.”

“Then, as you would say, Mon Cherie… let’s fuck them up,”

“Woah… you cursed “ you can’t help grinning “... I’m a bad influence”

“Just this once” he grins.

You get up and wrap your arms around him.

“I’m a lucky villain.”

“Not yet. But you will be” he says, pulling you to the bedroom.  

This plan to get rid of the rangers just got infinitely better, you think as you follow him.

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[wesker20]

Fallen Hero 1.5 Episode 3: Old Friends

Spoilers for those who have not read the Alpha.

“Ma chérie, what did you do?” Mortum says while staring at the destroyed taser weapon.

“Me nothing. My boss...” you drag out the silence for a second before finishing with “they fought a polymorph.” Mortum looks at you with raised eyebrows as if a sudden understanding just hit her.

“Oh. Well that’s understandable,” she says while staring at the weapon again. “You want me to fix it?”

“I want you to make it better. More powerful without frying itself.”

Mortum scratches her chin as she thinks. “I could change the power source. You can get it for cheap but it will be bigger. A battery of the same size would be considerably more expensive.”

“You know money is not a problem. Make it the small source.” Almost as if on cue, Mortum turns around and goes to her table.

“If you are willing Ma chérie, it will only take a couple of hours.”

Good to know you think. “By the way,” you begin as you head towards her and walk around the table to face her. “Do you have any information about said polymorph?”

“Maybe, but you are going to have to describe them to me, I’m no psychic.”

“five six, probably five seven, long black hair, thin and wears a red and white skin tight suit.”

Mortum raises her head up for a second as if checking up a mental list. “Red Doll. Doll, for short.”

“Never heard of her.”

“You wouldn’t. She and her partner, The Shine, have only been at this for a couple of months. Newcomers. Right mindset too. It’s better to begin with a partner than alone.” She goes back to working on the taser.

“More like was a good mindset. Mastermind killed Shine last week. Now Doll wants payback.” Mortum chuckles but does not say anything. Probably thinking the same thing you are, Doll is letting her emotions control her and now she’s going after someone above her league. Or so you thought. She did hold her own against you, to say that you got lucky would be an understatement. “Anything else you might have on her. Most of my contacts couldn’t even give me a name.”

“Same boat as you ma chérie. You know how most villains work. They don’t pay attention to newcomers until they become a problem. So very little information on them. On the one hand that’s the advantage of being new.”

And a stupid habit if they ask you. It is precisely for that reason that many heroes get the drop on the top villains many times. They let those heroes grow and become threats. And then they are whining why they lost. “Well she’s a newcomer who held her own against my boss. And Lady Argent.” You emphasize that last part, as if trying to get a reaction out of the doctor.

You do, she raises her eyes to meet yours. “At the same time?” you nod. “Huh, well there you have it ma chérie. It wouldn’t be long now before people start looking her way. Especially if she begins stirring up trouble while searching for your boss.”

“Even so, there’s still the trouble of fighting her. That taser gave her a good shock but according to my boss, Argent was the one who finished it. So any advice?”

“Ice,” she says without even raising her face.

“Ice?” you echo, not exactly sure what she means.

“True, ice is bad for everyone, but polymorphs in particular have a nasty problem with it.”

You stare at her with curiosity. Once she notices she begins explaining.

“A polymorph’s molecules are always in flux, in movement, barely kept together. That is what gives them their elasticity. But freeze them over and the polymorphs are left effectively powerless. Or well it should, in theory.”

“In theory,” you repeat with a frown.

“Polymorphs are rare ma chérie, is not like I can get one to test it out. Dead specimens alone cost a fortune. Enough that I could build your boss twenty identical suits and still have money to spare with how much they cost.”

You sigh. This right here is why you hate fighting polymorphs. Any and all lack of information puts you at a severe disadvantage against them and no matter how hard you try they can get the drop on you without you realizing it. They can be the absolute worst fighters in the world and still kick your ass.

“Can you build an ice gun too that will fit on the suit?” you finally say. You are going to need all the weaponry you can get. Mortum raises her face to meet yours again, one eyebrow raised.

“I could. But that will cost a bit more on top of the taser. And it may take more than a couple of hours.”

“Like I said, money’s not a problem. Do it”

“You are sure your boss will like this?” she asks with slight worry. She has probably worked with other villains that didn’t liked having their weapons tampered with. But you are not as possessive. A suit is just a suit, a tool for your plans, nothing more, there’s no need for sentimental value.

“I know they will.” The certainty of your answer scares even you.

“Understood ma chérie. Just give me a week. Maybe two.” she says with a neutral tone, not giving any emotion away. You nod and bid your goodbyes but just as you get ready to step out Mortum speaks. “I don’t make it a habit of getting into others personal lives ma chérie, but if you don’t mind me asking, why are you so loyal to them?”

“Because they saved my life,” the answer comes out before you can even think. What the hell was that? It’s a good excuse, technically not a lie, and it serves as a very good reason. Still it came out even more genuine than you expected.

“How so?”

“Without them I would have rotten in a hospital bed. Probably would be dead by now. They gave me a second chance. I owe them that.”

You see a flicker of sympathy in her eyes, brief as it is, but you see it staring at your puppet, at you. “Understandable. But remember, loyalty like that can be used, manipulated.”

Jane, you, nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You turn around and head outside, you got far more things to work on. There’s still one more place for you to go. Or rather there’s one more place for Jeremy to go.

Later that afternoon.

You arrive at the Rangers HQ, staring at it as if it was a dangerous cave with a hungry monster waiting for you inside. Only you no longer feel that way. Four months ago, when Ortega brought you here to help with Argent, that’s what you felt, like you were walking into that cave and that monster would devour you. But you managed to step out of there alive, unharmed. Now… now you can stroll into it without a care in the world. It’s so much fun, you beat them, destroyed them. And yet here you are, in their stronghold, with them none the wiser. It takes all of your effort to not smile as you enter. The receptionist recognizes you almost immediately and sends you on your way to the visitor’s area as she passes on the message to Ortega. So many times have you come here that the layout of the first floor and the walk to the visitor’s area has been imprinted in your mind. You wonder if you could eventually get access to other areas but Chen will probably shoot that down faster than Ortega’s nagging.

As you arrive Ortega’s already there, looking as smug as ever and holding a cup next to the fridge. “You know sooner or later people will start getting ideas again,” she says teasing already.

“Oh so you mean that the media would dare to make something out of nothing?” you say with fake shock.

“And like that you ruined the joke.”

“What makes you think that wasn’t my goal?” She punches you slightly on the shoulder before gesturing you to sit.

“So what brought you out of your cave?” she says, still in teasing mode.

“Not much. Just came to check how things were going here. Your numbers aren’t doing very well.”

Ortega chuckles and says “I know. PR has been cranky lately, screaming in our ears.”

“Let me guess,” you clear your throat and continue. “’We need you out there. The public needs to see their heroes together. Stop wasting time and get out there’” you continue imitating them as Ortega breaks into laughter. You were present during several of their arguments back in your Sidestep days. The days where you would just sit with Anathema and crack jokes with one another as the PR guy ranted on and on.

“Pretty much. Though you forgot the part where they fumble their words while Angie glares at them.”

“Speaking of Argent. Did you heard?” you say. Ortega’s groan is all you need to know she has; and she’s not exactly happy.

“I had a chat with her about it.”

“And?” you ask.

“You can’t see it but I have a bruise on my stomach.”

You clear your throats as if imagining how much that hurts. Not that you have to, you know how that feels. “It can’t be so bad can it? I mean it wouldn’t be the first time the Rangers have a minor conflict with other heroes.”

“You are right, but we don’t team up with bad guys when it happens.” There’s a certain venom in that last statement, as if she wants to say more but stops short of just that.

“How’s the girl doing?”

“Red Doll? Fine. Pissed off and almost picked another fight with Angie but fine.”

“Red Doll?” you say with fake obliviousness. You want to know what they know.

“Yeah, she’s new. We have a file on her as just in case we want to recruit her. Though to be honest I doubt she would accept an invitation any time soon.”

“You said it. Argent laid the smack down on her.” Ortega looks at you puzzled. Shit, you slipped up there. “From what I’ve heard,” you add hoping to deflect.

Ortega nods and says "Poor girl lost her boyfriend last week. All because of that cabrón.”

You look at her for a moment. She wants to talk about him, about Mastermind, about you.

“What’s the deal with that guy. Mastermind I mean.”

“Well at first I thought they were just a newcomer, looking to make a name for themselves. I honestly thought they got lucky the first time. But the more I run the museum through my head,” she stops wondering.

“What?” you ask with genuine curiosity. You want to know what she thinks, what she may or may not have on you.

“This guy’s a pro. They aren’t just any newcomer; they know what they are doing. They have experience.” She stares at you as if seeking some sort of confirmation. If you had to guess, this is not her theory, but Steel’s. You should have expected that from him, you were always equally smart, a fact you are not particularly keen on admitting, but if you believe in their position you could figure out this much you should have expected Steel to do the same.

“What you are saying is that they are, what? A villain who changed their shtick?”

“Or maybe a hero too,” Ortega says. You stare at her in the eyes, you see no accusatory glance, no suspicion, nothing. Just honest wonder.

You lean back on the chair, pretending to consider the possibility.

“Honestly it wouldn’t be the first time,” she says and takes a sip. She’s right, many heroes have turned to the dark side before, many of them turning out to be more dangerous than the normal villains. Even some Rangers have. This was before your time but according to Anathema they had a member named Karma who had the power of probability manipulation. She turned bad and nearly killed all of the rangers before she disappeared without a trace. You always wondered if she was taken by the prime directive but never bothered to investigate. It’s none of your problem. Still you can see the mourning on Ortega. If she was talking about someone, it was probably Karma.

“Anyway, enough about that. How are you doing? You look much better,” she says suddenly, looking at you with a smile.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you don’t look as grumpy as you used to.”

“What are you talking about, I’m always grumpy,” you say with fake annoyance and your arms crossed. After a moment you both laugh a bit. It’s so easy, to just lay back and talk and laugh with her, like it used to be. Just you, Ortega, Anathema, and even Steel, just sitting there after a job well done.

Your thoughts are interrupted as you feel someone pass by you and towards the fridge. Argent. You are starting to wonder if there’s some god up there screwing with you. Maybe one day you’ll go take a piss and suddenly hear Argent outside your apartment with how much you bump into her. She seems to not even notice you, and if she does doesn’t seem to care. Both of you stare at her as she opens the fridge and searches. “Hungry?” Ortega asks smiling.

“Dying.” Argent answers with the most pissed off tone you have ever heard her speak in. Then again she seems to always be pissed off. She closes the fridge and walks right pass you with at least, ten snacks.

“You know stress eating is not good for you,” you say jokingly, but she seems to ignore you. You look back at Ortega and say “is she ever going to stop treating me like I’m not here.”

“Eh, give her a couple weeks. She’ll come around.”

“I’ve been coming here for four months.”

“How long did it take you to finally stop ignoring me when we first met?”

You do not answer. Ortega nagged you for months until you finally gave up. You cross your arms again and gruff making Ortega chuckle.

“Where’s Herald by the way? Last time I was here he could not leave my side,” you ask, less out of curiosity and more to change the subject.

“Handling the media. Giving a press conference. You know the usual.”

“It has to do with the fight?” Ortega nods. Of course it does.

“How’s he dealing with the whole thing?” you ask.

“Surviving,” is all she says about it. “You know, I was thinking maybe you could-“

“No.” you cut her off. She really does not know when to give up. This is the eight time she tries to ask you to come back.

In any event you finish the conversation here. You have what you came for. The rangers suspect that Mastermind is a veteran and Red Doll is apparently good enough the Rangers have been considering her for recruitment. Neither of those two things are good news. So you give your goodbyes and go. Time to plan out your next move.

Night.

Sitting on your bed you think about the events two nights ago. There are many things to consider. Argent was clearly after you, and so is Red Doll. Then there’s the Army of Mastermind; someone tipped them off your crew was coming and although they got out of there alive, it doesn’t change the fact that whoever did it may try it again. And you have to be prepared for that. But how do you fight a mystery foe? Suddenly one of your phones rings, the Mastermind phone. Only Pelayo and Rosie have that number and they are ordered to only use it in emergencies.

“Yes,” you say, your voice changed on the other end of the line to sound like your monotone heart shaking voice that comes out of your mask.

“Hello there Mastermind.” That’s neither Rosie nor Pelayo.

“Who is this?” you ask in your most commanding tone.

“Already forgot about me huh? I don’t blame you, last we saw each other, Alpha was reeducated, and you escaped.”

Your eyes open wide open. Alpha, you haven’t heard that name in well over a decade, not since, since… your days in the Farm. She was your leader, the leader of your unit, another re-gene. And, like Ortega, you cared about her.

“Who. Is. This?” You say with barely restrained rage. This person knows, they know who, what you are. They know about your past, enough that they know about Alpha.

“Let’s just say I’m a fan of yours.

“What type of fan?”

“The type that likes to see how you handle yourself.”

“You tipped off the Army,” you say. You don’t know how but you did. If they know this much, they must have known about your plans too.

“And I also tipped the polymorph too. And the Ranger. And you.”

“What?” you ask. What do they mean? They tipped you off too?

“I’m the one that passed on the information onto your contacts. The one who gave you the location of the Army.”

“Why?”

“I’ll let you know. Eventually. For now, just turn on the TV.”

You do as they say not much choice on the matter. Immediately you see an entire street filled with people, not just any people, gang members. The Army of Mastermind.

“How do you like your Army o great Mastermind?” the voice says with mockery.

“I don’t want it. They are loud and disorganized.”

“Then why don’t you organize them? I’m pretty sure they’ll follow you.”

“Too risky. Too many mouths to keep quiet.”

“Aaah, so a control freak is what you are. Good to know. Alright Beta-“

You cut it off “Don’t call me that,”

“Mastermind, All I want is to see you shine.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Trust issues? I don’t blame you.”

You clench your fist, squeeze the phone and ask once again “Who. Are. You.?”

“I’m the voice of your consciousness,” and the line goes dead. You lay down the phone and stare at the TV. Riot, the Army is rioting, burning cars everywhere, police overwhelmed. This will bring unwanted attention. But that’s not what has you sweating, that’s not what has your heart beating a million miles a second, is the fact that they knew, they know about your past, who you were, who you really are. Beta…

Unit Beta 010, led by unit Alpha 203 of the infiltration and extraction unit, also known as the Cuckoos. Your unit, the unit you broke apart, that you destroyed, by making one stupid mistake: caring.

[erintoknow]

Everything Breaks in Me

i’m on a roll this weekend fam; fallen hero fanfiction. this one is probs spoilers for being inspired by a scene(s) from the retribution alpha. we’ve got chargestep and also there’s chen, and some Content Warning for suicidal thoughts 3.8k words [ao3]

title pulled from [Wolf by alicebanD]

–––

You breath a sigh of relief as Herald shuts the door behind him. He’s not that young, but just the air he has around him makes you feel decrepit by comparison. To say nothing of the stars in his eyes, plain to see in every two sentence exchange with the kid. Try not to think about the limp in his gait, his preference to hover over walking, the night at the Gala.

Damnit. How are you going to take them down for good if a broken leg is enough to make you feel like shit? These people aren’t your friends, your allies. They’ll turn on you the second they know the truth. That was true before Puppetmaster hit the papers, and it’s only become more true now even as everyone’s arguing conflicting names for your villain identity.

Something like you can’t have allies, never mind friends.

You can’t afford to forget that.

Not again.

You can’t go back.

Not again.

Glance around the break room, no point trying to raid the fridge while you wait for Ortega. You need the time to figure out how you’ll approach that conversation. Things have been… strange since the Gala. Just thinking about her is enough to bring on the nausea. The hospital, the beach… how can she not see you for what you are? How is she not repulsed?

———

The Los Diablos beach is more stone than sand. One of the many lasting scars of the disaster that killed Los Angeles, a city you’ve only seen in photographs and old movies. When you first came here, over a decade ago, the bay still had the metal skeletons of ruined buildings rising out of the sea. It looks like they’ve finally cleared them all out now.

“Are you okay?” It’s Ortega’s fault you’re out here. You don’t know what to make of that.

You don’t understand, don’t understand your own body’s reaction to her. How you’re all your higher reasoning seems to go out the window around her. Is what is was like before? Were you always this bad around Ortega or is this a new development? So many frayed, half-forgotten memories, and which ones are even real or just desperate dreams?

You can’t afford to be like this, can’t afford to lose control.

You lost control and broke Herald’s leg. Lost control and didn’t properly finish Charge off. You’re going to fall prey to the same problems you’ve watched countless other villains fall to. At this rate you won’t even last long enough to register as a blip in the steamroller the Directive has poised to flattened all dissenters

Fuck.

“Ari!” Ortega snaps her fingers and the sound makes you jerk your head towards her, startled out of your brooding. “Are you okay?” She’s watching you, brows knit in worry, and you feel sick. 

You wince, “I’m fine,” shoot a glance her direction, “really.”

“Uh-huh. Liar.” She shifts position, leaning against the guard rail, moves a little closer to you. “What are you thinking about so hard?” The sun’s right in her face, lighting her up. Is she frowning or squinting, you’re not sure.

You pull your head away from her, stare out across the water. “I don’t know.” You run your hands up your arms, even under all the fabric you can make out the little bumps and divots from the scars.

“You don’t know?” Ortega taps you on the shoulder with the back of her hand. A fleeting touch but it makes your heart jump.

“W-would you rather I lied?” You stretch your face into a smile.

———

You run your hands through your hair. Maybe you can help yourself to some hot chocolate. Get your hands something to do before you dig a hole in your skin. You drift over to the coffee collection, flip a finger through the bags looking for the coco. 

It would be easier if you could just cut contact with Ortega completely. Just fucking ghost the fuck out of Julia. But, one, that would just get Ortega hounding your heels and two, would lose you access to the Rangers. Maybe if you hadn’t kissed her in the hospital. A moment of weakness you couldn’t afford.

You’ve been having a lot of those lately.

Well, you know what they say; no plan survives contact with the enemy intact. 

You’ve just finished pouring yourself a mug of hot water and coco powder when the door opens. “So.” Chen announces as he steps into the break room room, leaving the door open behind him. “You’re back.”

You settle against the window pane, cross your legs at the knee as you lean back. Make it clear you’re not about to leave. “I thought we already got past this part, Chen.” You hold the mug tight to your chest, one hand spinning the little red stirrer stick round and round.

You pick up a burst of frustration, but Chen’s face betrays none of it. “You were very insistent before on being retired. And yet,” Chen stoops down to search through the refrigerator. “And yet, here you are again.”

You take a sip, ignoring the burn on your tongue. “It’s a free country, Chen,” you lie. “You’re the marshal, if really you want me out you could just have be barred from the building.” Maybe you’re playing your hand a little strong here but you can’t keep having this conversation with Chen. It’s exhausting.

He pulls out a squeeze bottle and shuts the fridge door as he stands up. “I could,” Chen concedes, and for a moment your heartbeat quickens. Is he seriously going to call your bluff and how you tossed out? Chen sighs and rubs his nose. “But I won’t. You aren’t a threat.”

You blink. “I think that might be nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

Chen’s mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile. “You aren’t a threat yet.”

“There we go.”

“You haven’t tried to ‘improve’ the coffee machine, for example.”

You close your eyes and rest your head back against the glass. “Jesus Christ. Are you all still holding that against me?”

———

“It’s okay.” Ortega’s hand presses into your shoulder and you freeze up. “It’s over. We’re still here.”

“What?” You breathe out.

“The Nano-surge?” Ortega points across the bay with her other hand. The crest of land, still oddly clear of anything but grass and now shrubs. “Ten years this year.”

You blink, try to relax. “Oh.” Swallow down the tightness in your throat. “Oh… can you believe it?”

That gets a laugh from her. She takes her hand from your shoulder and rubs the sleeve of her arm, the one you know must still have patches of mismatched skin where the grafts didn’t take correctly. “I really thought that was it for me…”

Something in your chest twists and you have to rub at your eye. “I’m glad I saved you back then.” You say, and to your surprise find it’s still true.

“Yeah, me too.”

———

You hear Chen sigh, and suddenly he sounds very, very tired. “Is that really what you think this is about?”

You narrow your eyes at Chen, staring him down from across the room. “Then explain to me, Chen. What ‘is this about’ then?”

Chen meets your glare head-on and you have to will yourself not to break eye-contact. “I meant what I said before. I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

“There’s ‘but’ in there somewhere–”

“But–”

“Yeah, there we go.”

“It doesn’t change the reality, that for the rest of us, you did die. You were dead for seven years Becker. And now you think you can just, what?” Chen’s frown deepens. “Come back like nothing happened?”

Something between nausea and fury bubbles up in your throat and it’s all you can do not to throw your mug across the the room at him. “You have no fucking idea what I went through Chen! So back the fuck off!”

The silence stretches into seconds, then a minute, then “It was that bad, huh?”

Fucking hell piss goddamnit the bastard got you again.

“I’m not fucking tell you anything.” You clench your jaw, don’t look at him. Don’t look at his stupid face. Don’t peek at his stupid trap thoughts.

“You should tell somebody.”

———

“I still get nosebleeds sometimes,” you admit. “Not as often… but ever since then.”

“Yeah?”  Ortega moves closer to you, shoulders touching. So close. Too close. “Have you ever thought to see a doctor about it?”

“Ortega, please,” you arch an eyebrow, the smile on your face turning genuine. “Have you met me?”

“Ah-hah, the real reason you retired: fear of doctors.”

You laugh. “You’ve found me out.” Without really thinking about it you press your shoulder back against her’s. Enjoy the warmth of the falling sun against the cool of the salt air. “You ought to think about it too.”

“What? Retire?”

“There’s plenty of other people that could save the world, you know.” You bite your lip. “It doesn’t have to be you.” You wish she’d stop. Let it go. Don’t.. don’t put herself in danger like that again.

“Hah. Well.” Ortega straightens up, pulling away from you. “I think saving the entire world might be beyond my pay grade…” She steals a glance at you from the corner of her eye. “I’ll be happy if I can just save people.”

You turn away from her, shift down on the railing. “What about stopping them?” You can feel the railing shift as she turns to you but you don’t look back.

“You know there’s only one I care about.”

“Really.”

“Well, alright.” She sighs. “There’s Hollow Ground and then there’s Banshee.”

“Ghost.” You correct her.

She blinks. “They changed their name again?”

Oh.

Shit.

You shrug, try to play it off like it was nothing and steal a glance at her. “That’s what the paper said this morning.”

“Whoever they are,” You can feel Ortega’s eyes on the side of your face. “They need to be stopped.”

———

You glare into your mug of hot chocolate. “Why do you even give a damn Chen.” If you had heat vision, the cup would be boiling.

“The way I see it, Becker, I’m wondering the same thing about you. You keep fixing little things around here, offering advice to Ortega,” Chen takes a pull from his squeeze bottle. “You act like you hate it, but you listen to and answer all of Herald’s questions. Argent’s the only one you’ve really avoided.”

“I just–” you hiss, frustrated to be on the back-foot once again. “If Ortega’s going to keep calling me over, I might as well make myself useful.”

Chen is staring straight at you and you have to hold your mug with both hands to keep them from shaking. “You asked me before, about choosing between two futures. If you want to retire Ariadne, then retire. Don’t use Ortega as an excuse to drag you into a half-life. That’s not fair to either of you.”

You tighten your grip on the mug, grind your teeth. “But why do you care?”

“You mean besides Ortega being my friend?” Chen’s voice drops as he talks. “Because I don’t understand why you do.”

———

“But–” you swallow the words in your throat, try again, “but why does it need to be you?”

Ortega’s eyes are still boring a hole through you. “They made it personal.”

You close your eyes, try not to think about her looking at you. “It doesn’t– it doesn’t have to be. There’s other heroes, and– and– and it didn’t go well for you the last time.” You grip the railing tight, rub your hands against the metal. “I worry about you.”

“You don’t need to.” You open your eyes and she’s smiling at you, confident, and there’s something about her eyes, wrinkles casting shadow in the sun. Whatever seven years might have done to Ortega, it hasn’t damaged her ability to look stunning in the spotlight.

You collapse against the railing, chin on metal. “I keep trying to tell myself, and it hasn’t helped.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” she laughs. “When did you get to be such a mom?”

You groan, a sound that turns into more an anguished noise than you had intended. “You don’t– you don’t get it.”

Everything she’s ever worked for: a lie. A lie you need to destroy, burn down to the ground. Yourself included. What would she do if you came clean right now? Right here? Zap you and turn you back in? Kill you? If you really believed she’d actually kill you, maybe you’d tell her. Let her do the thing you keep chickening out of. Take the choice out of your hands.

“You keep saying I don’t get it, Ari.” Ortega’s voice dips, hurt? Serious? “So, explain.”

———

“I– I– I just…” Are you sick? Mad? Both? What is Chen’s fucking deal? You need to go on the offensive again before he drives you from the building. “Look.” You raise a hand towards him, still not looking in his direction. “It’s obvious you guys are in trouble. I… I don’t want the Rangers to fall apart.”

Is that the truth or a lie? You’re not sure.

“Kind of you.” Chen’s voice is deadpan. “I think I know more about teamwork than you do.”

“Just– I might not have joined but– but that doesn’t mean we didn’t all make a good team.”

A wave of want and nostalgia seizes your heart.

If you could only go back to how things were before. Anathema and you pranking Steel, giving Sentinel a thumbs up. Talking with Sunstream about her garden. The nights with Ortega, her watching you at Derby games, the celebratory dinners or the consolatory milkshakes. Making sure Ortega got home safe after a hard fight. Fixing her hair for her. Helping to stitch her back up until the medics could come. Being her sounding board as she butted heads with PR and city officials. So many other little things you’re sure you’ve forgotten…

It’s all gone now. You’ll never get it back.

A lie. A dream.

And when you woke up–

“I wish you would have.” Chen says, pulling you out of your reverie.

Wait.

“What? J-joined?” Seriously? 

“Yes, I wish you had.” When you look at Chen, he’s no longer staring you down, instead looking past you, out the window.

“I… I wouldn’t do the background check, you know that.”

He looks back to you and now it’s your turn to look out the window. “And you wonder why I didn’t trust you.”

“Not– not everyone is tight with the U.S. Government, you know.” You have to take a breath, scratch your fingers against the sides of the mug. “That doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

“The chances increase.”

You bite your lip a little too hard, wince at the pain. From the very beginning Chen has been trying to push you out. Reminding you that you don’t belong. Can’t belong. “But they… they might have enemies.”

———

“Talk to me. Make me get it. Please.” Ortega’s voice by your ear is too much. You’ve got to… you’ve got to move. Get out. If only it was as simple as running away. 

You test the railing in your hand. “W-why don’t we, uh, why don’t we walk?” You glance behind you, then up and down the promenade. No obvious witnesses you can detect. You vault over the railing and pick your way down across the rocks of the jetty. Behind you, the sounds of Ortega scrabbling over the railing after you.

“Not planning on a swim, I hope.” Ortega picks her way from stone to stone after you.

You shake your head, glance back while you let her catch up. “I don’t swim,” not in this body, “I– I just wanted privacy.”

Ortega looks at you, not quite smiling, not quite frowning. The wind pulls at your hair, clothes. “Not much more private than this, ‘less you count the seagulls.”

You take a breath, try to steady yourself. “Look Ortega, I– I…”

———

Chen takes a long drink from his squeeze bottle. Finally, he says “I’m sorry.”

You look up from your mug. “You’re… you’re sorry?” You choke back a laugh. “For what?”

There’s a… you can’t read the expression on his face. Something you don’t think you’ve seen before on his face. Regret? “For a lot of things,” He says. “I…”

“W-what?” 

“I went looking for you.”

You manage to put the mug down on the table before you drop it. He can’t– He can’t really mean? But? Why? What did he? But then? You cough, run a hand down your leg, pressing familiar patterns. “Didn’t they tell you I was dead?”

“Yes.” Steel nods. “I had a bad feeling. Something didn’t add up.” He shakes his head. You don’t think you’ve seen him this tense, this nervous in a long, long time. “They tried to tell me it was trauma from whatever the hell Heartbreak was.”

“An experiment, or…” you pull your arms tight against yourself. This is dangerous territory. “That’s my guess anyway.”

Steel doesn’t look directly at you, but his frown intensifies, eyebrows dip down. “You think someone… did that on purpose?”

“Uh– maybe not on… purpose.” You hug yourself tight, fall back against the wall again. “But they… they had been kept somewhere. There was…” You have to swallow down the bile. “Still equipment attached. Med-medical.”

“Huh. Interesting.” If Steel notices that you’re literally trying to hold yourself together, he doesn’t comment. 

You furrow your brows, clinging to the twinge of irritation at being ignored. Better that then– “What? It’s interesting there’s something more than just a screwed up boost?”

Steel finally looks back at you. His frown doesn’t let up. “There’s always something more to everything in this city. You know that. It’s just not smiled on to look into it.”

“You did anyway.”

“I needed answers.”

“You’ve always been nosey.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You take a breath. “Well? Did you find any?” It’s like peering over the edge of a window. Testing the air.

“I… I didn’t find you.” He glances away from your face, towards the break room door.

“So you found something then.”

“Bits… Pieces.” He admits and your heart freezes.

———

You wilt, look away. This isn’t the time. Sooner or later you’ll have to give up this delusion but you can’t bring yourself to jump just yet. Just… Just a little longer. One more day even. “I have my reasons. I’m sorry. I– I can’t talk about it.”

Ortega watches as your carefully balance yourself from one rock to the next, the wind blowing your shawl around your body in waves that mimic the sea. “Not ever?”

You wince. “N-n-not yet.”

“So… someday then?”

You grit your teeth, hop rocks, teeter for a second. “D-don’t push your luck, Ortega.”

She hops to a rock next to you, flashes you a smile. “And why not?”

“One day you’ll…” You pause to pull your shawl tighter against yourself. “You’ll get more than you can handle.”

———

“Who’s Chelsea?” Steel watches you, and you have to struggle to keep your face blank. Swallow down the burst of panic. The sudden urge to run, to jump.

“Nobody important,” you lie. Even as the words leave your mouth you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he knows that you know he doesn’t believe you. You close your eyes. “Was that really it? The best you could do? Some old ghost?”

“There was more, a lot of dead ends.” Chen shakes his head. “Enough that I stopped looking.”

That gets you to look at him again and he won’t meet your eyes. “What? Why?” A bitter twinge in your stomach churns at your throat. “I thought you didn’t like mysteries?”

“I don’t. But… I needed to put the team first.”

You can feel the frustration bubbling again. The team first. The team you weren’t a part of because of a stupid piece of paper. The team he just told you he wished you joined. “Fuck that noise.” You hiss. “What aren’t you saying?”

“Plenty.” Steel steps away from the table, back towards the door. “Maybe you should ask yourself why.”

“Asshole.”

“If you want to know so badly, Becker, just read it from my mind.” He only breaks eye contact with you to put his drink back in the fridge.

“I’ve told you it doesn’t work like that.”

“And I’ve told you, I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you, Steel.” You pick up your mug again and take sip. Make a face and curse. It’s gone cold.

He gives you one last look back as he leaves the room. Chen’s face is a careful blank. “If I see Ortega I’ll be sure to tell her you’re here.”

———

“You’d have to start talking to me first.” Ortega sounds tired as she says it, and something in your heart or your gut or both twists at the tone of her voice.

“I’m– I’m talking.” You hold your shawl shut tight, wrapped around you.

She catches you eye, tries on a smile. “It’s a start.” She holds out a hand towards you. “Well. Since we’re talking, I suppose I should tell you…”

You look at her hand, then up at her face, the smug smile slowly starting to grow there. “What?”

“I’d really like to kiss you.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“What?” She raises an eyebrow. “Am I not sexy enough without 36 stitches and having lost a pint of blood first?”

You can feel the heat in your face. “Th–th–that’s not it! I mean…” A jumble of words get caught in your throat and for a moment you open your mouth and no sound comes out.

Ortega laughs, “You okay there Ari?”

You take a breath, glare at her. “Don’t make me push you.”

She puts a hand to her chest in mock shock. “My Ari?” –You heart skips a beat– “Never.” She offers her hand, shaking it. “Well?”

A dozen different alarm bells are screaming in your head in all the ways this is even worse an idea than last time. “F-f-f-fine.” You take her hand, letting your shawl flap loose in the breeze again. And you’ve jumped the ledge. “M-maybe I’d.. I’d like that.”

Ortega laughs, “Ariadne!” You could cry at the way she says your name if you weren’t already straining to hold yourself together. “I’m not going to shoot you.” She hops onto your rock.

“Just. Shut up.” You hiss, face burning. You grab her shoulders as she pushes against you. To steady her or yourself? Both? “If… If you drop me–”

She pulls you in. “I won’t. Never.”

It’s when she dips you low for the second kiss you remember you still haven’t figured out how to resolve the whole love triangle with Jane.

[chaniters]

Epilogue

Post-Retribution AU (Chapter 9)

______________________________

An epilogue for this series. It was a lot of fun to write! Hope you enjoyed it!

Heroes and Villains receive a second chance, after Heartbreak is finally defeated. 

Spoilers!

______________________________

“Sidestep! Are you ok?”

His body was shaking uncontrollably and seemed to be about to fall down as Charge got hold of him. “Cyrus... it’s over. He’s gone. You’re fine”

He didn’t seem to be saying anything resembling words. Ortega quickly pulled up his mask, revealing the tears. He was clearly having a panic attack.

His friend set him down over a corner, sitting by his side, trying to calm him down, full of worry. He wrapped an arm around him, letting him cry over his shoulder.

The older man couldn’t take his eyes off them, and the tenderness of the gesture.

Charge and Sidestep. Inseparable. Trusted allies. Heroes. Closest of friends, and maybe even more. All is how it used to be, but he’s an outsider now.

Just a witness.   

What about the other one? He wasn’t even sure what he should call him.

412? Cyrus? Retribution? Heartbreak?

No. There was only one real word for him in the end.

Monster.

He looked down the window. The familiar ambulance was already there. His skull was cracked over the pavement, his body in an unnatural pose. Unlike Sidestep, Heartbreak wasn’t wearing a protective suit and didn’t survive the fall. He was clearly and irrefutably dead.

The false paramedics hurried to take him away. The sense of relief that came as they did so was a surprise. He couldn’t help realize he had grown afraid of him too.

“Is everyone alright?” Steel entered the room, very pale, his face covered in sweat.

His gaze went from the man on the Raincoat to Charge and Sidestep, sitting on the corner. Sidestep was still whimpering inaudibly.

“It was a telepath… tried to make Cyrus kill himself. I think he wanted to do the same to all of us… like he did to the civilians”

Steel grimaced

“It’s over” Charge managed to speak “The… the new guy, he...” he said looking at his older self “...he pushed him off that window. “

“Oh,” Steel said taking the newsin. “I’m… sorry… I couldn’t… I just couldn’t” He started, obviously ashamed he wasn’t there. “I’m sorry… I should have been here but..”

“Don’t” Sidestep pulled from Charge’s shoulder, taking a few long breaths before speaking, his voice still shaky “Don’t be sorry.  We’re lucky to be alive...That psychic was so fucked up… things like this shouldn’t even exist. It’s wrong.. They shouldn’t… ” and he starts breaking down again.

Charge pulled him closer once more, repeating reassuring phrases about everything going to be fine. Over, and over, as many times as he needed to hear it.

“I’ll be right back” Steel spoke with sudden worry. Leaving the three of them alone in the room.

“Who are you?” Charge asked, lifting his gaze. “Are you new?”

He stood motionless. Petrified. He wasn’t sure what to tell his own old self about this.

“Yes. I’m new”

“What do we call you?” Sidestep asked.

He fought the urge to just run away. This was too fucking much. Like he was an intruder in someone else’s story.

“I’m fine! I swear I’m fine!” The familiar voice caught him unprepared. He forced himselt to look away not to show them his tears as Steel came back up helping Anathema walk.

“Geez, I told you I’m fine Grandpa! I’m invulnerable!”

“I know. But I saw how it shook you. And I know what it did to me. So stop the bullshit and don’t pretend you’re fine!” Steel retorts.

 “Fine!” Anathema complains. “Ok, maybe I’m not that fine. Maybe just 40% fine ok? But still functional. And I’m still going to get over it. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” Steel said giving him a grin.

“You guys ok there?” He asked Sidestep and Charge.

Charge looks at Sidestep, and he gives Anathema a weak nod for both of them.

“New guy shoved the freak down the window and saved the day” Charge step summed it up in a few words.

And then all their gazes turned towards the old man.

“So, how do we call you, new guy?” Anathema asked.

He tried to speak but no words come out.

“Are you alright sir?”  Steel inquired. Always worrying about civilians..

No, he wasn’t alright. He was very NOT alright. He had just killed his best friend, but said friend was still alive, behind him, how could he be alright?

But he had to give them some sort of explanation.

“You can call me… Time Guardian” he said, making up the first hero name he could think of.

“What like you have time powers?” Anathema asked.

“Yeah… I can freeze time… and a few other tricks” He explained. That much was true, as long as he had the Hourglass “Anyways … uh…  I Don’t like paperwork. I bet you guys can handle it?”

Wow. He sounded like Sidestep in his vigilante days.

“Yeah, leave it to us. It’s the least we can do”  Ortega answered.

“Good,” Time Guardian said. He started walking towards the door. He needed time to think. To figure out what the hell had just happened.

“It’s a mess out there. Can’t believe he killed that many people” Chen went on.

“Agreed...I’ve never seen a mind so twisted.” Sidestep nodded as Charge stood, helping him up in turn..

Time Guardian stopped before crossing the door… and then turned walking straight towards Sidestep.

The young Cyrus looks a bit intimidated at the closeness. Time Guardian whispered a few words, before turning and walking out for real this time…

“Hey what was that about?” Steel asked.

“N… nothing, just some… advice” Sidestep answered awkwardly.

“Well let’s go back down, get this done,” Anathema said. “There’s going to be a lot of funerals to organize and people who will want an explanation.” he grimaced “I can’t believe what this fucker did”

As they left, Ortega approached Sidestep, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Hey... What did he say?”

Sidestep hesitated for a moment.

“He told me to let go of my secrets and trust you.”

Ortega chuckled. “Well, that’s some darn good advice for a change. Did he say anything else?”

“Yeah…” he laughed nervously for a moment “He kind of threatened me?. I think it’s some sort of joke.”

“What was it?” Charge asked.

“ He also said if I don’t do it, he’ll have no choice but to end up tossing me down the window too.”

…………..Later that very night………………...

“I almost die… If you hadn’t shown up, I would have pulled that trigger…”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. To fix your mess” Charge says with a smug smile.

“Stop joking. I’m trying to be serious.”

“Right right.. I’m sorry. I just never saw you like that. I guess I got really scared? This was worse than Psycopathor.”

“It was way worse… but… Look, I want to show you something. Maybe you’ll understand me a bit more after this. Maybe you’ll hate me. I don’t know… I just don’t want you to find out after I end up dead fighting some random freak villain and you finding out after I’m dead.”

“I’m not going to get mad at you. What could you possibly ….” His voice trailed off.

Oh….”

Ortega went speechless as Sidestep removed his pants, shirt and nanomesh, exposing his tattoos.

The awkward moment extended long enough for him to draw some conclusions.

“I’m sorry,” he said  “I’ll just take my coat and go... I understand. No need to make this more uncomfortable than it needs to be”

He turned to leave, tears already falling down his cheeks … but at the last moment, Ortega reached out, holding his hand.

“What are you…”

And he kissed him.

HIs legs trembled, but  Ricardo held him tight.

“Thank you. For trusting me” he said in the end.

And somehow… he knows it’ll all be alright.

……A few days later after the Heartbreak, the farm received unwelcome guests.………………...

“You can’t do this!” Regina complained as they removed the plaque from her office. “Don’t you know who I am?!”

“Honestly? You’re lucky you’re not going to jail, ma’am” the young agent barke back at her.

“This project is crucial! It can’t be stopped!”

“About 839 dead civilians say otherwise. A single one of your clowns did it, and then he cracks his brain like a nut on the pavement making any further research impossible. Won’t lie, if you had caught him alive for study, we could have a different story. Maybe some politician could salvage your chain of clusterfucks, but being as it is… You’re done, Regina. They are pulling the plug.”

“This has to be a mistake! Who gave the order?”

“Here. Read and weep” the older man agent said giving her a copy of the executive order, the president’s signature clearly visible.

“Maybe you should go back to teaching.” The younger agent said, amused “Because you sure can’t do”

Her face was quickly becoming a mask of despair

“What are you going to do with the subjects?”

“None of your business really. But if you must know, the ones that you haven’t damaged will be absorbed into government programs. The rest are going into institutions. And the prisoners, they’re all going back to jail.”

“What? But this place is all they know!”

“That’s right, and it’s such waste. We’re going to find them real jobs. Where they can make a difference”

“Tax-paying jobs.” His partner replied. “That’s the kind the government wants after having to make reparations for all the families.”

“One thing,” he said turning. “You do have a boost that can control technology, right?.”

“Subject 411? Advanced technokinesis.  She’s clearly a demonstration of our excellent pro..”.

“Good. We’ll be taking her with us. She’ll start outright on a new division.”

“What!? Where?!”

“New government agency. It’s going to absorb all of your funding and then some.”

“Called NASA” the younger one comments before going back to his binder to-do list. “Also, I want to know how many of runaways are there out in the wild coming from your little house of horrors.” He flips a few pages. “Seems to me security is an epic fubar disaster in this dump”

A pair of scientists move past them, moving Heartbreak’s corpse into storage.

The older agent stops them, and takes a peek under the white sheet, and then studies the binder attached the side of the stretcher.

“Well, that’s one we don’t need to look for anymore. Cross 412  off the list Mike. It’s a perfect DNA match. And seems to be suffering premature aging too. Another flaw in your work Regina. How disappointing. Look at the state of it! But then again that’s what you do, isn’t it? Eat up taxpayer dollars and play Frankenstein all day?” he said doing the frankenstein-arms motion.

She felt her heart sinking, as they walked back into her office, intent on destroying her life’s work.

…A few years go by….

Cyrus rests on Ortega’s arm, extended over his shoulder, on the back of Steel’s SUV.

The two of them are on the back row, along with Herald, the newest team member.

He’s storming them with questions, and they don’t mind answering. He’s over the moon.

Anathema and Argent are on the next row, talking about a guy they met. Saved him from a freaky villain with a death touch, who decided not to try her luck against Anathema’s acid touch.

Steel is alone on the front row, focused on driving.

“So how did you two meet?” Herald asks.

“He broke my car!” Ortega accuses Cyrus.

“THat’s not how it happened!” he complains.

“OH?” He asks amused. “Then how did it happen?”

“I spied on him for two weeks. And THEN, I broke his car.  It was a thoroughly planned sabotage mission”

Ortega laughs it off, squeezing him fondly.  

Chen stops the SUV, for another passenger to come in.

“Hey, Fernando!”

“Hey. I’m bringing tequila” he said leaning over the window.

“Then bring it inside!” Ortega yelled from the back.

“YES!” Anathema and Argent joined in

“No drinking in the car. Ever again!” Steel grunted.

“The bearded man removes his hood and smiles, sitting beside Chen along with the bottles in a case..

“How’re you doing?” Ortega asks

“All’s good. Just some minor skirmishes with Bug-master”

“Not that bastard again. How is he still alive?” Argent asks.

“Well he has all the powers of a cockroach so even after you squish him, he can still..”

“Eugh, don’t elaborate” Anathema complains

Tonight was game-night. And he was going to bet hard. They always complained he was using time powers. But he wasn’t. He was just lucky nowadays.

He leaned back on his seat.

His timeline’s Sidestep and Mortum had both been so wrong. Time didn’t correct itself or fall into paradoxes. The universe was under no obligation to make sense to anyone. He changed the past, but he didn’t get magically teleported to a new life, nor did reality get destroyed.

He had toyed with the idea of using the Hourglass to get back into the corrected future. That’s what his Sidestep wanted. But he didn’t. He wanted to see it with his own eyes. He didn’t want to live a life that wasn’t truly his.

So he just stayed. Stayed and formed a new life. He eventually revealed his secret to Chen.

Of course, he had chosen a very bad timing, since Chen had just kissed him for the first time.

Funny. He had never noticed how hot Chen was before. Of course, it was different now. He was a stranger. With no baggage.

They agreed not to tell anyone else. No need. And no one was after him.

Chen helped him get a new name. A social security number. And he was probably going to join the Rangers in a few months if paperwork went through. 

Regenes were eventually absorbed into the civilian populace after the Special Directive was officially disbanded, provided they registered their biometrics and that they behaved.  And unlike the other one, this Cyrus was a fucking saint.  Made him wonder how could they have been the same person at any point.

A law provided monetary retribution for damages for them so they could build new lives. And Cyrus was rejected since he was reported dead already. They had to start a lawsuit. When he said he was going to the City hall to demand his “Retribution” he had a hard time keeping a straight face. The other Cyrus had just torched the building instead... They were definitely not the same person anymore.  

He had grown to like his new identity. Fernando Ortiz by day, Time Guard whenever trouble presented itself. It wasn’t half-bad.

After all, Fernando always got to sleep over at Chen’s house after game night, when everyone’s gone, complaining about his house being too far. He wondered if Chen would ever want to reveal what was going between them to the others. Probably not, until they were caught. Now that would be funny.

With the mustache and beard, he didn’t look that much like the younger shaved Ortega, and he was Older. He could hide in plain sight.

Ortega and Sidestep were a couple, and since he was a friend of both, he could visit him often and see his mother. It was strange to see her like this… But it worked.

And Time Guard... he corrected things. He fixed so many mistakes the Rangers made after Heartbreak. He told them he had time powers, and in a way, he did have a very accurate form of precognition. The Hourglass armor gave him a whole different powerset. It’s time jump function, he had only used a few times though. Jumping to the past or future was a temptation, but he only did it to fight crime. Best way to keep safe.

And Cyrus…

It was so weird. He couldn’t quite mourn his death while he was very alive right behind him. And so much happier than he had ever seen him. His own Cyrus had turned into a vengeful shadow, going down with the blaze of insane destruction consuming him.

But in some weird way, he had done what he set out to do.

Set things right.

He…

He looked down startled. Chen was holding his hand.

He was so glad he was at the front, where no one could see him blush.

Game night was going to be great

.

………….Deep below ground, someone observed them in silence………..

The drones were relaying visual constant feed on their vehicle.

He toyed with the controls, making sure not to steer too close.

It was only a matter of time before he unraveled Time Guardians secrets, and once he did, he would have the means to defeat all heroes in his way.

It was his genius that would be the fall of the rangers in the end.

Only his.

Lord Mortum will rule Los Diablos one day!

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My fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.