#fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

May 21st, 2019 I finished playing a little text adventure game and was so full of feelings about it I did something I hadn’t done in seven years and opened up a word doc and started writing a story.

today i posted the last chapter to a 150k word fanfic novel and a short 2k capstone fic that i had written earlier this month as a send-off piece to these characters. and with that, i’m done writing fan-fic for fallen hero: rebirth.

i like writing, it turns out. i like the whole process of it, from brainstorming to drafting, to revising. i want to keep going with it, but with my own original projects. i know there’s been a lot of... problems around FH:R this past year, to risk understating things. The racism problems within the fandom and the creator’s... poor decisions shouldn’t go unacknowledged. but the original story holds a place in my heart still, and i needed, for myself to finish out at least what i had started before i could fully let myself move on.

it always makes me happy when i hear from people that liked my little self-indulgent fanfic, and some of what people have sent me has been... very humbling to receive. if someone reading this ever wants to drop me a line, don’t be shy, like a spider, i’m more scared of you then you are of me, i promise.

if you don’t value your time, or, if you’re like me and you’re just desperate for stories of questionable quality about a trans woman making questionable choices, you can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1399939 

#fanfiction #fanfic #fhr/ariadne

[erintoknow]

falling forward

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You agreed to help Herald relearn how to fight – and oh god what were you thinking? Tw: past sexual abuse; suicidal thoughts [still feel]

[Read on AO3]

With Halloween behind you, fall is in full swing now, and the worst of the summer heat is safely in the past. Hard to believe it’s already going to be winter next month, if it wasn’t for the cool air filling your lungs. Was Banshee’s big debut trashing the Heroic Heritage Museum Gala really just this summer? It feels like a lifetime ago.

You hold your shawl against yourself as the wind whips it about, Herald holding you in his arms. Jesus christ you hate flying. Hate it hate it hate it. Why did you agree to this insanity?

You don’t know what you expected really, agreeing to train Herald. Herald! Of all people. But he needs it. He needs the work. Whatever cocky assurance he had before your debut has evaporated. The first couple sessions you couldn’t even do much actual sparring, his leg was still in recovery.

The blond bastard is always floating, which must be why you didn’t notice before – How much he favors that knee, the way he’s shifted how he carries his weight. The first time, it was hard to stay focused, to keep present in the moment. Kept falling back to that moment, the sheer disdain and… jealousy? Were you jealous of Herald? Is that what was? So jealous you had to break him.

Another soul you’ve carved with poison.

Or you thought you had.

“Here we go,” Herald lets go of you as your feet touch solid ground again. Quickly retreating, “Again, sorry.”

You take a breath, make a show of dusting the ‘Herald’ off of you and adjusting your sunglasses. “Let’s just… get this show on the road. You said the, um, the quacks finally cleared you for active duty again?”

Herald nods, smiling with his whole face. Swear to god, even if you weren’t telepathic the man practically broadcasts what he’s thinking regardless. Always sunny. Always hopefull. And today? Excited to finally do something with the forms you’d been running him through.

You step back and let him run through his warm-up exercises as you scan the horizon. So high… you’ll never get used to it.

The little niggling urge in the back of your head whispering ‘jump!’

“Are you going to warm up too?” Herald watches you. That’s another thing about Herald, he never met a good silence that he didn’t want to immediately fill with something.

You shift your stance, flexing your fingers under your shawl. “I’m plenty warm, thanks, wonderbread.”

Herald laughs at that, so you deepen your scowl, watch the sunshine wither under your glare. “I wasn’t joking.” Concern flits across his face, and you can’t help the triumphant smirk. So he is capable of more than one emotion after all. “Look, a villain isn’t going to… uh, going to stand there while you do your morning crunches.”

“Well, good thing there’s no villains up here, right?”

He smiles, sunshine poking out from behind the clouds again. You scowl at that and shift your weight, feet planted on the ground with hands behind your back, hidden under your shawl. You’d never get away with it, sparring with Ortega. She’d pick up Banshee’s style in an instant. Herald’s still green. Still safe.

“Let’s just… see what you can do, first.” Relax. Take a breath. Let the music drop and the buzz of the world around you leech in. There he is. Right in front of you, watching. Thinking. Loud and clear.

“Uh – really? Already?”

Roll your eyes. “Just hit me already, Herald.”

Herald takes a moment to center himself. An old familiar song, crushing down the doubt into somewhere dark and deep so it can’t throw you off in the middle of a fight. He rushes you head on, thinking he’ll fake you out and sweep around the side. You stay put, ready. At the last second you twist to the side, and grab his arm, overextended. Pull him forward and off balance and follow up with a knee to the gut.

Herald wheezes, floating backward as you let go. A hand to his chest as he gasps for air. “Did you… wow – did you have to hit so hard?”

You tap your chin, glancing upwards as you make a show of thinking it over. Shrug. “No.” There’s no better teacher than pain. Frankly, compared to the kind of training you had? Herald’s getting kids gloves here. You reset your position, nodding at him. “Come on. Again.”

Herald grits his teeth, bracing himself.

The two of you repeat the process; over and over. And every time you smoothly avoid his attack and knock him away. Ten minutes later he’s still floating away, clutching his side this time. You sigh, rubbing your leg.The kid has got some persistence, but now your own knee is starting to get sore.

“Listen.” You say, and Herald looks up at you, relief in his eyes. Christ. You shake your head, focus! “Listen – Herald. You keep – keep making this same mistake. Over and over.” You spread your arms, hands poking out from under the shawl. “I say ‘attack me’ and, you, fool that you are, attack me.”

Herald face scrunches up. “What? You’re not making any sense.”

You keep your hands out. “Hit me.”

Herald doesn’t move, floating a few feet away. Still gently drifting backwards from your last go-around.

“Com’on, well?”

Confused thoughts spill onto his face, but he stays where he is.

You smile. “Better.” You run a hand through your hair. “Don’t follow your enemy’s script. Make them follow yours.” Your fingers find the bobby pin holding your hair out of your face. With a flick of your wrist it’s sent sailing at Herald’s head.

He ducks automatically and you use the chance to move forward, striking at the back of his legs. Herald falls backwards, flailing in the air as he tries to right himself again. A foot catches your face and you fall to your ass as Herald pulls up and out of reach.

“Damn!” You wince, rubbing your jaw. Bit your own tongue hard enough to taste blood there.

Glance up, and Herald is hovering, anxious. “Are you alright?”

Ugh. You roll your eyes. “Goddamnit Herald, you d–don’t ask your enemy if they’re okay.” You push yourself back to your feet, glaring up at him with your hands on your hips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He protests, dipping down closer, but not you note, within reach.

You shift your hand up, rub at your temples to hide your eyes. He has no idea. No fucking idea who you are. It – it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. “Herald.” You shake your head. “What do you think happens in a fight?”

A flare of frustration from above you. “I know what a fight is, Ariadne.”

“The moment you had me on the ground, you should have pressed your advantage, instead you pulled back and gave me a chance to recover.” You flick your wrist in his direction again, frown as he ducks. How long has he been in the game now? A couple years right? How is he still this green? “There’s no such thing as ‘playing dirty,’ understand? Only fights you walk away from and fights you don’t.”

You step away from him. Put the sunshine to your back. This isn’t a hero flick, or a sanitized news report. He needs to get it through his thick skull or he’s going to end up getting mulched. Again.

“Ariadne?” Can feel him hover closer behind. Scared you’re going to do something stupid. The concern is enough to make you ball your hands into fists. You ‘doing something stupid’ would just be doing him and most of the world a favor, honestly.

He’s still there. Just out of striking range. At least he learned one thing. “I was hoping for training Ariadne.” He sounds worried. Fuck. “Not beating the crap out of each other.”

“Yeah, well…” You stare out at the horizon. The crest of the mountains beyond the city. Somewhere past those rocks lays home, your nightmare. “Fighting people isn’t pretty, Herald. If – if you haven’t figured that out by n–now, you’re hopeless. People break bones, they bleed everywhere. Sometimes there’s tears and crying, and – and you can’t always tell if it’s… yours.” You flex your jaw. Can still feel the sting where Herald’s shoe hit. “At–at–at the end of th–the day, there’s nothing… nothing heroic about b–breaking a man’s rib cage just because the–the–the alternative is him chopping you and a d–dozen other – a dozen other people into bits.”

Your every nerve is on edge, shoulders tense enough to make your neck hurt. You shift your arms under your shawl, hugging them tight against yourself. “People just… they die.” Can feel your voice rise as your throat tightens. “They die and die and die and you p–pray you aren’t one of them.”

“Hey��� are you alright?” The voice behind you sounds distant. A thousand miles removed. Vaguely aware of your legs buckling underneath you as you collapse, accordion-like onto the roof tile.

You’re not there. It’s not real. You’re not real? No – fuck. Vague memory like someone else’s voice, prodding reminder of something Dr. Finch suggested. Try to grasp it and it’s gone and there’s just light above and white around and – and –

Someone moves, their intention for touch like a burning iron cutting through your thoughts. You grit your teeth and snare it, halt the arm with red threads pulling back. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Pull hard and the attached body staggers back. Away.

There's a note of alarm. Fear. Fear of you? Who could possibly be…?

It’s sunlight. Wonderbread. It slams like the ache in your knees, the pain in your throat. The salt on your cheeks. You’re in Los Diablos. On a roof. With Herald. It’s Herald. Not scared of you, scared… for you? Fuck.

Have to get out of here. You stagger to your feet, one hand pushing up your shades as you try to wipe your eyes before he can notice. “Lesson over for today. S–sorry. No refunds.”

Herald’s fear is palpable and terrifying. “Okay, seriously, what just happened there? Did I say something wrong?”

You march your body to the roof access. “It’s nothing. Don’t – don’t worry about it. In fact: f–f–forget about training altogether.” Grab the handle and pull. Push and pull. No luck. No movement. “Mierda.”

“Ariadne, talk to me. Something’s clearly wrong, you’re worrying me.”

God – fucking hell. You spin on your heel, fists at your sides. “I d–d–don’t owe you jack shit Herald!” You yell at the top of your lungs. “I’m only up here in the–the–the first place because of – because of you! And now I’m – I’m fucking trapped here!”

Herald dips backwards, hands raised as if he’s going to block your words like a punch. “You’re upset. I’m sorry.” He means it. Really thinks he means it, the idiot. “I’ll just… take you back down to the street and we can call it a week, okay?”

“No!” You stomp your foot, willing him to go away, heart pounding at the thought of it. “Nobody else is f–f–fucking touching me today!”

Herald doesn’t move. Stays put, ever so slightly off the ground. Hands out, ready to… to…

“Goddamnit.” You close your eyes. “I–I–I don’t need a second fucking Ortega.”

A silence passes between the two of you. It doesn’t last long enough.

“Can we…” Herald hesitates. “Can we talk now?”

“Fine. Free country.”

“Did you…” Can feel him try to pick the right words. His fear of setting you off putting you on edge again. “Was that another… attack, just then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You turn away from him, glare at the lock. Maybe if you will it hard enough, you can get the door to open out of shame.

“But you just said–”

“You don’t – Herald, you d–d–don’t need to understand. It’s none of your goddamn business.” Have to will yourself to keep standing. To stay angry. To not fall apart. Not here. Not like this. Not in front of this stranger you barely know whose life you’ve ruined. “H–how did you think this was going to go, Herald? W–w–what exactly were you f–f–fucking expecting? To–to–to have your – your fearless hero leap out of TV Screen? Well… S–surprise!” You whirl back on him, waving your hands, sneering. “She d–doesn’t exist! I’m not her! I n–never was. We c–c–can’t all be perfect TV Stars, Herald! I’m just a – a washed-up has-been that d–d–doesn’t know when to leave things well fucking goddamn enough alone!”

You turn back to the door and kick it hard enough to leave a dent.

“Ariadne…” Oh god, he’s not giving up, jesus christ. “Even if that was true, that’s not why I asked for your help.”

Uh-huh. Sure buddy.

He wilts under your stare. “Well. Okay. Maybe, um. Maybe that was part of it – but it’s not the main reason! I was serious about needing help. This new villain, Ghost or whatever–”

“Banshee.”

“That. I told you. I need help. I need a new way to fight if I’m not going to… If I’m not going to screw up again.” He holds your stare. Can feel him focused on you. Willing you to believe him. Desperate for it.

Begging for your help to defeat you.

“… you’re really serious about this?”

“Yes!”

“One hundred percent dedicated?”

“Yes!!”

You turn away. “Welp. S–sucks to be you I guess.”

It takes him a moment to recover from that. “Excuse me?”

Rolling your eyes at the door, you hold at a hand, as if holding something. “What’s your tragic backstory? Dead wife? Lost your parents? Every hero’s got one.” You kick the door again. Still no luck. Turn back to Herald, glare at the stricken expression on his face. “Nobody willingly throws themselves at people who can shoot laser beams out of their eyes or has knives for hands who doesn’t want to die on some level.”

“You… don’t really think that, do you?”

You laugh, throwing your arms up, helpless. “Maybe I do! M–maybe I don’t. Who f–f–fucking knows anymore.” You fall back against the door, sliding to the ground. Finally got Herald to shut up. He thinks you’re a mental case now, but fuck it. Fuck him. Fuck you.

Tilt your head up at the sky, watch the smog and clouds meld together.

Herald stays put, floating awkwardly. His thoughts loud and clear and threatening to drown out your own.

This clearly isn’t how he expected his morning to go today. He knew you had… changed since the hero days. But after that first conversation and agreeing to help him, he had hoped that maybe… working with you, he could help… fix things? Somehow? That’s what heroes do, right?

Well, here you are now, looking even more tired and run down then he had ever seen at Rangers HQ. Some kind of panic attack you refused to talk about or even acknowledge. Did he just make things worse? Had he pressured you into it, somehow? He had just wanted to maybe get to know you–

“God, you think too loud.” You rub your temples with one hand, the other tracing a familiar pattern into your pant leg.

Herald’s face reddens. “I’m… sorry?”

“You should be.” You shake your head. “I’m embarrassed for you.” You add, because you just can’t help yourself today. “Fighting a telepath and you can’t even put a lid on it.”

Herald grabs the subject change with all the enthusiasm of a drowning man grabs a life preserver. “That’s possible?”

You shrug. “Obviously.” Doesn’t he know this stuff? It’s not like its secret knowledge “There’s ways – techniques, work-arounds, little ‘walls’ you can put up to make it harder.”

“What do you do?”

“It’s…” You hesitate. “It’s a little different for me. Since I’m also the one, uh, hearing.” At least this is a safe subject. Mostly. Mostly safe. “I guess it works pretty much the same though. You want something that can occupy your, uh – shit, I don’t know the professional terms. I’m not a damn doctor.” You shrug, still staring up at the sky. “But like… your surface level thoughts?”

Herald tilts his head, thinking it over. “Like… when you talk to yourself in your head?”

“Y–yeah. Yeah, sure.” Good enough. “You can use that as a – a smokescreen. Chaff. Or whatever?”

“Huh.” Can feel Herald’s mind churning. Turning your words over. “Couldn’t you also use that to like… misdirect? Think one thing and do the opposite?”

Uh – huh.

You look at Herald. Okay. Didn’t expect him to catch on that fast. “Yeah.” You nod, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, that’s… possible. But it’s a lot harder than it sounds to pull that off in the middle of a fight. Trust me.”

Herald stays quiet for a blessed second, weighing the idea in his head. “What about you? What do you usually do for a… um, smokescreen?”

Fuck. Not Even Ortega ever straight up asked you that. “…If I tell you, and – and you laugh. I am legally allowed to kill you.” Why are you even offering? What the fuck Ariadne?

Herald smiles, raising his hands, “I won’t laugh,” he promises. There’s a slight anxiety to his smile.

“I’m dead serious, wonderbread.”

“…me too.” His voice cracks.

You chew your lip, tracing patterns in your leg as you think it over. Whether to follow through.

Ah, fuck it.

“I… um. I use music.” You stare down at your lap. Ready for the first smart comment to signal Herald’s final beatdown.

“Wait…” Here it comes. “Like – so you’re just, what? Singing in your head?”

You shift position, glare at him from across the rough, ready to strike.

“Hey!” He raises his arms again, “Hey, I’m not laughing! It’s actually kind of cu–” He cuts himself off. Has the presence of mind not to finish that sentence. “Anyway, I’m just surprised by it being that simple?”

“Try keeping it up while fighting three separate people and balancing keeping out bystanders while still monitoring the other combatants.”

“…Okay. That does sound harder.” Herald admits. “But, I’d only need to worry about keeping out a telepath right? Like Banshee?”

You can’t keep the sarcasm out of your voice, “Lucky you.”

If Herald notices, he doesn’t give any sign. “Do you think, um, maybe that we can practice that next week?” He catches your eyes again, worry lining his face. It’s enough to make your chest hurt. It’s not right. He’s still practically a kid. And you’re… Fuck.

“Maybe.” You owe him that. Don’t you? But you can’t quite bring yourself to give up that easily. “You th–think you can pick a training area that doesn’t leave me trapped on top of a f–f–fucking building?”

“Um.” Herald scratches his head. “I can try. I could at least get a copy of the roof access key.”

“And I expect at least a milkshake. As – as compensation.”

“I can work with that.”

–––

You’re really spending a lot of time at Rangers HQ these days, aren’t you? If you’re not grabbing Herald for training, then you’re playing consultant to Ortega. Or stopping by to grab her for something else… You’re a wanted criminal and terrorist. You really shouldn’t be flaunting yourself like this. One day it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass.

Until then, you’ll sit on the break room windowsill with a cup of hot chocolate and watch the traffic outside until the sound of the door opening draws your eyes away.

“So. Ari.” Ortega slides into the room, arms behind her back. A smile on her face that can only mean trouble. “You seem to be getting along better with Herald these days, huh?”

“W–what?” Can feel your face get warm. “I – I told you. I don’t – I’m just – I’m not even…” You put your drink down and cross your arms. “So – so what? What of it?”

Ortega keeps smiling, the bastard. “Nothing.” She lies. “I’m just pleasantly shocked is all. It took me how long to even get your name? A year? You move fast in your old age.”

“Old age!?” You jump to your feet.

“What, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Ortega cackles.

“S–shut up, old woman! Crone! Uh – um – fuck – uh, Disney Timeshare holder!”

Ortega’s grin only widens. “You know? I’ve never actually been.”

Where does she get these ideas? Why does she keep – no. You’re not thinking about this. Stop it. Shut up Ariadne. “It’s–it’s–it’s not like I’m doing it for free!” You push on. “I’m making him pay for it!”

That gets her by surprise. “Really?”

“In milkshakes!”

There’s silence, and then Ortega laughs. “Oh! I thought you were serious for a minute there.”

“I am serious!” You stomp your foot. “I’m d–d–dead fucking serious!!” You need to go on the attack fast. “Why? Huh? What’s it matter to–to–to you!? What? You jealous?”

“Me?” Ortega huffs, “Jealous of what? Ari, I work with Herald. I see him plenty. I’m just happy for you.”

You blink. “W–what? That’s not – there’s – Ortega…”

“Hey, relax. I’m just teasing. Well,” Ortega tilts her head with a shrug, “Mostly teasing. I know you’re gayer than a three-dollar bill.”

“I – what?” You voice cracks.

Now it’s Ortega’s turn to look confused. “Er, I’m not misremembering am I?”

“I – I don’t know? I–I–I’ve never – never thought about it!?”

Oh god. Oh fuck. Why is this happening? Why are you saying these words with your mouth in that order?

“Really?” Ortega’s watching you. All damnable static and an unreadable face.

“I don’t know!” You sit back down. “It’s – it’s never mattered before! I don’t… I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“A certain rock on the beach would beg otherwise.”

“S–shut up! Crone!”

Just… let lightning strike you right now. Please.

“You… know it’s okay if you want to, right?” Ortega pauses. “And if the other person is into it, of course.” Can hear the smirk in her voice.

“I – I guess?? I don’t know…”

“Ari, I was just teasing before but… are you interested in Herald?”

You shoot up your head, locking eyes with her. Shock on your face. “What? No! I… No! I don’t – no. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

You frown, drop your gaze to your lap. “I don’t want anything to do with men. Not… Not like that. Not ever. No way.”

“Ari…?”

“I’m fine. Okay. I’m fine. It’s fine.” You dig your fingers into your leg. Focus on that. Stay present. Stay centered. “I d–don’t want to talk about this. Okay?” You close your eyes, the past three sleepless nights hitting you at once. Even with your eyes closed, can just fucking swear you can feel Ortega staring at you, that same worrying, pitying expression on her face that she has so often now when the two of you are together.

“Have you talked to Dr. Finch about it?”

You make a face, turn away to stare out the window. “Yeah. Sounds like a great f–fucking idea.”

“I think it would help.”

“Just… what did you want me for today, anyway?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry. I got carried away giving you a hard time.”

You groan. “D–doesn’t he bother you?”

“Huh?”

“Wonderbread.” You gesture an arm towards Herald’s general direction in the building. “Blue-eyed, blond hair, white dude replaces you as the public face of the team? That PR puts him up front of all your events? That he gets the speeches? Don’t you… think that’s weird?”

“Oh.” Ortega’s silent, and she stays silent long enough that you look up to check if she’s still there. She grimaces as you catch her eye. “Herald’s a good kid. PR’s kind of got him in a dazzle, and Chen hates that stuff so…” She shrugs. Doesn’t even mention Argent, you note. “People will think whatever they want. They always have. Ari… I was always envious of your ability to stay out of the limelight.”

You blink at that. “R–really? But… you always kept trying to push me in.”

“You deserved at least some recognition, Ari, and… honestly? I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Oh.”

“The kinds of stuff people said? I don’t miss it at all. Hell, Ari, I still get shit. It’s just easier to ignore now. Let Herald have the spotlight. I did my time. I never signed up to be some kind of model minority.”

“I…” You frown, look away. “I never realized. I’m s–sorry. I thought… you always seemed so at home in front of the camera. I – I always thought you lived for that stuff…”

“No, I do. Or did. Still do?” Ortega sighs. “Mierda, I’m sorry. I know you had your own reasons, I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. And I don’t… I didn’t mean to drag down the mood–”

“S–stop” You make yourself look at her again “D–don’t apologize. Um. Thank you. For… for telling me. I’m sorry for… for not being there. For… not realizing.” You mean it. Your heart hurts for it. For everything. You can’t apologize for everything but… you can apologize for this, at least.

“Yeah, well…” Ortega cracks a smile, and after a moment it’s spread to your own face. You push up your sunglasses, rubbing at an eye. She coughs, “Anyway, we’ve gotten way off track here.”

“W–what about?”

“It’s circling back to Herald actually.” Ortega’s smile turns apologetic as she finally pulls the bag from behind her back. “He wanted me to pass this on? I think he was a little too embarrassed to hand it over himself.”

“Oh.”

Oh no.

You look between Ortega and the bag in her hands. “So that’s why you were…?”

“I… think it’s just Herald being Herald? He’s a gift-er.” She holds the bag out towards you. “Well? I want to see what’s inside at least.”

You frown. “Don’t act innocent. This has your m–mitts all over it.”

“What?” She snickers, “I had nothing to do with it. Scouts honor.”

“I–” You narrow your eyes, searching her face. “…were you in scouts?”

“Oh, just – open the bag, Ari!”

“Alright, alright, fine. Geez.” You get up and stick your hand in the bag, feel around until you pull out a small plastic box.

“Well?”

“Hrm.” Turn it over in your hands, scanning the print. “It’s… a CD player?” Why would…? “With headphones?”

Ortega puts the now empty bag aside on the table. “He said it was to help you concentrate? I couldn’t get him to explain what that was supposed to mean though.”

“Oh.” Maybe you underestimated Herald. “Huh.”

“There should be a couple CDs in the bag, too.” Ortega jerks a thumb to the bag. “So, okay, yeah, full honesty, I helped Herald out with some suggestions. But the idea and everything was all him.”

“This is… very, um.” You can’t tear your eyes away from the package, the silver-colored machine encased in plastic. “I… I can’t take this, Ortega.”

“Of course you can. It’s a Christmas present.”

You blink. Wait – what? “Christmas present!? Since when is it–”

“Uh, Next week, remember?” Ortega looks at you, brow creased. “Have you looked outside lately?”

“I – I just. I didn’t think about – oh my god. Already?” You shake your head. “It – it doesn’t change anything, Ortega I…” Your voice cracks. “I can’t. I don’t…”

“Ari… how many times do I need to tell you?” Ortega steps closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “People care about you. It’s okay to let them.”

“But–”

“Herald wanted to do something nice. As thanks. We both did.”

You have to blink your eyes rapidly. Try to clear the water away. “Idiots.” Your laughter is abrupt. Nervous and guilty. “Both of you.”

“I can think of no higher compliment.”

You push her away, laughing. “S–shut up!”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

everything and nothing

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Funding a one-woman revenge mission isn’t cheap. You might work for free but Rosie doesn’t. Or Mortum. Or Marcie. The list goes on. [Feed Me Diamonds]

[Read on AO3]

It was the incident at Joes that gave you the initial idea: you need money to fund your operation. And where is flush with – conveniently untraceable – funds, but Los Diablos’s criminal underground?

Using Jane’s luck to gamble your way through the casino circuit would be suicide. She’d end up in a ditch or worse. But you don’t need to. You’ve got a state-of-the-art power armor suit.

In a way, it’s a return to the old days, to being Sidestep. You could never manage to hold down a job back then, but the guilt over skimming kept you from being able to afford much of anything. So, you know, occasionally when busting a villain’s lair or rounding up drug dealers, maybe some of their funds were… misplaced. It was either that or starve.

Or worse, admit your situation to somebody and ask for help.

But it wasn’t really stealing, was it? The money was probably wrongfully gotten to begin with. And it’s not like the city paid vigilantes.

Whatever. You were stealing the whole time. You can admit it to yourself now. It doesn’t matter who it was from. It was still theft. You’ve always been a liar and a fraud. Those last moments before throwing yourself out a fourth-story window crystalized it for you. People lauding Sidestep as some sort of ‘hero’ when she was barely any better than the people she beat up. She just stuck to the government approved list of acceptable targets.

But if you did it before, you can do it again. You know who the real villains are, and it’s not Larry Ray selling weed at the corner of Market Street.

Once more now, with feeling.

Check the seal on your helmet. The Rat-King curls around you. Paul Howard Koch’s penthouse is in the heart of the city. Technically not inside the bounds of Los Diablos proper itself. More a richie-rich enclave. Great view, above the air pollution, slightly less likely to die in a horrific one-two earthquake/tsunami punch.

To his neighbors on the floors above and below, Mr. Koch is a reclusive retired businessman who made his fortune in the early days of the chaos following the establishment of the Free Economic Zone over southern California. Back when anything really did fly.

And maybe there’s a truth in that.

Or maybe he’s just a self-hyped boost with magnetic powers with the audacity to hide in plain sight who robbed a bunch of banks and also maybe the Rangers HQ one time and okay okay fine, maybe there’s an element of revenge to tonight, so what?

Start with the small ones.

Work your way up.

Getting inside is easy enough. It reminds you of Marconi’s mansion that way. Amazing how much security is just theatre. Wall? Climb over. Guards? Walk between the patrols. CCTV? Oh, what a shame, the woman watching fell asleep at her desk, and oh, the whole system needs to be rebooted now? Technology these days, tsk tsk.

The building doesn’t even have dampeners.

Closing the door to the camera room, you let your hand linger on the doorknob. It takes some finesse to control the Nanovores this tightly but you’re able to collapse the mechanism. They’ll have to break the door down.

You’ve got two targets today. Koch, and his fortune. You know where Koch is. He’s up in his bedroom, half-asleep watching TV. Play the right notes, and he’ll stay that way until you need him.

So, then, where’s the goods?

It’s been, what, a decade since Pennybags was active. Had a big spree robbing banks, culminating in an attack on Rangers HQ. You were – Sidestep was still pretty new to the scene, but even she knew it took some guts to pants the Rangers like that. And then he was never heard from again.

Almost have to admire the restraint of the man. To realize he peaked and it was time to get out. Can’t say it’s an example you intend to follow.

The penthouse is a split-level deal. Whole lot of empty space for a man who lives alone. The second floor and you find his office. Very fancy looking computer. And of course, there’s the password in the middle drawer. Man’s gotten lax. You plug in a USB stick as you log in. Search through the files. Records, transactions. Looks like Mr. Koch has been busy in his ‘retirement.’ Blackmail material? Not the pile of cash you were aiming for but it’s something to start with. Another crack in the city’s shell. Another point of attack.

One file name catches your attention: Regenerator sale? It’s been awhile since you’ve gotten a lead on that name, and here it is. Just waiting for you. Opening the file and it’s a text document. At first glance there doesn’t seem to be much you don’t already know. PharmaCore, shut down by the government, confiscated, then ‘vanished.’ Oh, here’s something new: an actual description of what it does…

Ugh. There’s no time to stand here and parse all this. You copy everything that looks even remotely promising and move on to the rest of the room.

An oddly spaced bookshelf, by the window, draws your attention. Push the texts away and there’s a safe. Have to smile at that. At least it’s not behind a portrait. The metal melts into dust under the Nanovores and you’re free to reach inside. A gun, some rolled up hundred dollar bills and a collection of black unmarked USB looking bits of plastic and silicon.

Jackpot.

DS Chips. Or ‘Dark Script’ if you want to be wordy. Criminal computer scientists are disappointingly lacking in imagination. Physical bills can be traced by serial number, and digital transactions through bank and credit systems. Cryptocurrencies like these DS chips are the current fashion du jour for avoiding surveillance.

The exchanges aren’t cheap, and Hollow Ground keeps a tight grip on Los Diablos’s little corner. But attach a ‘wallet’ to a specific chip and you carry thousands of dollars in a little box of plastic and silicone smaller than your palm.

That’s business sorted then.

Time for the pleasure half.

When you reach the bedroom, you don’t need to kick the door in. The hinges disintegrate into dust and it falls over, all on it’s own. The crash against the floor breaks Koch out of his stupor. With a cry of alarm he scrambles to his feet, tripping on his own night robe.

“Evening, Pennybags.”

“Who the blazes let you in here?” His heart is pounding. Scenarios running through his mind. Scrambling for an answer. Really? You’d have expected someone a little more paranoid.

You fold your hands behind your back. Nod towards the door. “I did.”

He narrows his eyes, not seeing the humor. Oh well, his loss.

You’re on him before he can even finish his thought about using his power on you. Is enough of the suit metal for it to be a problem? You’re not sure and you’d rather not find out. His head cracks against the wall as you shove him up off the ground with an arm against his neck.

You tap your head. “Don’t even think about it.”

He doesn’t stop struggling. Bare feet kicking against your armor. Up close he doesn’t look as old as you pictured. Bald, sure. But… how old is he? Maybe he just has one of those faces. “You’re–” He wheezes, “you’re going to regret this.”

He’s already plotting your death. Cute. Have to laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

...now what are you going to do?

Maybe you should have thought of that before barging in here.

You press against his neck a little harder. Not enough to choke him, but to give you some room to think.

“Alright… Here’s what’s going to happen,” You growl, lacing your words with a telepathic push. An urgency to be followed.

It’s not mind control, not technically.

Just a push.

You’re not even going to make him jump out a window.

–––

You don’t need to hear the stomping of boots in the hallway to know your time is almost up. You drop Koch to the floor. “Consider what we’ve talked about tonight.” Walking over to his desk, you rip off a piece of his day planner and turn it over. Write out the list of instructions.

Three simple suggestions. They’re in his own best interest, really.

You return to him, holding the paper out to take. He hesitates so you reach into his mind and give him a push before stepping away. By the time the riot police show up the scrap paper is gone, inside his pocket. You watch the police fill the other end of the room, shields up and guns drawn. The idiots. They’ll kill Koch if they shoot like this.

You don’t see or sense any of the Rangers.

That’s fine with you, if maybe a little strange. The man in charge steps forward, hand on the trigger finger. “Ghost, you’re under arrest. We have you surrounded.” You don’t need to read his mind to know from the look on his face and the way he’s holding his gun that he’s seriously regretting coming in to work tonight. What does the LDPD think they’re doing? They’re no match for you. Sure, you aren’t immune to bullets, but when has that ever stopped you?

You reach out to the captain’s mind and coax him to lower his gun before he sets off the whole room. “Ghost?” You fake a laugh, the distortion hollowing it out, then say innocently, “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

You crouch down, bracing yourself, placing a hand on the floor. You’ll only have a second before the tension of the situation wakes them up again. “More of a Banshee.” There’s a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen and then the Nanovores eat a hole in the floor directly beneath you, dropping you down. You grunt, letting the armor absorb most of the shock, though the landing still plays hell on your knees. Going to regret that in the morning.

Above you the room erupts in shouts of alarm and someone fires their gun, setting off another gunshot, then another. You grimace in frustration and, telepathically reach back up to give them a metaphorical shake of the shoulders. You can’t have them killing your new informant.

You break into a run, following your thread to the nearest elevator shaft and breaking the door open with a mixture of force and Nanovores. As you make your escape sliding down the elevator cable you can’t help humming a few bars aloud as you try to steady your nerves.

The chittering of the Rat-King creates an accompaniment in the back of your head.

It’s getting scary just how comfortable with this life you’re starting to get.

Hitting the basement level you barely manage to clear the doors when Lady Argent is on you, all knives and quicksilver. Her claws dig into your arm before you’re able to get her to back off with an uppercut to the head. Argent flexes her jaw and gives you a predatory grin. “I had a feeling I’d find you down here Ghost.”

You study her face, waiting for a sign of any sudden movement. Getting out predicted like this is embarrassing but you need to save the over-analysis for when a woman capable of opening you up like a can-opener isn’t staring you down. You’ve got to reassert control of the situation. You make sure to put an edge to your voice, “It’s Banshee now. If you’re going to play lap dog, at least remember to fill in the incident report form correctly this time.”

Her eyes widen and then Argent leans down, her grin deepening into a scowl. “Ugh. I don’t care,” and she moves in.

Can feel your heart in your throat as the two of you exchange blows. When you try to slide past her, Lady Argent is ready for you, raking claws against the side of your armor, trying to find a point of purchase to pry you apart. Grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you. It’s a stupid move, and you pay for it with razor filings running down your sides but because it’s stupid she doesn’t expect it and you’re able to knee her in the gut and kick her away.

You hate fighting Argent in enclosed spaces like this. It’ll be a game of attrition as to whether you can get away before she can land a clean hit. The two of you are back to circling each other when you bump up against a support pillar.

Maybe….? You mentally check your map.

You’ll need to stall Argent. “So, what was your plan, if I went a different route?” As you talk you rest your hand on the concrete pillar beside you, coaxing the Nanovores to get to work. “Not a good look, hiding in a basement.”

Lady Argent narrows her eyes, “The Handyman’s watching the front door.”

“He’s out of the hospital now?” You sigh. “Are you really that eager to put him back in there?”

There’s a shark-toothed grin and the distinct feeling that she’s sizing you up. “You’re awfully concerned for being the bastard that put him there.”

“Healthcare’s not cheap in this city. Should we hold a fundraiser for him?” You give a theatrical flip of your free hand. “Any suggestions?” Too flippant? You’re never really sure how to approach Argent.

There’s always the temptation; in the back of your head. Let her know who you are, what you’ve done. See if she’ll kill you. But you always end up holding back. Why is that? You don’t understand yourself.

“My only ‘suggestion’ is bringing you to justice.” She keeps her focus trained on you, ready for the moment you make a move. Part of you is surprised she’s still letting you talk. Is backup on the way? That’s not Argent’s style.

“That’s a good thought about justice.” You rap your armored fingers against the pillar, testing to see if it’s hollowed out yet. “But who gets to decide what justice is?”

Would Argent feel bad, if she did kill you? Or would it just make things worse for her? How do you atone for something like this? Is revenge justice? Is it really enough to just make someone hurt?

You used to be sure.

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

You tsk. “Oh and now you’re hurting my feelings?” You can’t keep operating like this. Need to compartmentalize better. Remember the goal. Remember revenge. The damage to Argent is done. Don’t fuck this up and make it be in vain.

Argent eyes your hand, still pressed to the pillar, and growls. “What are you up to?”

“Are you talking about, in general or just right now?” You smirk under your helmet. “Care to find out?” You push hard against the concert. The stone breaks like glass and the ceiling sags from the sudden lack of support, tiles crashing down around you. You jump backwards as the ceiling starts to give in.

No time for any last-minute taunts. You book it for the sewer entrance before Argent can realize the whole building isn’t going to collapse.

In the back of your head, she's still there, watching through the dust.

Smile like a shark.

Reminding.

---

“So, this isn’t what I had planned on talking about; but you’ll never guess what happened last night.” Ortega looks at you, leaning in, an edge to her smile. The two of you are meeting for an early lunch before heading up to the Children’s Hospital again.

You’d half a mind to order something alcoholic, but resisted. Instead, you’re watching Ortega over the rim of your milkshake, straw in your mouth. “Mm?”

“You remember Pennybags?”

You drum the side of the glass with your fingers, making a show of thinking back. “The magnetic guy?”

Ortega nods. “Yeah. Big bank robber, stole a bunch of things from the old Rangers HQ too, remember?”

You nod, grimacing. “Yeah, that was a mess.” Of course you remember. One of the few times you had actually seen Julia really upset. The first time actually. Didn’t know what to do, how to handle it. Ortega was always so confident, so in control of herself and the situation all the time. And there she was, tears and snot yelling at cardboard boxes about failing and… you did the only thing you could think of to do.

“Well, did you see the news this morning?” Ortega’s excitement pulls you back to the present. She leans in further over the table.

You sit back, shaking your head. “I was a little busy last night.” You wince, “This morning. I mean. Uh.” Shit shit shit. “Well. Both? Long night. Working.” You shrug, try to keep your face blank.

Ortega tilts her head, side-eyeing you. “Yeah, I still need to ask you about that job of yours.” She waves it off with a hand. “Anyway, Banshee made a mess again. North end of Beverly Hills this time.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Was anyone hurt?” You bite your lip, looking away. “Did… um. Did anyone else…?”

You know Banshee didn’t kill anyone last night. But…

Don’t breathe, don’t relax until Ortega shakes her head, “One guy had some minor injuries, but that’s it.”

Oh thank god. “That’s a relief.” You match Ortega’s smile, swipe a fry from the basket in front of her.

“I’m more convinced than ever that Marconi’s murder was something else.”

“That’s…” You look away, watch the window, fingers worrying the fry in your hand. Shit. What do you say to that? Fuck fuck fuck. “If you say so.” You look back at her. Need to push this conversation along before she can think about that response. “So, uh, are you just this excited that no one was hurt or did the Rangers finally bring Banshee in, or – or what?”

“No, they got away. Again.” Ortega gives you a curious look, eyes flickering down to the fry in your hand and then back up to your face. With an air of deliberate purpose, you put the fry in your mouth. She politely doesn’t say anything.

“So then…?”

“You’ll never guess.”

You shrug, steal another fry. “Okay.”

She frowns. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

You keep your face blank, only raising an eyebrow as you silently eat your ill-gotten prize.

“Fine.” She huffs. “The guy Banshee attacked, the one that had to go to the hospital… It’s Pennybags. Bastard was hiding under our noses the whole time.”

“Money’s a pretty good cover.”

“Believe me, I’m wildly aware.” The tired expression on Ortega’s face is only there for a brief second and then it’s gone. “He practically turned himself in. It was… kind of creepy, actually. Reading the report.”

You swallow, goosebumps on the back of your neck. “Creepy?”

“Like he felt… compelled.” Ortega jabs a fry in your direction. “You’re the expert, what do you think? Can telepathy force a confession like that?”

“Ortega…” You make yourself meet her eyes. “You’re as much of an expert as me, at uh, at this point. M–maybe more.”

“Maybe.” She meets your gaze. “But I want to know what you think.”

Goddamnit, why does she keep doing this?

You focus on the basket of fries instead, it’s safer. “It’s… possible.” You concede. Would it be better to lie? It already feels like you’re lying about so much. It’s better to minimize the amount of bullshit you have to keep track of. “How are you… sure it’s a confession, and not like… uh, a delusion or something? False suggestion?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. That was my first assumption but uh…” She lowers her voice. “We uh, we found some stuff when searching the apartment. The signed Marshall Hood figure Pennybags stole actually…”

“Oh.” You say. You hadn’t expected her to actually talk about this.

“I… don’t really have a lot left of him. I thought I’d lost that one for good.”

“I remember.” You remember seeing the front door of its hinges, running through wrecked room after room, finding an alarmingly sobbing Ortega.

The first time you willingly hugged someone.

“There’s maybe five people who know about that figure, Ari, and two of them are dead now.” Ortega’s voice is quiet, her hand on the table balled into a fist.

“Do…” You fish for an idea, “do you think they’re trying to send you a message?”

Ortega looks you straight in the face, half-eaten hamburger now completely forgotten. You wish she wouldn’t. “A message? For what?”

You look back, willing yourself not to look away, not to look guilty. “I don’t know… I mean, it’s no secret you and Hood were close, is it?”

The look on Ortega’s face only intensifies. “You think maybe it was a threat?”

Your face blanches, and you shake your head. This is not at all going how you thought it would. “I’m not in this game anymore, remember?” You shrug your shoulders theatrically, “for all I know it could be a love letter.” You freeze. Face threatening warmth. Oh god. What the fuck, Ariadne?

The absurdity of the idea gets a laugh out of Ortega and you both relax. “Mierda,” she shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a way to send a letter.”

You steal another fry. She lets you.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

there’s no turning back

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Ortega’s gravity is pulling you back into everything you can’t have. The fantasy that anyone would care about you is as seductive as it is destructive. [In Undertow]

[Read on AO3]

It’s unsettling how quickly routine can develop, and with it familiarity. As the days turn into weeks turn into first one month then another. It’s not falling back into old habits, not exactly. But then again, it’s hard to tell sometimes. Volunteer work with Ortega, splitting weeks between the hospital and soup kitchen. It’s starting to feel… normal.

Was Ortega always this warm? Always this quick to touch, to catch your hand, to smile or frown? Were you always so quick to do the same?

It doesn’t feel right. Like… any moment god, or… something like it will realize the mistake and cast you down. Punish you for daring to feel like this.

You’d deserve it.

After all, you’re double-dipping. First as Jane, Ortega’s girlfriend, and again as Ariadne, that ghost from the past that just refuses to die. What game, exactly, Ortega is playing here you’re not sure. But in the five years you knew her, for all the relationships and flings she might have gone through, not once did she cheat. So… You must be reading her wrong right? How she is behaving to Ariadne?

If it’s not dating then what is it?

Wishful thinking or, maybe it’s a bleed over in perception or, or, or, something, anything to explain it away. Attraction – to this body? With it’s deformities and branding and everything twisted and wrong. It’s not – it’s not possible.

And then you think about the beach and –

Oh, you idiot. Why did you do that?

Why did Ortega do that?

Kiss you.

Repeatedly.

Finger to your lips, the memory of her mouth on yours is like a ghost. Electric and heart racing. Just thinking about it again and you can feel your face warm as you stare out the window. Want to pull your shawl up over your head and melt into a puddle. Shouldn’t be smiling like this. This is messed up. It’s wrong. God, are you crazy? Have you lost your entire fucking mind? This is… it’s you we’re talking about here. There’s no fucking way she would… right?

Goddammit this is making your head hurt.

The break room door swings up and you scramble to your feet, arms swinging wildly as you struggle to keep your balance. For a moment coming out of your reverie there’s the assumption it must be Ortega coming in but – no, your awareness brushes the mind seconds before you turn and see her. All sharks and barbed wire.

“L– lady Argent. Um. Hi.”

She narrows her eyes, looking you up and down. “Waiting for Herald?”

Have to swallow the lump in your throat, battle back the nausea. “Um. H–herald? Yeah.” You shrug, avoiding her eyes. Actually Ortega had asked you for advice on something. But you’re not about to disabuse Argent of her assumption. She thinks you’re a wash-up and a has-been. And if your inability to stare her in the face and acknowledge what you’ve done contributes to that, well, that works out just fine, doesn’t it?

“Hrm.” Argent frowns, “That’s right, you’re giving him pointers or something? Whatever,” she shrugs and turns towards the fridge. Yanks open the door with no small amount of force. “Not my problem. As long as he stays out of my hair, we’re good.”

Okay. This seems like a safe enough subject. You can do this, Ariadne.

“He’s… um.” You falter as Argent turns to look at you again, a box of cold rice in one hand. “He’s got no idea how to use his boost in a–a–a fight. I’m having to… to um, start from well, from square one.”

“Well, maybe if he had ever listened to me, he wouldn’t have beefed it.” Argent scowls. “He should just carry a damn gun already. Could just fly around people’s cover.”

“Do… do you really think Herald is the type of person to, uh, well, um… carry a gun?”

She rolls her eyes, pulling into a seat. “Of course you would take his side. Bleeding hearts.”

You blink at that. “W–what?” You? A bleeding heart? You have to keep your face blank. Fight to not laugh at the idea.

She points a chopstick at you, “You heard me.”

When you don’t immediately respond she shifts focus to the rice, shoveling it into her mouth. You… should get out of here. If Herald still wants to train this week he has your number. Well, he has a number of yours.

Being alone in a room with Lady Argent is near the very bottom of the list of things you want to be. It’s hard enough facing her when you’re in your armor. At least Ghost – Banshee now, you remind yourself – has some sort of rivalry building that gives you a framing to work with. Just as yourself, as Ariadne the has–been… it’s too… too…

Whatever – Don’t think about it. You’re going to have nightmares tonight as it is, anyway.

Quietly you slowly meander around the perimeter of the break room and make your exit. Argent doesn’t stop you. Barely even thinks of you. If you’re lucky, you’ll stay that way. A bug beneath her notice.

As tempting as it is, you don’t really have the trust, or the cover, to go snooping around. You’ll just find a conference room or something to hold up in. Ortega will message or call or whatever whim strikes her when she can’t find you. She’s certainly never been shy about hunting you down.

“–you. There’s something going on here.”

Oooooor the snooping could come to you. You hang back. Shut the door to a conference room. Can only pick up one mind on the other side but– static. Ortega? Ortega and… Chen? Can feel your stomach twist.

“Your opinion is noted, but your personal feelings are clouding your judgement on this Ortega.” Chen. Yep, that’s Chen alright.

“It doesn’t fit the MO, or anything we know about motive. Why spend all that work only to flush it away?” Ortega. She sounds frustrated. Raising her voice. You can just imagine the static electricity crawling up her arms, discharge triggered by the stress in her hands.

“You know as well as I do that these things can change as a villain settles in. Maybe the change of name was meant to be a tip off.”

Name change? They’re not talking about…? You can feel your breath catch in your throat.

“And we’ve seen that. Compare how mouthy they’ve gotten to their debut. Come on, Wei. Think this through. Someone else is using them as cover. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“...the jury is still out on that one. And saving bystanders to the assassination attempt would still fit the profile we’ve built.” There’s a pause. “No, I’m not convinced.” Chen’s voice drops. The two of them continue to argue, muffled by the door. Skimming his thoughts doesn’t give you much more to work with. If the Rangers still can’t figure out what exactly Banshee’s deal is, that’s fine with you. The longer they spend guessing, the longer you have to build your strength.

The doorknob turns and you jump back, biting your lip. Ortega catches your eyes as she steps out. Momentary surprise is washed away with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I got a little heated there.”

“I – I wasn’t–” You cough, face red. “I wasn’t uh, trying to eavesdrop I just… Argent kicked me out of the break room so, well, um…”

“Ari, you’re fine.” Ortega laughs, a hand on your shoulder guiding you away from the conference room. “Actually, I wanted to ask your opinion on the whole thing so it’s fine.”

“It – it is?”

“Not here though. Com’on, let’s go to my office.”

“I’m… not in trouble am I?”

Ortega gives you a wry look. “Not yet. Why? Looking to make some?”

You offer an uneasy smile back. “I’ll be good.”

–––

“So.. what’s the deal?” You settle into your chair as Ortega takes the one by the computer. You watch as she grabs some papers off the desk shuffling through them.

“I wanted your opinion on Banshee.”

You frown, folding your arms against your chest under your shawl. Thank god for that shawl. No one can see the sweat dripping down your armpits. “Ghost?”

Ortega gives you a curious look. “Banshee, remember?”

“No, I knew that.” You correct her before you can stop yourself. “I mean, uh – why ask me?” You sigh. “I thought I had made my feelings on all this pretty clear.”

“I think that makes it all the more important.” Ortega whispers.

“Huh?” You didn’t hear that right, did you?

“Do you think they’re a killer?”

You stare at her. “Wh–what do you mean?”

“You know, Mayor Alavrez’s personal aide?” Ortega offers, “Has kind of an anti-corruption bent to him?”

Ochoa had been priming Vanderpoel as an informant for a big expose on City Hall corruption. You’d been hoping to keep him around as a pawn to push against the Mayor when election season rolled around. Did the Rangers suspect something there?

You blink and tilt your head. One hand finds itself digging into your leg, tracing patterns. “I... “ You laugh, “Ortega, who keeps up on that kind of stuff?”

“Argent says she interrupted Banshee in middle of… doing something with Mayor Alavrez’s aide.”

“So…?”

“There was that hit job on Marconi, and Banshee took a hostage in that last fight with Argent.” Ortega pauses, you steal a quick glance at her face only for the weight of her gaze to force your eyes away again.

“Fuck.”

“Ariadne…?” Ortega furrows her brow.

“No, I just – What are you asking?” You sigh. A long, drawn-out exhale as you run your hands through your hair. You look back up and find Ortega’s brown eyes searching your face.

“You always had a knack for knowing what the bad guys were thinking, Ari.” There’s a strange evenness to her voice. It takes the sharp pain of your fingernails digging into your thigh to keep you present.

“That’s – Ortega, that was a long time ago.” You force a laugh. “And – and anyway…” Your stomach twists. “Is it really that much of a mystery? Banshee already killed that uh, Macaroni guy. You can’t really turn back from that.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

You furrow your brow, biting the inside of your cheek. Not so sure? Not so sure of what? Banshee killing Marconi had been a cut and dry story all over the news. And it’s not like you were able to save him, just because you weren’t responsible for the explosion didn’t make you any less guilty.

Ortega sighs, “And now this thing with Alavrez’s aide. Argent was on the scene as fast as she could, but Banshee had plenty of opportunity to kill him if that had been the goal.”

What was it you overheard her and Chen talk about? Someone else using Banshee for cover? Cover for what? Obviously they’re both mistaken, but what exactly does Ortega think is going on here?

Ortega leans back in her chair, blowing air through her lips. “Chen says I’m too close, so… what do you think?”

You stare at her, point a hand at your chest. “What do I think?”

“Did Banshee kill Marconi?”

“I – I’m sorry, did I miss something? When did that become the question?”

"Let’s just say the evidence doesn’t line up as well as the official story would have you believe.”

Your eyes widen at that. That’s a normal enough reaction for someone completely innocent right? Your heart is pounding in your chest and you can feel the sweat on your armpits. “I… Okay. I guess… putting that particular… attack aside,” You force yourself to meet Ortega’s eyes. “I mean, well. Does she – them – they, do they seem like the… the type, to uh well, do that?” This is crazy. It’s one thing to be getting insider gossip, it’s another to be walking a tightrope over a pit full of live alligators. “They’ve uh, they’ve had… plenty of opportunities. Why kill just that one guy?”

“Maybe Marconi wouldn’t give them something they wanted?”

“That’s… possible.” You have to concede. “But…” You’re playing with fire here. Need to be dead careful with your words. “You think they’re a telepath, right?”

Ortega nods.

“So… like, even if someone decides they don’t want to, uh, to talk anymore. If this… criminal is as powerful a telepath as you think, I don’t know if that would be a barrier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I–I–I mean, well – As long as someone’s alive, you can work with that. Uh. Mentally speaking. You can’t… can’t get thoughts from a corpse.”

Ortega drums her fingers against her chin, staring over your shoulder at the unfinished wall. “That’s kind of creepy.”

Oh god. Oh christ. How did you get yourself into this mess?

“That’s… just my guess?” You have to take a breath, swallow the bile back. It’s a struggle not to let the tension show any more than it already is. “And… it’s not like I’ve kept up the past couple years. Maybe I’m completely off base. But… I don’t think there’s anything Banshee would have to gain from killing these guys.”

“So you think they would kill somebody?”

“I… I didn’t say that!” You sit up, waving your hand. “I–I–I don’t know what they’re thinking.”

“Ari?”

You look up, “S–sorry.” You bunch up your hands, shrinking into your seat. “I’m a little out of it already.”

Ortega’s expression changes, a different kind of concern. “Are you sleeping okay?”

“Um…” You chew your cheek, look away from her to stare at the blank whiteboard. “No. Uh… Therapy.” You throw the word out there with a shrug. “It’s been… it’s been hard. Digging things up.” Not a complete lie. You rub your head, plaster a smile back on your face. “Sorry, sorry. Um. Let’s focus on this… Banshee mess?”

“I guess it depends on what their agenda actually is.”

“Yeah.”

“They definitely seem to have some sort of political bent to their attacks.” Ortega glances at you from the corner of her eye. “It’s making a lot of suits very nervous.”

“For their lives or their careers?”

That gets a small smirk. “Soon it’s gonna be both.”

“That’s… fair.” You’re not sure your smile is as genuine as you’d like. Who’s trying to undermine you? Once was coincidence but twice makes a pattern. It’s enough to make your skin crawl. You need to be more careful. Maybe it’s time to drop Rosie, as helpful as having her around is. Up your OpSec.

Fuck – you’re zoning out again. You scan the run, looking for something to distract the conversation with. “Who’s that?” You nod towards the photo taped to the frame of Ortega’s computer monitor.

“Who?” She spins around in her chair. “Oh. That.” She looks back at you, embarrassed? “A reminder, that’s all.”

“Reminder?” You tilt your head.

“I… may have punched a reporter at your funeral. I’m surprised you didn’t already know?” She pries the photograph off it’s tape backing and hands it over to you. A newspaper clipping it looks like. Somebody’s byline. Vernon Browne? “He was an asshole.” Ortega sighs, a scowl settling over the embarrassment. “A real asshole. I quit the next week. They were going to fire me otherwise.”

“I had a funeral?” The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Ortega makes a face like you just slapped her. “Of course you had one. Ari, why wouldn’t you? I told you when we met.”

“S–sorry. I just… never thought about it.” Things like you don’t ‘get’ funerals. You’re disposable. Break down into parts and re-use whatever’s still good. “I… uh. I didn’t really… think anyone cared.”

“Ari–” Ortega blinks hard. You can tell she’s barely restraining herself from touching you. “Of course people cared. A… lot of people cared. About both of you.”

Both?

Anathema.

Fuck.

You rub at your face.

“We didn’t have a body for either of you, but that didn’t mean we were just… just going to forget about you.” Ortega looks away, balling her hands into fists. Little sparks crawling up her arms. “And then this pendejo shows up with all these… weird accusations. At your goddamn funeral and, and…”

Have to keep your face blank. “...accusations…?”

“He was a conspiracy nut. Ranted about all kinds of crazy things.” Ortega throws her hands in the air. “I don’t remember even half of the nonsense he shouted. But it – it was your goddamn funeral and he wouldn’t shut up and…”

“So you… punched him?”

“I’d have kicked his teeth in too if Wei hadn’t grabbed me. Still broke his nose. Ortega shakes her head. “He had a time of it, reading me the hospital bill.”

“Chen’s an asshole.”

“So are we all.” Ortega takes the picture back from you, sticks it back to the monitor. “Anyway, he retired not long after. But I keep the picture around. It’s a reminder.”

You watch Ortega’s face, the shift in her body language. Sometimes she seems as energetic and gung-ho as she was seven years ago. And other times, like right now, you can really see the weight of middle-age starting to settle into her. “A reminder?”

“Not to let my emotions get the better of me like that again.”

You frown. “So… when Wei said you were too close…”

“Yeah.” Ortega frowns with you, raises a hand up to rub the back of her neck.

“Well…” Your voice feels small, drowning into the empty walls as you stare at your lap. “I think… maybe your hunch is right.”

“Thanks.” Her hand finds your knee. You let it stay there.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

I’m gonna try to post fan-fiction regularly again after minimal output in February. So sorry to those of you that thought you were rid of me. Hahaha, I’m not sorry at all actually, that was a lie.

Current project is ‘Spiraling’ a Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fanfic, i’m aiming to put up roughly a chapter a week. This week gets a double up-date to start things off with. I’ll cross post things here but everything is much easier to find on A03, honestly.

[Spiraling]

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne #my art #gif #eyestrain #maybe?

[erintoknow]

hanging from the window

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You promised Ortega you would try this whole ‘therapy’ thing. But now that it’s time, you’d rather chew tinfoil. [In the Shadows]

[Read on AO3]

Why did you agree to this?

One moment of weakness compounded by another. Ortega doesn’t even know a tenth of what’s going on with you and yet she always knows just when to capitalize on it.

“I can’t believe they let you out of – of the hospital already.” Side-eyeing Ortega, the two of you walk down the street. “I bet you’re wrapped up like a goddamn mummy under those clothes.”

She’s carrying herself better than you expected. Her favorite electric blue sports jacket hangs around her waist, exposing her flannel top. Bruises barely visible, a patchwork of darker hues against her skin. The colors contrasting against the stark white of bandages peeking out from underneath.

Ortega was always quick to get back on her feet back in the day, wasn’t she? You think you should feel relieved but you aren’t. The sooner Ortega is back into active duty, the sooner she’s throwing herself into danger again.

“Thinking about what’s under my clothes, huh?” Ortega smirks at you, skin wrinkling around her eyes. “Eres un poco pervertido?”

You bite your lip, heat flushing your face. “F–f–fuck you!” You hastily step away from her as Ortega snickers. Narrow your eyes and cross your arms. “Don’t be so… so–so–so full of yourself, old woman. How are you even walking?”

“Hey – I’m not old.” The response is curt. Good. At least you can still get under her skin somehow. “And;” she winks at you, “that’s a secret.”

“A secret.” You sigh. “I bet they just k–kicked you out for making passes at–at–at all the doctors.”

Ortega cackles, then winces with a sharp intake of breath. “Ow! Don’t make me laugh that hard.” Her smug face beams over at you. “You know me so well, Ariadne.”

“W–whatever.”

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

You stare straight ahead, keep walking. Just know she’s looking at you.

‘Ready to talk’ she asks, like it was somebody’s cat that died. Not – not you kissing her. In that elevator. Fresh out of dragging her off her hospital bed. Madness laced with desperation with an undercurrent of guilt.

“Ariadne?”

“I – I don’t know.” You admit, the air escaping your lungs. “I–I–I’m still…”

“Processing.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Ortega’s voice is soft, barely audible against the city noise. “How’ve you been otherwise? Hanging in there?”

“H–h–how have I been? I - I am - It’s fine.” You lie. “I – I’m not the, uh, the one that needs a month more of bedrest.”

Ortega’s response is immediate and self-assured. “This is more important.”

“No it’s not.” You roll your eyes. “Can’t f–f–fucking believe I let you talk me into this.” You pull ahead of her. Don’t want to see her stupid face – her stupid bruised, still healing face – creased in worry for the – the thing responsible for it. A dull throbbing ache still vibrates through your legs with each step. Sore muscles still burning. Might have pulled a few things. Mementos of the fiasco at the Gala. Ones you can’t dare let show around Ortega.

“Ari, it’s going to be okay. This is going to help, I promise.” Can hear her quicken her pace to keep up with you. A hand catches your shoulder and you freeze, stock-still and ridge. “I know it’s scary.”

“I’m not scared!”

“Uh-huh.” Ortega steps around you, into your field of vision. “Trust me. Okay?” When you don’t respond, don’t take the hand she holds out to you, she sighs. “Just… at least give it a try. For me?”

You close your eyes. After everything you’ve done, don’t you… owe her something? “F–fine.” You relent. Take her hand. Let her drag you onwards towards your doom.

You’re not sure what you expected for a therapist’s dungeon. Some kind of marble temple with jail bars on the windows, maybe. Not… “This looks like somebody’s house.”

“Private practice.” Ortega offers, as if that explains anything. “She specializes in helping, well, you know.” Ortega shrugs, smiles at you in some fashion you can only assume is meant to be reassuring.

“Oh.” You answer. No, you don’t know.

Specializes in what?

In what Ortega?

Goddamnit.

“Is this… who you see?”

“Oh uh,” She avoids looking at you. “No, The guy I see is in a different part of the city. But Dr. Finch is pretty well recommended. And…”

“You thought it was better we didn’t – um. Share therapists.”

“Yeah.”

What is she afraid of? That’ll you read the guy’s mind? Find out some secret of hers? That’s – you almost laugh. Still…

“Okay. Um…” You chew your cheek. Don’t want to step forward. Caught between the threshold and Ortega��s side.

“I’ll wait out here. We can get something for lunch, maybe, when you’re done?” Ortega looks like she’s about to hug you so you quickly step away. Towards the door.

“Okay.” You manage get out. “You... you–you–you better still be here!”

“Hey,” She smiles at you, “You know me.”

Oh god.

–––

The woman before you holds out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ariadne.” Dr. Finch is… not exactly what you expected. No lab coat. No cold distance. She’s a short woman, roughly middle-age at your best guess. With a grey cardigan over a light blue blouse and a pair of glasses adorning her face that match the emerald ear studs.

You keep your hands to yourself. Shrinking into the oversized seat you were offered.

Dr. Finch lets her hand drop, a smile still on her face. “Is it alright with you, if I take notes? It helps me remember, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

It’s a little late for that. And It’s not like it matters. It’s never mattered what you said before.

You don’t say that, however. Shrug your shoulders, avoid looking in her direction as she sits down. Can pick up a note of concern and then she sets her notebook aside. “We’ll revisit the notes question later then.”

Huh.

What’s her game here?

“Are there any questions you have for me? Anything I can do to help you be more comfortable?”

Don’t answer her right away, instead glance towards the lamp hanging from the ceiling. Suppose you could ask… It’d be a simple enough test. Put a hand towards your sunglasses. “Um. Can you… make it darker? S–sorry.”

“That’s no problem at all.” She reaches over to a dial on the wall. As she turns, the light grows dimmer, until it’s barely on at all. “Is that any better?”

“That’s… thanks.” What is this lady’s deal? God. Why are you here? This is crazy. Worse than that, this is dangerous.

“So, I know we talked briefly on the phone,” Very briefly. “But I want to start by reminding you that this is completely confidential. Nothing you say here leaves this room.”

You frown. “Unless you think I’m a danger. To – to somebody.”

“Or yourself, that’s true. Only in cases where immediate intervention is called for.”

Cross your arms, don’t meet her eyes, don’t let her win. “Hrm.”

“Your confidentiality is important to me. It’s not the kind of decision that’s made lightly.”

And who gets to decide that?

“Why don’t we start, then? What do you want to talk about today?”

You blink, frowning. That’s… not how your interrogations have typically started.

“This is your time, Ariadne. You get to set the pace.”

Oh god it’s like she can – but no, she’s not a telepath. There’s no way. You’d notice something like that. Right? Right??

Dr. Finch’s smile doesn’t falter. “Maybe start with something about yourself? What you like to do, something you’ve learned today. It can be anything.”

You shrink back into the seat. “I… I don’t know. Um…” You’ve waited out interrogators before. You can do it again. Standard practice. You are a trained professional. She’s what? Some lady with a degree? Big deal.

Dr. Finch sits back in her chair. Smiles politely every time you glance in her direction.

She stays quiet.

You grit your teeth.

Fuck.

You glance down, studying your shoes. They’re old for sneakers at this point. Starting to peel apart at the seams. Like you, you suppose. Maybe it’s time to start putting more work in your appearance. If only to keep from ending up in more rooms like this one.

Still she’s not saying anything else, jesus christ. Can skim her thoughts. She’s curious. Comparing your behaviour – fuck, are you kidding, even doing this is giving her something to analyze you with, fuck this sucks.

“Look, I... “ You bite back the words in your throat. “I d–don’t know what you want. I’m only here because I promised Ortega.”

“The only thing I want to do is to give you a space to talk, Ariadne.”

“B–bullshit.” You spit back. “You don’t – you don’t care. You’re paid to care.”

“I know this can be scary, Ariadne. But I hope you’ll give me the chance to prove that I do care.” She pauses, purses her lips in thought. “This isn’t your first time with a therapist, is it?”

Shit. How–?

You grit your teeth, hissing out air. “No.”

“Those other times weren’t very pleasant, were they?”

Fucking hell.

You avoid looking at her. “No.”

“I’m sorry that happened. You deserve better than that.” Do you? “And I’m proud of you for being brave enough to still come see me.”

“Don’t – don’t patronize me.” You hiss at her, pulling your legs up onto the couch to press against your chest. “There’s… there’s nothing brave about being forced to come here.”

“Ariadne, no one’s making you be here. You can end the session and leave whenever you want.”

That gets your attention again, you jerk your head up studying her face. Nothing contradicting her thoughts.

“This is your space. It’s only helpful as long as you want to be here.” She catches your eye, tilts her head with a smile. “I can’t make you stay.”

You chew your lip. “F–fine. Then… I’m done.”

“Okay.”

You stare at her. “Serious?”

“I’m serious.” She doesn’t seem to be lying. Doesn’t seem to be trying to trick you. It’s… weird.

Stretch out your legs, stand up. Still watching her watching you. She doesn’t move to stop you. Doesn’t even raise a hand. You frown. What is her deal? What the hell is this?

“W–what about - um… What about Ortega?” She’s the only reason you’re here to begin with. Why are you even subjecting yourself to this whole farce. Because she thinks you need help – thinks Ariadne needs help.

Dr. Finch shakes her head. “This is completely voluntary. She can’t make you do something you don’t want to do.”

“Hah.” Clearly she hasn’t actually met Julia Ortega.

Standing there, you feel frozen in amber, or caught between mirrors.

You sit back down, cough, clear your throat. “This is… it's, um, just a trial. Okay?”

Dr. Finch nods. “That’s all I ask.”

You frown at that. Let your eyes search the room as the silence settles back over between the two of you. “Did… Ortega tell you anything? About... “ You break off your sentence, can’t finish it.

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Oh.” Don’t know what to make of that. “Why?”

“Your friend may have pressured you to come here, but you chose to sit back down for a reason. Am I wrong?”

“I…” The words catch in your throat and your mind blanks. You shut your eyes, shake your head. Fingers dig into your legs. “Maybe?” Your voice cracks. “I don’t – how can, um, can anyone ever just… talk about this? I don’t know how.”

Dr. Finch’s voice is quiet and yet it cuts across the room, “You’ve already started.”

“Don’t – don’t give me that bullshit.” You groan, pressing a hand to your face. “I – I don’t even – I mean. Why is she still trying to help me?”

“She?”

“You know who!” The hand migrates up to your hair, pulling at the curls. “Ortega.”

Dr. Finch stays quiet. Waiting you out?

It’s pointless. This whole thing is pointless. Ortega has no fucking idea what kind of monster kissed her. Thinking about it now makes your skin crawl. “God I – fuck, I’m so stupid.” Strands of hair come loose in your hand, a single white hair presents itself for inspection. “Or she is. Or – or – or both, fuck.”

When it becomes apparent you aren’t going to continue, Dr. Finch shifts in her seat Concern radiating off her. “What makes you say that?”

Fucking hell.

You bite your lip, hard enough to hurt. Throat tight, choking out the words. Shake your head as they refuse to come. How can anyone be expected to understand?

–––

“Hola.” Ortega raises a hand to catch your attention as you step back out onto the street.

You finish putting your sunglasses back on and wave back to her. “Hola.” Your voice feels weak, throat still hurting. Your return wave is similarly weak and half-hearted. Still need to steel yourself to face the world again.

“So… how was she?”

You huff, look away from the anxious expression on her face. “She’s… okay. I – I guess.” You shrug. You still feel raw, exposed. Liable to collapse.

“See? I knew you’d like her.” You glance back at her as she claps a hand across your back. Her smile is broad and infectious.

You try to hide your own smile, push her hand away with a scowl. “Y–yeah well. I’m not cured yet. So…”

“Nothing happens overnight. You’ll get there Ari. I believe in you.” She sounds like she means it. The idiot. If she – if she had any idea. If she even suspected. She wouldn’t be saying that. You frown, pulling away. Ortega follows after, not quite willing to let you go yet. “I promised you lunch, right? Are you still up for it?”

“I…” You sigh, mirror her smile back. “I’m sorry, I think I uh, I need to call it a day.”

“Ari.” The concern in her voice is enough to make you wince. “At least let me get you something to take home with you, okay? I owe you.”

You want to shut that down. To make it clear she doesn’t owe you anything. Not after what you’ve done, or are continuing to do. But you don’t have the energy to fight her right now. It’s too seductive a lie to pretend she actually cares. If buying you lunch makes her happy, then fine. Nobody says you have to actually eat it.

“F–fine.” You sigh. “Um… thanks, Ortega.”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #wlw fanfic #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

not okay

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You can’t even be in the general proximity of The Rangers without being dragged into their garbage, can you? Tw: past sexual abuse [That Kind Of Girl]

[Read on AO3]

Argent working with vigilantes is a new development. Not an entirely unwelcome one if it makes the Rangers look even more unreliable. But it begs the question as to what the hell is going on in that damn building? Is it worth trying to ask? Ariadne is just Ortega’s retired friend. Nothing suspicious about a friend checking in on another friend. Right?

It’s been a couple of days since the bridge fight, so it’s not like it’s too suspicious. Plenty of time for all kinds of details to filter out into the wild.

Walking down mainstreet you stop to buy a newspaper, flipping through the pages. One article in the celebrity column gives you pause. Herald and Argent have broken up?

Huh.

You might not even need to do anything to get the Rangers to fall apart. Just push at the right moment and they’ll do the work themselves.

Once they're on their own, picking them off one by one will be a lot easier – your stomach twists into a knot at the thought. Do you… really need to do that though? As long as they aren’t a threat to the plan, that’s all that matters, right?

It’s an hour of wandering around before you find yourself standing in front of the Rangers HQ. You haven’t set foot inside since the morning of the Gala. Wonder how small Chen’s frown would get if he knew his advice helped push you down this path. ‘Commit to a choice, and stick with it’ huh?

Well it wasn’t your choice that marked the Rangers as your enemy. You just stopped pretending otherwise. Fuck. Fuck this. What were you thinking? You can’t just… walk in the front door.

Can you?

You don’t belong there.

You turn around, trying to modulate your speed so you aren’t straight up running away. Because you aren’t. There’s nothing to run from. Don’t be stupid.

It’s the change in the crowd that tips you off first, people pointing upwards. What’s the big deal…? Oh. You hunch your shoulders, picking up the pace. Nope. This isn’t happening. Not today. You’ve got places to be.

“Ariadne!”

You groan, freeze midstep.

God fucking hell.

Shading your sunglasses with a hand you turn around and peer upwards against the sun at Herald hovering in the sky like violating the laws of gravity was a completely normal thing to do. Lucky fucking bastard.

He dips down lower. “Sorry, sorry. I saw you from the window, and, well, I thought I’d get a chance to talk to you inside but then you didn’t come inside and well, I’ve been meaning to talk and we haven’t had a chance and–”

“Wonderbread for the love of god, stop babbling.”

His smile is frantic and anxious. “Can we talk?”

Oh this’ll be good. You raise an eyebrow. “No one’s stopping you.” You glance around. Herald is drawing more and more attention. Ugh. It’s only a matter of time before it occurs to someone to ask who he’s talking to. “Actually – Can’t we do this, um, somewhere more private?”

He brightens up. If that was even possible. “Yeah! Yeah of course! I know the perfect place.”

“Gre–fucking shit!” The ground drops away from your feet as Herald scoops you off your feet, soaring into the sky. You might have screamed. You flail your arms and legs trying to get free but Herald’s grip is worryingly tight, pressing you against his chest.

“Put – put me fucking down.” You're up too high now. You’ll fall. You’ll fall and die. And hands on you, holding you tight fuck why is it so bright, the light piercing around your sunglasses and shit shit fucking hell god dying would be better than this let go let go let go let go

Five years later and your feet touch solid ground. You shove him away, swinging your fist straight for his face. The asshole cries out in surprise, falling backwards onto his ass. Scrambling away you fall on your butt as well, pulling your legs to your chest. Breathe short – can’t get enough air. Fingernails digging into your knees.

“Sidestep – uh, Ariadne…?”

You swing a fist at his arm, batting him away. You bury your head in your knees. Try to stifle the sob in your throat. You’re not there. You’re not there. It’s just the sun. There’s no walls. You’re safe. You’re not there. You press your wrists against your eyes, pushing your sunglasses out the way.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Crying. Tears. Not like this.

Fuck. Fucking. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It takes another two years before you finally have control again. Stagger to your feet. Rub the back of your hand against your face. Don’t care if it ruins the foundation. Herald stands there. Awkward. Worried. Watching. Always fucking watching. You storm over to him, and he takes a step back, raising his arms. He opens that damn mouth of his and before he can say a single goddamn word you slap him across the face, follow it up by slamming your knee between his legs. He wheezes, collapsing to the ground, clutching his privates. “Don’t. Ever. Fucking. TOUCH ME. Again.”

Cold fury fills you as you stand there, hands on your hips watching Herald squirm. Eyes watering. Fucking Asshole. Should have broken his other leg too.

You deepen your frown, and stick a hand down to him. Help him stand back up.

“S–sorry…” He rasps, bleary-eyed.

“What the fuck?”

He winces, stepping backwards from you. “I just… you wanted somewhere private so… I didn’t – I didn’t think.”

“You can’t just–just–just… abduct random women off the streets.” You fold your arms against your chest. Fuck. You did a number on him. That eye is going to bruise.

“Random…?” He frowns. Doesn’t get it. “But – you’re Sidestep.”

“Would Sidestep have just beaten the shit out of you?”

“Uh.” He coughs. “Probably.”

You frown at that. “Just… I don’t know. Warn me. Ask first. Something. You don’t…” What someone has been through. What they still dream about. You hug yourself, suppress a shudder.

Herald looks away from you, face flush. Embarrassed. Contrite? “You’re right. I just… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. And I got excited and…” You can see it in his head, clear as daylight. Never imagined you could have reacted like that. That’d you be vulnerable like this.

Weak.

This isn’t real. You can’t be real.

“Well, y–y–you deserve worse.” You glare at him. Already the panic and anger are slipping out of your fingers, sliding somewhere else. Escaping you the harder you try to cling on. “What’s the big idea?”

“I… just,” Herald groans, a hand massaging his cheek. “Ariadne, are you okay?”

“I’m just fucking fine, asshole.” You spit back. “And don’t – don’t tell anyone about this.”

Herald blinks, alarmed thoughts swirling in his head. “What?”

“Look.” You straighten up, put out your hand to stop whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Ortega’s already… breathing down my neck. She’s gonna be on – on both our cases if she finds out fucking boy wonder gave me a panic attack.”

Shit you named it out loud.

Herald’s expression looks absolutely wretched. “Sidestep–”

“Ariadne.” Even as you insist on it, it doesn’t feel like yours.

“Ariadne,” He corrects himself, “I’m – so, so sorry.” He’s about to take a step towards you – sees how you tense up and thinks better of it. “This is… not how I wanted this to go.”

“No shit.” You cross your arms. Cling to anger. You have a right to be angry now. Don’t you? That’s what you’re feeling right now. Has to be. Stay in control. “So what’s the big f–f–fucking idea that’s so important you–you–you needed to abduct me like a discount flying saucer.”

“Well… I wanted to, uh, ask why you retired but…” Herald sighs. Can practically feel the clouds storming up his head. Shit. He really does feel bad.

“Is it… really a mystery?” You force yourself to stay standing. To not curl up. Stay in control.

“Heartbreak.”

“Yeah.”

“But…”

“What’s the big fucking idea anyway.” You glare in his direction, avoiding his eyes. “What? Did you think you’d be the big hero? Convenience Sidestep to come back where everyone else had failed?”

“I… no!” Herald grimaces, “Well. Maybe? I mean. I… I know you and Ortega have… uh, history. I thought that maybe I could…” He trails off, at a loss for words. “I just… You were Sidestep. You never gave up.”

“And then Sidestep died.” You turn away from him, frowning. For the first time it occurs to you to take a look around. Where the hell did Herald put you? A roof. High up. A sudden sense of vertigo rocks your legs as you see the distant buildings against the horizon. Tiny roads running up and down the hills.

Oh.

You’re up high.

Little tiny toy cars running over their tiny toy roads. You swallow, mouth suddenly dry. How high up are you? High enough to kill, probably. Would Herald catch you? He’d try. Unless you stopped him.

Save you from one jump just to give you a second. That would fix him.

Herald – he’s standing – floating there. Watching you. “Ariadne?”

“Just – just get me down.” You can’t stop staring at the horizon. “I… I just want to go home. P–please.” Ugh. That sounded pathetic. Hate this. Hate how vulnerable he’s forced you into being.

He hovers closer, keeps his distance as if he’s afraid you might hit him again. Good. Sometimes that’s the only way to learn. You know that from experience.

Herald fidgets with his hands, “Um… Is it okay? If I…?”

You blink.

Oh.

Right.

He… he has to carry you back down.

You watch yourself nod. Obediently lift out your arms so Herald can awkwardly pick you up. The flight down is direct. Almost painfully slow. Like a human elevator. And then there’s cement under your shoes again and metal stretching into the sky hiding the mountains like it’s supposed to and not a single damn motherfucker pays more than a cursory glance to the mockery of the human understanding of flight that is Herald.

You take a breath, rub at the bridge of your nose.

“Again,” Herald’s voice filters in from the next planet. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think. I…” He falters. “I’d guess it’d be a little insensitive to say I’m not at my best right now.”

You glance over at him. God, you're so tired.

“Look. Side–” He winces,  “–Ariadne. I… I know I really screwed up and you probably hate me now, but…”

Oh god. “Just… spit it out, Wonderbread.”

“Look. I don’t know who else I can ask at this point and–”

You step towards him, and he floats backwards. “Spit it out. Wonderbread.”

“I need help. For training. I mean for training. I need help for training, is what I meant.” He raises his hands defensively. Ready to catch another swing at him. It’s tempting to oblige but you restrain yourself.

“You’d really think… I’d ever help you? After today, Herald?”

He drops his gaze to the ground. “Look, I… I know I messed up. You’ve got every right to be mad at me. But…” He trails off, thoughts linger on the Gala. His fight with you.

Oh.

Oh no.

Herald looks up again, embarrassed. “I really got trashed in that last fight. My…” He puts a hand to his knee, the one you broke. “I can walk on it again, but it, well. It still hurts like hell. Chen’s got me playing spokesman for now, but… what good am I if I can’t fight, Ariadne? I can’t fail everyone like that again. I can’t.”

Herald is your enemy. He’s a self-absorbed asshole who abducted you from the middle of the street and gave you what might be one of the worst panic attacks you’ve had in months. How fucking dare he make you feel bad for breaking his leg.

You should tell him no and punch him again for good measure.

He takes your silence for hesitation. Flares hopeful. “I can still remember, uh, growing up. Watching you fight. How you zipped around the whole place. Made use of whatever you could grab. I… know our uh, our ‘talents’ aren’t the same. But… I think that’s what I need to learn to do.”

No. No you are not seriously considering this. This is stupid as hell. You don’t feel guilty. You don’t feel anything. You’re beyond feeling. “Ortega’s a better fighter than I ever was.”

“I… think trying to learn how to fight like Ortega would probably kill me.” He laughs, runs a hand through his hair in a bid to burn off anxious energy.

You nod. “Yeah. That’s fair.” You don’t know how fighting like Ortega hasn’t killed Ortega.

Fucking hell.

You squint your eyes at him. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

It takes him a moment. Then his whole face lights up.

You’re…

You’re going to get something useful out of this, right?

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

the truth won’t die when they pull that trigger

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Keep working that crack brigger. One day it’ll be wide enough for you to walk on through. [Stigmata]

[Read on AO3]

Holding your breath, you fall from the top of the bridge strut to the traffic below, jets slowing your descent. You’d tagged the car in your HUD and timed the jump, but it’s another to actually do it.

The limousine bounces as you hit the roof. Tug at the mind of the driver and she settles back into her focus. Another nudge and she hits the button to bring up the privacy screen between her and the backseat.

Here we go.

You’re in control.

The past month has been burned on following up the lead from Marconi. Nudging open the cracks. And where you can’t get Jane to snoop around, Ghost is there to pick up the slack. You put your left hand to the roof and wake up the Nanovores. They open up a circle just big enough for you to drop through, landing next to your target.

George Vanderpoel looks up from his cellphone, a look of shock on his face.

“Oh, don’t bother calling for help.” You cross your legs, gesturing towards the driver. “She can’t hear us.”

He swallows, putting his phone down with trembling hands. “Stay away from me…”

“Mr. Vanderpoel,” You laugh, the distortion turning it into a flat, ugly sound. “I’m not going to hurt you.” You pause, make a show of shrugging. “Probably.”

He doesn’t dare look away. “What do you want?” His voice cracks.

“Just a chat. Between friends.”

“I know who you are.”

“You don’t. But, I know you. Mayor Alvarez’s personal aide.”

He frowns, tries to keep a stone face. But his hands give it away even if his internal screaming didn’t. “What do you want with me?”

“You’re a man of integrity.” You lie. “Tough on criminals.”

His expression remains guarded. “You’re a criminal.”

“Maybe. But there’s worse ones out there.” You hand dips down to your belt. There’s no small amount of satisfaction at watching him squirm, heartbeat pounding. You pull out a photocopied piece of paper, pass it over to him. “This look familiar?”

He frowns, not sure what to think, who to believe. “I didn’t sign this.”

“Thought so.” You sigh. “Oh, Mr. Vanderpoel, someone close to you has been very naughty.” You hand dips down to your belt again. Pulling out a card, you flick it towards him as well. “Your buddy, Ava? That’s the code for her safe. Give it a look.” The Chief of Staff’s personal safe might be out of yours or Jane’s reach for now. But no one will suspect Vanderpoel.

He turns the card over in his hands. Suspicion mixed with worry starting to win out over fear. “What? What’s your game here, Ghost?”

“There’s no game.” You lie, again. And then, since you’re already lying and you need him on your side; “I’m not the bad guy here, despite what a few suits want you to think.” You add a telepathic weight to your words, willing him to believe it. “It’s a shame. Can’t trust anyone these days.”

“I don’t–” The car slams to a halt, sending both of you rocking forwards.

You straighten up, on alert. The Rat-King pulls your attention past the driver’s panicked alarm and towards someone coming straight towards you. You stand up. “It’s been good talking with you, Mr. Vanderpoel.” You drop your voice, “Stay out of trouble now.”

Climbing back out onto the roof of the car, you take stock of the scene. Almost at the other end of the bridge and this whole lane of traffic has come to a halt. A glint of movement catches your eye and – there! Some asshole is weaving his motorcycle across traffic. Straight at you.

Knew you would be here? And which car?

Hrm.

The Rat-King braces you as you reach out, grab the offending mind and pull. Force him to drive in a straight line towards you. He doesn’t get far before a car slams into his motorcycle, sending him rolling across the pavement. You hop down to the road, wincing behind your helmet.

The traffic slows to a stop around the both of you as the other man gets to his feet. Rubberneckers. Who’s the interloper? Not one of Vanderpoel’s men. Not a Ranger. Dip in a little further, get the name ‘The Handyman.’ There’s a name you recognize. No mods, not a boost. Just some fancy gadgets and a preoccupation with playing detective.

You hum to yourself, watch him hold a hand to his bleeding head. He really doesn’t belong here. Can feel Vanderpoel’s eyes on you as you step forward. The performance never ends.

You let The Handyman take off his helmet, smooth back his black hair before tucking on a cap. “You’re not who I expected to show up.”

The Handyman’s eyes flash behind his diamante mask. “Disappointed?”

You shrug. “Don’t care.” You plant your feet, watching for any sudden moves. “Stalking Vanderpoel?”

“I have my sources.” The Handyman pulls out a wrench, spins it in his hand. “We knew you’d be targeting him.” He flashes a grin. “And this is a perfect ambush spot.”

You tsk, shaking your head. “And you didn’t think to warn him?” You shrug, hands palm up in an exaggerated gesture. He’s making this so easy. “What if I blew the poor guy up?”

“You wouldn’t.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. “I had a hunch.”

“Horrible.” You sigh, “risking someone’s life on a hunch.” You glance back at Vanderpoel. He’s still listening, good. “Hoping I’d take him out for you?”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

You step towards him, pulling your cape around you. “I’m not the one to convince here.”

The Handyman takes a step back. Reaches a hand back to his belt. “Don’t think you can trick me.”

Take a breath. Can already hear the distant thrum of helicopters in the distance.

Time to stop stalling.

You rush the man as he pulls a gun from the holster on his belt. The shot goes wide, as you slide under his aim. Rise up and grab his arm, snapping it backwards and twisting his thumb until he drops the weapon in a cry of pain. A hand comes down on the back of your helmet sending an electrical charge coursing through the suit system.

Panic shoots through you. Ortega!? Here!? You drop The Handyman, scanning the perimeter. Sweep your arm behind your head and you find the EMP charge. Your sigh of relief is met with a knee in your abdomen. Reeling backwards and coughing for breath you grab at the offending leg, twist the foot sharp the wrong direction.

The Handyman screams, collapsing to the road. You don’t give him a chance to recover. Kicking him in the ribs. “You – you really think you… had a shot against me?”

“I’m not…” He wheezes, pulling himself to his feet, one hand clutching his side. Favoring his uninjured ankle. “I’m not done yet.”

“Very heroic.” You hiss. “Give up.”

He tosses something at you, pellets that explode in a burst of light and chaff. You don’t need sight to pick out his mind however. To re-close the distance and kick the second gun out of his hand. Follow up with a punch to the face that lays him out back on the ground.

His hand goes for something else on his belt and you bring your boot down, pinning his wrist to the asphalt. “Stand down.” For just once could someone admit they’re beaten and go away already?

He’s grinning up at you with a bloody smile. Irritating. You press your boot against his wrist. You’ll give him something to smile about.

The Rat-King pulls at your attention with a chirp of alarm. You twist sideways, dodging silver claws. As if by magic, Lady Argent stands over The Handyman’s beaten body. An irritated scowl on her face. Late to the party? Shame about that LD traffic, huh?

Argent glances down at him, “Can you move?”

“Y–yeah…” He half-gasps it, voice rasping in pain as he pulls himself away. Hoping for a hand-up. It doesn’t come. Oh, this guy has a lot to learn about Argent it appears.

She shifts focus away from him, no longer concerned. “Then get out of here. I’ll wrap up our project.”

Really?

Really?

You can’t help the laugh as you clap your hands together. “The Rangers were in on this scheme?” Sure, let’s just have all your enemies discredit each other on live broadcast. Make this real easy. Who in the Farm wants to take the hit? You rest your hands on your hips, let The Handyman crawl away, he doesn’t matter. “Lady Argent…” You shake your head. “Of course you’re the one needlessly risking lives.”

“Whatever.” She bristles, flipping back her hair. “I’m not the one that set this up.” She glances back at The Handyman, takes a step forward to put herself between the two of you. “He had a plan, I liked it.”

He raises a shaky thumbs-up. “Not… the first trap we’ve sprung together.” His grin is triumphant despite being spotted with blood. “I set them up, she knocks them down…”

“...don’t say it…” Argent groans, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“Gotta use the right tool for the right job.”

“...why do they always need to talk…”

You glance between the two. “Adorable.” Vanderpoel is still watching. Still listening. Jesus. This has gone phenomenally better than you could have expected. Rangers and vigilantes working together – knowingly putting city officials at risk? “So you’re in on it.”

“I’m not. I’m just here to bring you in.” Lady Argent drops her hands to her side, flexing her fingers as she shifts her stance.

They just can’t help themselves, can they? “Not to protect Mr. Vanderpeol?”

She snorts, waves the idea away. “He’s perfectly safe. Don’t play politics with me.”

“You ought to pay more attention when a banshee gives you a warning.”

“Yeah, whatever. Your cosplay doesn’t impress me.”

You frown. “That overconfidence is going to ruin you.”

She eyes you, shifts position again as her fingers elongate into claws. “I’d like to see you try, villain.”

Argent moves faster than you’d expected. But you’re still faster. Dodging some strikes, deflecting others with the armored plating on your arms. Your first match-up was abbreviated – already exhausted both body and soul.

There’s no point in waiting for your death any more. You’re past it. Past living. There’s only this moment, this fight. Either you win or you die. And that’s still a win.

Argent’s movements are quicker, anticipating you with an unnerving accuracy. Can pick up her surface thoughts, that she’s been studying the recordings of your fights.

Fair enough. So have you.

You roll out of reach of her arms, the two of you pausing for breath. This is the third time since the Marconi fiasco that Argent’s cut an operation of yours short. It’s starting to feel like she’s hounding you specifically. You watch her, waiting for movement. “I’m not the one that put all these people in danger.”

Not this time.

Not anymore.

What more do you need to prove?

Argent narrows her eyes at you. “Don’t try that with me. I don’t give a damn about politics.”

She really can’t help herself, can she?

You twist out of the way of her claws, catch a knee to your chest. Moving with the blow you slide back, grab her leg and flip her off her feet, sending her rolling backwards. “Why?” You yell after, “Afraid I’ve got a point?”

She gets to her feet, snarling. “Shut up and fight already, cheater.” She tenses, ready to jump.

You grin behind your helmet. “No tricks that time.”

She grins, a predatory smile, and jumps towards you. At the last minute you step aside. Her claws catch your arm, pulling you backwards with her.

Wait – shit –

Argent hits the ground, pulling you down. And then she’s on you, hands digging into the sides of your suit, trying to slip razors in between the plates. Heart pounding in your throat, you buck under her, grabbing her hands and twist her off.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

this has to stop right now, needs to end fuck shit piss goddamnit

Argent’s eyes glance down at your hands, pick up a note of confusion. You don’t get time to examine it because you replace it with punching her in the face. She reels back, gouging more groves into your ablative plates.

It’s just Argent. You’re just fighting Argent. That’s all. Just a woman that can crack open your suit like a can-opener. Nothing to freak out over.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You. Are. In. Control.

Take the chance to step backwards, hand touching the guardrail. Let the nanovores get to work. Roll to the side as Argent comes after you. Touch another point on the rail. A chunk of the railing drops to the road. Tripping hazard.

You’ll trick her over the edge. If she can survive being flushed down sewers, she can survive a swim.

Or that’s the plan – a kick catches you in the back as you try to put distance between the two of you, send you to the ground. Roll out of the way and hit her in the ribs as she tries to follow-up.

It’s getting harder and harder to predict her attacks. Her mind focused solely on your next movement. It’s unsettling, like looking at the reflection of yourself in her silver skin. Distorted.

Can’t let it get to you.

Catch her on the next attack, grab and swing, bringing your knee up and pushing her back. She staggers backwards. Rights herself just before she would have tripped over the edge.

Damn it.

She launches herself at you and – fuck, this is the wrong direction to do the whole ‘over the edge trick’ now. You just need her out of the way. A crowd is gathering around the two of you now. Standing there, gawking. Watching. Always fucking watching and doing nothing.

Maybe it’s time for the audience participation round…

Roll backwards out of Argent’s reach. Snare the mind of the nearest civilian. Young woman. Dazed, she doesn’t back up in time. You grab her, pulling her in front of you.

Argent stops, flexing her fingers. “Coward.”

“Don’t care.” The woman in your grip struggles until you twist her arm back, just painful enough to give her the idea. She freezes. Hyperventilating. Fuck. Is this really what you’re reduced to now? You feel sick.

“Let her go.”

“No.” You grit your teeth. “You go.”

Argent drops her hands to her sides. Still watching you. “You’re no killer.”

“You – you willing to bet on that?”

She takes a step forward. “Yes.” She takes another step.

“Let her go. Don’t bring other people into our fight.”

Panicked thoughts in the head next to yours and it sets your teeth on edge. The Rat-King curls protectively around you, trying to dull the worst of it. This is… what’re you doing?

Really?

You let her go.

Neither you nor Argent move as the woman, weeping, scrambles back into the crowd, into someone’s embrace.

Argent braces herself again. “See? That’s better.”

“Fuck you.” You snarl.

Why the fuck did you do that? Hostage taking isn’t going to help Ghost’s public image. And it – it… fuck, that woman –

A spike of alarm from the Rat-King pulls you out of it just in time to dodge the kick in your direction. You twist sideways, intending to get Argent from behind. Instead your foot catches on something and you stumble. Argent is on you immediately, and something sharp pierces your side.

Shove her away and stagger backwards, you hit something with the back of your foot. The railing. Back here again. Fuck. Okay. Take 2.

Argent moves to press her advantage. You twist out of the way, using your cape to obscure the movement. She slashes at the fabric, hissing and you spin around to kick her over the edge.

She anticipates you – catches your leg and pulls you off balance. For a moment you’re in the air and there’s a hint of green on the horizon –

and then you’re falling again.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

your friend

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Just friends. [i wanna be your girlfriend]

[Read on AO3]

It’s a few weeks into October before you secure a reliable way to liquidate the cryptocurrency you lifted from Pennybags. In the meantime you manage to hit a few more villains, expanding your collection. Dreadnaught is a wanna-be business tycoon. He doesn’t have the financial sense of a garden slug though. If you hadn’t cleaned him out, someone else would have through some less direct means. No one has heard from Psychopathor since his capture by the Directive last year, a convenient secondary target. Combing through some of his old hideouts had turned up a few more funds.

It was a good plan. But now what?

You’ve spent so long skating by on the skin on your teeth and now you have… You check the balance for your shell company’s account. A cool eight million. All at once. It doesn’t feel like a real number. That’s not even all the cryptocurrency. You’re leaving some be, just in case you need it as is.

Okay.

Okay. You have to… treat this carefully. It’s still a limited resource. You only grabbed so much because you need the money to fund supplies and upkeep. Can’t let it get to your head. What would you even get anyway?

You push yourself away from your desk and stare up at the apartment ceiling. The ring of brown water damage that snakes across the room.

Nope. Can’t think of anything.

Your phone buzzes and you startle, almost falling out of the chair. The seat of the damn thing broke the other day from your inability to just sit like a normal person and now the whole thing’s out of balance. Need to remember to scavenge up a new one later this week.

Flailing hand finds the phone, slide and unlock. It’s a text message this time, not a call.

Huh.

From… Ortega.

Of course, who else? That’s right, you’re going to the Pasadena soup kitchen today. Maybe you can give them some of this money? Better filter it through like two more shell companies first just to be safe but yeah, that seems… feasible?

You turn the computer off and stand up. You can look into that later. Right now you need to get ready.

What do you dress as? Fuck damnit chickadee, don’t overthink this. Just – just dress normal. You’re doing work together. Volunteer work, but work. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing else. Don’t mix up your relationship with Ortega for Jane’s, you idiot.

–––

Carol is polite enough to hide her disappointment that Ortega is just here to help you organize the donations. Ortega, for her part, doesn't offer anything more. She seems happy enough to follow your lead. That feels weird. Almost familiar, but hell if you can remember familiar of what.

“You – uh, you sure you’re okay with this?” You glance across the box of canned beans. “I know it’s… not as glamorous as reading to sick kids.”

Ortega stands at the other end of the storage room, sorting through types of soup. She glances up from the can in her hand, flashing you a smile. “I’m good. It’s nice to get out of the public eye for awhile.”

You raise your eyebrows at that, smiling back despite yourself. “Well you f–found the expert.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” She grins at you, flashing teeth.

“S–shut-up!” You duck your head back down. Focus on beans. Not Ortega. That’s why you’re here. Sorting beans. Nothing more. Don’t even think about checking whether Ortega is still looking at you.

Thanksgiving is coming up soon and with it the donations are picking up in quantity. There’s something reassuring in seeing it. That even in a city like Los Diablos people still take the time to offer something.

At least… You frown at the rusty can you pull out of a paper bag. At least when they aren’t passing off baked beans from 1985. With a disgusted frown you quietly move that can to the ‘to be disposed’ bin.

A few hours of monotonous sorting later, Carol pops back in clapping her hands together and thanking you both for helping out. “I’m just going to finish closing up here with my staff. I’m sure you two have places you’d rather be, the Friday night before Halloween.”

“Thanks for keeping us busy.” Ortega smiles back at her, a little too broadly.

“This is a big help, believe me.” Carol titters, cheeks tinged red. Oh. Oh, of course.

Ortega’s grin widens, and she finishes off with a wink before turning away to wave you over. “It’s about five, you wanna get something for dinner Ari?”

“Um.” You frown, glancing down at the row of boxes. Wrapping your hands under your shawl you shake your head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Y–yeah.”

“Alright…” Ortega is silent just long enough for both of you to gather your things. “Well, take a walk with me?”

You narrow your eyes at her, glance at Carol’s retreating form. “W–why…?”

“Well… this used to be your neighborhood,” There’s a question in her eyes. “Why not show me around?”

“I thought you knew everywhere in this city.”

“I don’t know if you remember Ari, but there’s not a lot of time for sightseeing when you’re in the middle of fighting the human bulldozer.”

That gets you to laugh. “Fine. Alright. But, I was only here like, um… a year before I moved further north. It’s not like I’m any less of – uh, of a tourist.”

“Now you’re just being modest.”

“It’s been a–a–a decade. I’m sure everything’s different now.”

“Have you really not been back since…?”

Vertigo hits and you have to grab the table to steady yourself. “I – I don’t want to… be reminded. Of… before.” This was a bad idea. Why did you get it in your head to do this?

Ortega steps closer and you tense up, expecting to have to fend off another unwanted touch. It doesn’t come. “If that was the case, you could have picked a different kitchen.”

“I know.”

Out the street, Ortega follows in your shadow, uncharactistically silent. It makes you nervous. What is she thinking? Static, the sound of a television tuned to a dead channel. You remember reading somewhere that part of that static snow the television and radio picked up was the cosmic microwave background radiation, the birthpang of the universe. Is that what you’re picking up when you try to feel Ortega’s thoughts? Some sort of primordial sign?

If there’s a deeper meaning there, it remains a mystery.

A buzz from your purse pulls you out of your head with a jump.

“Who is it?” Ortega stops alongside you. “Anyone I know?” She laughs.

You don’t. “Uh – actually. It’s… shit.” You make a face. “I forgot about training with Herald.”

“Tell him I say hi.”

“Yeah… s–sure.” You lie, intending to do no such thing. Quickly typing out a response. “We’ll just uh, just have to reschedule. I’m sure wonderbread has better things to be doing today anyway.”

“Wonderbread?”

“Uh…” You glance around as you put your phone away. “You know… like… the brand? White, bland, tasteless?”

Ortega laughs, shaking her head. “That’s a little harsh.”

You resume walking, fast enough that Ortega has to work to keep up. “Y–yeah, well. He can get a better nickname when he shapes up.”

“No mercy huh?”

You flinch at that, avoid looking her way. “He – he, uh, asked for my help, so… he’s gonna get it. Help. My help. Is what he’s gonna get. Fuck.”

Oh god, you need something anything to divert this conversation right the fuck now.

“Look,” You stop in front of the store the two of you had almost powered by. Tap on the glass. “This, uh. This used to be a thrift shop. Got some good stuff out of there.” You peer through the darkened windows. What was it now? Not open, apparently.

“That’s the first thing you show me?”

“It’s – it’s practical, okay!?” You huff, hands on your hips pushing out the sides of your shawl. “I d–d–didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.”

“You were always so tight-lipped back then.”

“Well… I – I don’t know.” You step away from the window and Ortega both. “I guess I… I didn’t want you to think less of me. Any of the Rangers really.”

“Less of you for what? That you were poor? What, did you think I was going to kick you out of the club house? ‘You must make this much to ride’?”

You shoot an accusatory glare her way. “Steel sure wanted to.”

Ortega sighs, reaches back with a hand to rub at her neck.. “Wei can be a little… overzealous. He has his own stuff he’s working through.”

“I know. He uh… he apologized to me. The other day.”

“He did?” Ortega blinks, then smiles. “He did. That’s great! Wow. Wei never backs down.”

“I know. Did… you say something? To him?”

“What haven’t I said to him?” She laughs, still rubbing her neck. “I mean, I’m glad, but I doubt it was because of anything I said. Ari… we’ve all changed, you know. These past years.”

Because of you. Because you died. Your fault. Like everything else.

You don’t say that though. Instead, you give her a wry look. “If you’re about to say your wiser and older, I’d uh, I’d agree with the older part, but definitely not the wiser part.”

“Ass.” She takes a swing at you.

You dodge it easily. “You like it.”

“Found me out.”

There’s an awkward silence between the two of you. Eyes meeting the other just a little longer than comfortable. You step back, look away across the street. Ortega glances in the opposite direction, trying to peer into the darkened windows. “What do you think they sell here now?”

“Who knows?”

“I think I see some costumes there. Maybe it’s a costume shop? Or was one?” You catch Ortega looking your way again from the corner of your eye. “Hey, you want to go to a Halloween party tomorrow?”

Your eyes widen. “No! N–no way! Are you f–fucking nuts?”

“What’s the problem? You’re retired. You can dress up in something with a mask. I’ll get something too. I think Esmé on the Guardian force is having a party we could crash. No one will know it’s us.”

“That’s…” You shake your head. “Ortega, I’m not crashing a superhero party held by your rival team.”

“Com’on,” Ortega bats her eyes at you, laying it on thick. “It’s the perfect excuse to make trouble.”

It… would let you get some intel on the Mayor’s team. Ortega gives you the inside scoop on the Rangers but sooner or later if you keep messing with the politicians they’re going to send their own task force after you.

You shake your head. “No. No way.”

“Fine.” Ortega pouts, crossing her arms. “One of these days, I’m going to get you in that ‘sexy Sidestep’ costume, mark my words.”

You have to grab the wall to hold yourself up. “Oh my f–f–fucking god, don’t tell me you still have that fucking thing.”

“It was a work of art and you set it on fire, in my arms.”

“F–f–fuck you.” You cross your arms and glare at her. Praying your face isn’t as red as it feels. “I d–don’t seem to remember you lining up for that sexy Charge suit.”

Ortega meets your glare with a smug smirk. “Oh, I totally would.”

“W–what?”

“If you dress up with me. Solidarity. That’s the deal.”

“In your dreams.”

Her smile only broadens, the smug asshole. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You set off down the block and away from Ortega. You have to get this image out of your head before you do something incredibly stupid.

“Hey!” Laughter from behind you. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

You cross the street before waiting for her to catch up. “Find someone else f–f–for your debauched fantasy.”

“Hey,” She puts up her hands, worry creeping into her face. “I’m just teasing, okay?”

“I’m not dressing up.”

“Okay. Okay. Ari, relax.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is all she gets out of you as you set off down the sidewalk again. You hunch your shoulders, arms hugging your chest.

“...everything alright?”

“S’fine.”

“Okay…”

The conversation lapses. Fuck.

Had to go make things weird, didn’t you?

“Sorry.” You offer.

That throws her off. “What for?”

“I… I don’t know. Being me?”

“Hey…” Ortega’s voice is soft. You don’t stop walking, make her pick up the pace to keep even with you. “You’re my friend. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

You frown. The rest of the tour goes by in a blur, watching yourself go through the motions. All forgotten the moment you set foot back home in your apartment. The only memory that sticks is the knot in your stomach.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

leave no room for anything

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You need cover, you need an alibi, and you need a place to plan and work out your next criminal action. What could go wrong from combining all that? [Survival]

[Read on AO3]

Another day, another spike of adrenaline courses through you as you dive feet first through a stack of boxes, sending crates of delicate electronic equipment everywhere. You can hear alarms sound around you as the factory goes into full alert, the clanging of barring gates. You grin under the mirror sheen of your helmet. That suits you fine, keep the small fry penned up and out of the way? You’re too kind.

The wall in front of you collapses into dust thanks to the nanovores and you tear through the office, grabbing at papers at random. What you take doesn’t actually matter at this point, compromising their records is the goal here.

Damage done, you refer to your map, dissolve another wall and follow your thread out, back to the main entrance.

The woman standing in your way gives you pause. You’d been psyching yourself up for a rematch against Chen, but no, its Lady Argent, hands at her sides and poised to rush you. A half-circle of rent-a-cop security goons behind her block you in. “A factory, Puppetmaster? What, they stop inviting you out to parties?” She smirks and hunches down, fingers lengthening into sharpened claws.

Your face twitches under your helmet. “Don’t read the papers, Argent? It’s Ghost.” You hiss. Your voice, filtered through your helmet has a hollow, flat sound. You take a quick count of Lady Argent’s back-up, who’s most pliable to tying up the rest. None of the officers seem to trust Argent. Good. That makes this easier.

The woman of steel looks unimpressed. “Can’t say I care what you call yourself.”

That does it.

One of the rent-a-cop’s guns goes off ‘prematurely’, firing wide to your left, the rest follow in blind panic as you dive to the side. Argent is too focused on you, but with the Rat-King’s help you’re able to pull the rest of the goof troop into your song, pulling their attention in random directions. One of the shots dings Argent in her shoulder, bouncing off to through ground and to her credit she doesn’t look for the culprit, making straight for you.

You run your hand along the ground as you move, leaving a split in the asphalt as the Nanovores chew through material. Lady Argent tries to cut you off so you encourage two of the goons to stumble into her way as you continue your circle around them. You can’t afford to move slow enough for a deep groove, but if this works as planned, all you need is to prime the cut.

If it works.

Argent huffs, shoving one of the men the side, only for another to conveniently take position between the two of you. “Get out of the way!” It doesn’t slow her down for long, but it’s enough for you to finish the circle. Under your helmet you grin, heart pounding.

All that’s left is the magic word. You give the Rat-King the command to pull the strings and yank everyone back in.

You dash forward and slide down, just under the swipe of her claws. She turns to stab down at you as you come to halt. You roll out of the way and kick her arm aside on your way back up.

You check to make sure everyone’s inside the circle you’ve carved through the asphalt. “Heads up.” is all the warning you give before an explosion rocks the ground under everyone’s feet. A furious Argent diving towards you finds only empty space underneath her, and you leap back as the asphalt caves in.

When the dust clears you risk taking a quick check of everyone’s mental state; a lot of fear and alarm, some pain, but the headcount is still the same. You think.

Hopefully.

You shake your head. Focus. Don’t get distracted. Stay in control. You watch Argent and the rest pick themselves up, clear rubble off their buddies. You have to harden your heart against it, remember who they are, what they represent. “Next time,” you call down, “remember my fucking name!”

Admittedly, Argent makes it easier. She’s staring up at you, a single silver middle finger outstretched.

You don’t like the way she’s eyeing one of the support columns. Can she climb her way out? You don’t intend to stick around and see, it’s time to make yourself scarce.

–––

Every super villain needs a secret lair. A base of operations. Somewhere you can plan your next move, keep mission critical materials. If Ariadne is going to be stuck playing retired civilian, it’s even more important to keep her as separated as you can from Ghost’s activities.

Eventually the day will come when you have to cast off that identity completely, but two years isn’t long enough to make you eager to resume a life of being actively on the run from a government agency. You need to gather more influence – and protection – if you’re going to ever unmask without it being an immediate disaster.

To that end… Ariadne needs a cover. She needs a job, co-workers, hobbies. A new wardrobe. You need Ortega to take a breather and ease off on trying worm her way in and fix every little aspect of your life.

So you’ll combine the two.

Technically a ‘Melissa Simone’ owns the computer repair shop you’re standing in front of. Ms. Simone also interviewed and hired yourself and the middle-aged lady with greying hair now manning the front counter.

You put a hand on the front door, hesitating. You keep putting this off but… guess you better ‘officially’ meet your new co-worker.

A bell chimes as you step inside. Old computer advertisements adorn the walls while parts and models are neatly stacked into three aisles across the open front half of the room. The building itself is on the older side. Hopefully a bit more use will get it looking properly run down enough to seem like it’s always been a repair shop here.

The woman at the counter looks up with a smile, a phone pressed to her ear. She holds a finger up as you approach.

You didn’t hire Marcie for her customer service skills. You hired her because she’s a terminally incurious middle-aged woman who fully intends to spend as much of her time talking to friends on the store phone or otherwise shirking her duties as much as possible.

Leaning an arm against the counter you wait for her to finish her current conversation, drumming your fingers against the wooden countertop. Watch the clock on the wall tick the seconds by. Finally she hangs up and turns back to you with a tired expression. “Alright, what do you want?”

You put on a sickly sweet smile. “My name is Ariadne Becker? Y–your um… co-worker?”

Marcie blinks, frowns, then flushes red. “Oh!” She hurries out from behind the counter, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a customer.”

“I could tell.”

She puts her hand out and you give it a quick shake. “Are you really the only repairm–person here?”

“Eh.” You shrug, glancing at the beaded doorway to the back room. “If business ever picked up maybe it’d be worth hiring more.” Glance back to her, smile again. “For now, I’m it yeah. I don’t usually bother with – with um, the front entrance.”

“Well, if you ever need something from me, sweetie, you let old Marcie know, okay?”

You blink, not sure how to respond. She wasn’t this nice to Jane– ahem ‘Melissa Simone.’ “Uh. Y–yeah, sure. Thanks.” You cough. “Um… Ms. Simone gave you the – the rundown about the back right?”

Marcie looks at you, arching a skeptical eyebrow. “To stay the hell out? Yeah.” She leans in, “So… what are we fronting here sweetheart? Drugs? It’s drugs isn’t it.” She straightens her back with a dramatic sigh. “It’s always drugs.”

“I – what???” You stare at her. “W–we’re not – not ‘fronting’ anything!?”

She frowns. Is she… disappointed…!? “Oh? Really? Well. A job’s a job, I guess.”

“I… I just have a… very particular system. Okay?” You shove your hands into your pockets, looking away from her. Stare at the posters on the wall.

“Ah. You’re one of those.” One of those what? You can’t pick it up from her thoughts, just the sliding of her changing expectations. “Well, I’ll keep out of your hair, sweetie.” She steps aside, “It was nice to meet you Ariadne, dear.”

You walk past her in a daze. Push through the bed curtain into your ‘workshop.’ A central table has a pile of half-deconstructed computer cases, their silicon guts scattered haphazardly. A tool kit hangs from the wall alongside a clear plastic cabinet of replacement parts.

Hopefully the facade holds up. You don’t have much intention of actually doing computer repair work here. It’s more than a little concerning that Marcie of all people immediately jumped to the ‘criminal front’ explanation. Was hiring her a mistake? She doesn’t seem to actually care. Maybe you should go out of your way now and then to drum up business. Put some effort into looking legit.

Aside from the bathroom and breakroom, there’s one more room. Your actual workshop. The shop technically is built onto the side of an old warehouse. You’ve walled off most of the space, installed a hidden door, just inside next to the back door out.

You didn’t use up the entire warehouse. Just walled off a decent sized chunk. The rest has been dressed up. Mostly shelves of boxes full of bricks. Something that’ll pass at least cursory inspection.

The door slides open to your touch, keyed to your fingerprint. It springs back into place as you step past. The lights flicker on at low-power. Now here is where you can finally start to get shit done. Your armor is mounted to a secondary hidden compartment recessed into the far wall, next to a bed in case you need to crash or puppeteer Jane for a bit.

You’re particularly proud of the hiding place you’ve created for the Rat-King; an oversized lava lamp sits on the bedside table, a soft blue glow filling the room. Even if anyone breaks in here, anything of value will still be hidden. You’re not completely stupid.

One corner of the room is taken up by a bank of screens and a computer terminal. A system of motion detectors, CCTV, and trip alarms have been carefully set up over the past month in a two block radius around the shop. Nothing is coming near here without you getting some kind of record of it.

And then, last but not least, against one wall a full-length table stretches underneath a pristine corkboard.

Not pristine for long… You reach back into your pocket and pull out a wad of folded up, blood stained papers. The only thing you were able to salvage from the Marconi fiasco. Could have just pinned this while you were setting everything up, you guess.

But this feels more dramatic.

You grab a pin from the cork board and smooth out the creases with your other hand. Jam the paper to the middle of the board. A bill of sale for something called a ‘Regenerator.’ You don’t recognize the name of the buyer, but the listed seller is the personal assistant to Mayor Alvarez.

You pin a scattering of related articles next to the receipt, your prize from today’s factory theft. They’re all related to the sudden government take-over and closure of the regenerator’s parent company, PharmaCore.

What exactly is going on here; you have no idea. But it’s shady as shit, and that means it’s a point of attack. If you’re going to crack the damn city open, this is your starting point. You grab a pen and paper as you sit down at the desk.

You hum a tune under your breath as you work. Time to start planning out your next moves.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

a little victimless crime

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Nothing like combining business and pleasure. [Do It All The Time] Originally: [bigger than the sound]

[Read on AO3]

It is as if you’re fighting with one arm behind your back.

When you originally conceived of this plan, you figured you’d use the villain suit sparingly. When infiltration as either Jane or some other possessed stooge wouldn’t cut it. Maneuver people into positions where you could plant suggestions, instill compulsions, weave a web of threads over the city with yourself at the center.

Argent’s possession has entered into your regular stable of nightmares. If that wasn’t enough, she’s hounding you at every turn, ensuring you can’t forget. Even pushing the mental commands, is starting to fray at you. Are you really any better than The Directive if you don’t let people think for themselves?

As long as they go down, does it matter?

“Ugh.”

Dr. Mortum frowns from across the table. “Is everything okay, mon amie?”

“Oh, sorry.” Jane grimaces as she looks up from the day planner in front of her. “I’m just trying to figure out how to – to fit all this shit into one week.”

“Mm.” She picks up her wine glass, eyes scanning the night’s crowd at Joes. “Your boss is running you ragged these days.”

“Tell me about it. Oh, that reminds me, I need to put in another order for more of that black 2.0 paint.” Jane groans, one hand holding her forehead as she scans the week for an open time slot. “Can’t believe how high-maintenance that damn suit is.”

“A problem with my work?”

“No, no, it’s the damn paint. The slightest scratch ruins the effect. And of course, I have to route the money to pay for it, through like, three shell companies.” She chews at the end of her pen, circles an open slot and jots the reminder in. “There, hope that’s enough time.”

How many lives are you living at this point? Jane with Mortum, Jane dating Ortega, Jane as criminal fixer, Ghost, Ariadne the retired vigilante, and whatever the hell is going on between Ariadne and Ortega… to say nothing of keeping both bodies fed and healthy, or skimming enough cash to pay for everything.

“Do not forget to put aside time to sleep, mon amie.”

Jane puts her planner to one side and looks up at Mortum with a hopeless smile. “Personally, I think that’s a feature, not a bug.”

That does nothing to ease the look of concern on the doctor’s face. “Trouble sleeping?”

“It’s nothing. It’s fine.” Jane sighs, waving the concern away. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Mon amie–”

“I said don’t worry.” It’s touching, almost, how concerned Dr. Mortum has started to get over Jane’s wellbeing. Haven’t figured out what exactly her angle there is. “Look…” Jane trails off as you try to find the right words, a way to thread the needle. “I… appreciate your concern but I’m fine. Seriously.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Say so. Look, I’m not even working the frontlines anymore. No more being blown up, you know? I promised.”

Mortum does not look convinced. “Spying on the ex-marshal does not count as ‘front lines’ to you, mon amie?”

Jane scoffs, “What’s she gonna do, give me the tingler?” Actually...

No! Stay focused!

Mortum gives her a tired expression. “Charge is a craftier woman than you’re giving her credit, mon amie.”

Loud, brash Ortega? The woman whose smile makes Jane feel like she’s lighter than air? She shakes her head. “I don’t see it.”

“Well, that’s rather the idea now, is it not?” Mortum’s smile is grim and she holds out her hands, palms up. “We all play up particular roles so that others might overlook the parts we wish them too.”

That gets a raised eyebrow, “And are you hiding something from me, doc?”

“But of course, mon amie. As I assume you are from me. This is how people are. Can anyone ever truly know another?”

“I thought your thing was science, not philosophy.”

“In my prefered field? The distinction between the two can get terribly blurry.”

It’s hard to argue with her. And that alone is enough to make you nervous. Is Ortega up to something? How much does she know about Ghost and how much does she just suspect? You thought she was just trying to reconnect with Ariadne out of sentimentality, but what if she’s trying to keep tabs? The thought is enough to make Jane frown.

You have to face facts and admit that cutting ties with Ortega completely is the safest move. Jane’s the one with the relationship, the one making a connection. Ariadne’s a ghost from the past, a hanger-on. She’s got no business making eyes at Ortega.

Being around her… being forced to confront face-to-face with the impossibility of what you can never have… it’s painful. Ortega would hate her, if she knew the truth about Ariadne; what she was, what she’d done.

You can’t go back. It’s unthinkable. So, if you can’t work yourself up to dying then there’s no choice. You’re stuck on this path. You can’t unring the bell.

“–mon amie?”

Jane blinks, jerking her head up from her planner. “S–sorry, what?”

Dr. Mortum watches her from across the table, concern knitting her brow. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, ah.” Jane winces, an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I got lost in my head there.”

“It is the lack of sleep mon amie.” She smiles.

“Maybe.” Jane mirrors the smile back. “Still – there’s no rest in sight for this bad girl.” With a sigh, she snaps her planning shut and tucks it away in her purse. “I’ve got another, very exciting meeting tonight.”

“Be careful, mon amie.”

Jane flashes a smile and downs the rest of her drink before leaving a twenty on the table. “You know me, I always am.”

–––

“Thanks for coming with me,” Ortega whispers from the corner of her mouth.

“Of course, thanks for inviting me.” A smile flits across Jane’s face as she studies the mess of an abstract portrait hanging on the wall in front of them. “Hopefully no super villains crash this party.”

Ortega laughs, uneasy, as she rubs the back of her neck. “Anyone that does is going to regret it.”

Jane arches an eyebrow as you try to keep her from smiling. In the aftermath of the Gala fiasco, security has tripled in order to keep the city’s elite feeling safe. The Mayor’s Guardian force was milling around here somewhere, ready to jump into duty in a split second. For the Rangers, beside Ortega, Jane has seen Herald milling around somewhere and it wouldn’t surprise you if either Argent, or Steel, or both had been bullied into attending.

The Mayor needs to prove to her benefactors she was worth keeping in office. The Rangers needed to prove they were worth keeping in Los Diablos.

Lucky for you then, Ortega still owed Jane a second date.

No explosives this time. No dramatic fights, or burning buildings. No terrible mistakes with people screaming and blood everywhere and emergency rooms filling up. Going to do this right. Going to do this quiet. The bastards won’t realize the damage until it’s too late.

“Charge! How are you holding up?”

Jane and Ortega turn together to find Herald walking towards them. It’s a little strange seeming him in a tuxedo again. All crisp angles and sharp features. He raises an arm to wave and you think Jane spies a glimpse of blue sleeve from a Ranger skinsuit underneath. Well, that confirms what you suspected from the Gala. Wonderbread really is ready to throw-down at a moment’s notice.

Is Ortega? She’s in a suit this time instead of a dress. Easier to fight in?

Ortega waves back at Herald with a smile. “Haven’t throttled anyone yet, how about you?”

Herald takes Ortega’s hand and pulls her into a quick hug. “Oh, this is old hat to me. I just focus on the art, and see how many fancy hors d’oeuvres I can sneak before anyone notices.” Ortega laughs and Jane politely covers her mouth to hide the smile. He shifts his gaze down to Jane and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Sides–?” He flinches and shakes his head. “Wait, no?”

Jane keeps her face blank. Sidestep? Sidestep who? Never heard of the bitch.

There is a tense silence and then Ortega breaks it with a forced laugh. “Sorry, this is my friend Jane I was telling you about.” She gestures towards you and then from you to Herald. “And Jane, this is Herald, but you probably already knew that.” More forced laughter.

Friend?

“Sorry,” Herald rubs at his knee, “you just reminded me of someone.” He shoots Ortega a curious look.

Was it too late now to go back and dye Jane’s hair? You idiot. You stupid vain idiot. All the more reason to keep the two lives separated. Why did you have to go and get Jane involved with Ortega?

Moron. Fool. Buffoon.

Jane keeps her face a careful blank. “It’s… nice to meet you too, Mr. …?”

Herald smiles, awkward. “Just Herald is fine. Nice to meet you, Jane.” He doesn’t offer a hand to shake.

When Ortega and Herald descend into small talk Jane breathes a sigh of relief and politely detaches herself from the conversation. A few tense moments, but it had at least bought you some needed freedom from Ortega.

Time to get to work then.

“Excuse me, folks, I’m just gonna duck into the restroom real quick.”

Ortega nods, “You know where it is?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll see you at the shrimp bar, sweetie.” Jane winks at Ortega, a smirk spreading across her face at the slight color on her hero’s face. Still got her.

Your sense of direction as Jane isn’t as strong as Ariadne’s but enough time spent studying floor plans makes up for it. Weave through the crowd, past the buffet table. The further from the food and the booze Jane gets the less people in ritzy outfights milling around being offensively rich.

There, next to the restrooms, a side entrance for the gallery. A very bored looking cop stands next to the door, watching the guests.

Mustering up all the elitist disdain she can muster, Jane approaches the door and gives the cop a dismissive glance, adding some gravel to her voice. “I’m taking a smoke break.” The man frowns but otherwise doesn’t stop Jane as she steps through the door, pretending to fish through her purse. Perfect.

Outside, the street gives a clear view to the Hero Museum just down the block. Once again closed for renovation and repair. The dumb bastards. Maybe you’ll trash the next grand opening too. Keep it up until they get the idea.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. The woman pacing back and forth down the sidewalk, staring anxiously at her phone, purse hanging loose in the crook of her arm. Jane whispers to get her attention and when that doesn’t work progressively raises her voice. “Hey! Ochoa!”

She looks up, sags in relief and hurries over to Jane, her movements stiff and awkward in the tight black and gold floral dress. “Finally! I was about to call the whole thing off.”

“Do you want your dirt or not?” Jane hisses.

“Please, Jane.” Mia Ochoa’s frowns, “I’m an investigative journalist, not a tabloid columnist.”

“Sure, whatever.” Jane glances up and down the street. She keeps a hand in her purse, fingering the gadget from Dr. Mortum that should be disrupting the video cameras. How long did the charge last for again? Five minutes? “Sit tight, I need to get the pig out of the way first.”

“You’re not going to–?”

Jane snorts, “I’m not going to hurt anybody. I’m not stupid.” She tilts her head, thinking. “Well. I’m probably not going to hurt anybody.” She shakes her head and holds up a hand. “Whatever, wait here. This’ll only take a second.”

“Ugh,” Jane contorts her face into a visage of barely contained fury as she steps back inside. “I can’t believe some people.”

The cop sighs, “There a problem, Ma’am?”

A short bark of a laugh. “Problem?” Jane glowers down the hallway. “Yeah, there’s a fucking problem.”

Eyes flicker to Jane’s nametag. “There’s no need for that kind of language, Miss Smith.”

Jane snarls, “Tell that to the asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

That gets the cop’s attention. “Again, is there something I can help you with, Ma’am.”

Jane holds her breath. You’re about to do something really shitty. Oh well. Sorry Kieth, it’s for the greater good. “Yeah, alright.” Jane sighs, avoiding the cop’s gaze. “someone ought to teach that damn waiter at the cocktail bar some manners. I’m not the only woman either he’s harassed tonight. The ass.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “I’ll see someone talks to him.” He puts a hand up to the walkie-talkie strapped to his breast pocket. Presses the button. Jane holds her breath. “Hey, Sam? I got a woman here reporting a problem with one of the help.”

The cop frowns as no one answers.

“Sam? You there?” No response. “Kim? José?”

Jane crosses her arms, and taps her foot. “I thought you said you’d take care of it.”

He shakes his head, “Something’s wrong with my damn walkie.” He taps it one more time and shakes his head. “Goddamn this garbage keeps busting. Sorry miss, I’ll have to find my superior.” He shoots Jane a glance, eyeing her up and down. “In the meantime, use some common sense.”

Jane huffs, as the cop walks off, grumbling about equipment.

Honestly, you half-expected that not to work. Thank you, Dr. Mortum.

A quick glance around to check for any other eyes and you step back to hold the door open. “Alright Ochoa, you’re in.”

“Finally.” The reporter quickly steps inside and you let the door close. “I can’t believe I’m really doing this.”

Jane frowns as she digs through her purse again. “Yeah, well, if you want the real meat you gotta go where they don’t want you to be.”

“Oh believe me, I know.”

“Ah, here we go.” Jane pulls out a small laminated pin, holds it up for Ochoa’s inspection. “Your own name pin. It’s like you were supposed to be here all along.”

“Oh!” The woman takes it from Jane’s hand with a look of surprise. “You thought of everything.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

As the two of you walk down the hallway to rejoin the main event Ochoa pins the name tag to her chest and smoothes out her dress. “Alright, well, thanks for getting me in. I can take it from here.”

“Just don’t forget our deal. You owe now.”

The smile fades from Ochoa’s face. “Of course.”

Jane scans the room as the two of you step in. There’s Ortega and Herald still talking in the far corner, and then there’s… “Actually,” a tight smile crosses Jane’s face, “how do you feel about an introduction to the Mayor’s right-hand man?”

Ochoa’s eyes light up, “I’d love it.” She frowns, “But do you think he’ll talk?”

“I think you might be surprised.” Jane grabs Ochoa’s hand, pulling her through the crowd. There we go. Jane raises her free hand in greeting, “Professor Vanderpoel, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The balding clerk turns with startled surprise towards Jane, as the other two men in his group stop talking, watching the two approaching women with mild interest. “I’m sorry… do I know you?”

Jane laughs, a bright smile on her face. “Don’t tell me you forgot me already? Tell me you at least remember the linden trees?”

A cascade of color rockets up the man’s face. “That– that was a very different time in my life.”

One of Vanderpoel’s companions laughs and elbows him in the side. “You never told me you used to teach!”

Vanderpoel flinches, “I haven’t for eight years.”

Jane nods, knowingly. “Such a shame what happened! Still, I’m so happy to see you’ve bounced back without any problems.”

“Well…”

“Anyway,” Jane cuts him off without mercy, “I was just catching up with my good friend Mia,” Jane tugs Mia forward by the arm. “When I saw you over here.”

One of Vanderpoel’s friends tilts his head, “Mia…? You look familiar.”

Ochoa’s smile is strained. “I’m a reporter for LD Confidential.”

Jane laughs, “Don’t worry, she’s not working today.”

Vanderpoel’s two friends laugh with Jane, but Vanderpoel himself has a thoughtful look in his eye. Encouraging. Ghost’s bridge-side chat with the man has been sinking in after all.

The man on the right claps Vanderpoel on the back. “You know some lovely ladies man, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us!” A strange look crosses across Vanderpoel’s face and the three men make room for the two of you to join their conversation. You can’t stop the smirk on Jane’s face. You’ve got them.

S u c k e r s.

Not every bomb needs to be literal.

A few more minutes of smalltalk to help work Ochoa into the conversation and then Jane politely excuses herself from the group. She’s got a date to rejoin after all.

Ortega perks up as Jane crosses the room, a glass of wine in each hand. She doesn’t wait to ask before offering Jane one of them. “I was beginning to think you might have ditched me.”

Jane smiles, laughs, as she takes the wine glass. “Sorry, sorry, I saw some people I knew and got distracted.”

“Oh?” Ortega’s focus zeros in on Jane, “Anyone I’d know?”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Jane shakes her head and waves a hand to dismiss the idea. “Just some old college friends. “ She glances about the room, “Herald still around?”

Ortega laughs, “He’s around somewhere. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.” Jane sips from her glass. “You have a lot of attractive friends.”

Wait, fuck what? Why did you say that? What the fuck? What happened to that masterclass of infiltration?

Ortega blinks, surprised, then laughs. “I hadn’t pegged you for being into men too.”

Jane glowers up at her. “So what?”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m bi too.” Ortega smiles, pats Jane on the shoulder, then lets her hand run down the arm.

“You are?” Jane winces, “Ugh, what am I saying, of course you are. Sorry, I’ve apparently lost my mind tonight.”

“I suppose my love life is pretty well documented at this point.” There’s a bitter tinge to Ortega’s voice that catches you by surprise.

“I’m surprised we haven’t shown up in a tabloid yet,” Jane admits.

“Ghost’s debut kind of took over the headlines for awhile, didn’t it?.” Ortega laughs, “It’s just as well. I don’t get the kind of media attention that I used to.”

“Miss it any?”

“God no.” Ortega smiles widely, and then the smile quickly fades. “Sometimes I wonder how many relationships it cost me.”

Huh. “Was it that bad?”

“You got out for dinner with one guy and suddenly they’re your boyfriend. After awhile I just kind of embraced it. Especially once I became Marshal. At least I could take some ownership over it that way, you know?”

“I’m… sorry, that sounds pretty rough actually.”

“It’s in the past now.”

Silence threatens to stretch out between you two. Jane coughs, “So… when did you figure out you liked women, then?”

Ortega rubs her neck, “When I figured it out…? Hrm.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I’m just… it feels like so long ago now.” Ortega sighs. “I guess… there was this vigilante…”

Jane holds her breath. No– It couldn’t be, could it? “A vigilante?”

“Well, I had just joined the Rangers properly.” Oh. “This vigilante, Axel. She was this speed boost that worked in the south end of the city. She was Latina too, and we just… kind of hit it off.”

“Wow,” Jane says. You try to wrack you memory for anything about an ‘Axel.’ It’s not ringing a bell. “What ended up happening?”

“It wasn’t easy trying to keep it out of the press. Eventually it got to be too much and we just kind of… mutually broke it off. She retired not long after. Or moved, maybe?” Ortega crosses her arms, thinking. “That’s it, she moved down further south. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“She didn’t want to go public?”

Ortega sighs. “This was like the early aughts. Things were starting to change but…”

Jane frowns. “There would have been consequences.”

“Yeah. I think…” Ortega stares at the floor between the two of you, lost in memory or maybe regret. “I think maybe I had been too pushy. I was under a lot of pressure at the time. The new face of the Rangers. They told me I needed a relationship to look ‘normal.’”

“Human.” Jane prompts, unbidden.

“Yeah,” Ortega laughs, bitter. “That too, I guess. Not that it was an excuse, mind.”

“Would a relationship with a woman really work for that though?”

“Well, we’ll never know now. I wanted to try but…”

“But?”

“I don’t think I gave her the space to really process what coming out would mean. We just fought about it. A lot.”

Jane rocks back and forth on her heels, avoids looking at Ortega. “That’s rough, I’m sorry.” Ortega never shared this with you – with Ariadne. You’re not sure what that means. How to feel about it.

“Well, hey,” Ortega looks up, catches Jane’s eye. “I learned from it. Eventually.” She smiles, and Jane smiles back. “Well, I told you my story, what’s yours?”

Jane blinks, bites her lip. “Oh! Uh. Hrm.”

“Sore subject for you too?”

“Uh… not exactly…” Jane laughs while panic runs through your head. “Like… when I figured out I liked guys…?”

“I was more thinking women? Society kind of expects the male interest.”

Jane forces a laugh. “I guess that’s true. I’ve never actually dated a guy though.”

Ortega shrugs, “Doesn’t make you any less bi. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Is it still bi if you don’t want to date guys though?” Jane frowns, looking away. Floor, artwork, the crowd. Anywhere else.

“Oh. Hrm,” Ortega pauses, “I guess that’s up to you? I’m not the sexuality police.” She laughs and Jane finds herself joining in.

“Oh good. I’m safe then. I mean… guys can be… attractive, I guess.” Jane shrugs helplessly, “But… I don’t know. I guess I’m kind of afraid of them?”

“Jane…?” There’s a note of concern in Ortega’s voice, and Jane cringes. This conversation is getting too real.

“This isn’t really the place to talk about it.”

“Okay. I get that. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jane sighs. That is absolutely not a subject you want Ortega to chew on. You need something to distract her. “ As far as women go, well..” You need to think of a story quickly. “There was this… girl I worked with in – in… college.”

“You know,” There’s an impish grin on Ortega’s face, “they say you should never date a coworker.”

Jane scowls, “Oh believe me, no dating was involved.”

Ortega puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh no! You just pined from afar?”

“Uh… more like, right next to her. For five years.”

“Ouch. She never caught on?”

The pained expression on Jane’s face matches the one in your heart. “I… have no idea?” Shesighs and downs the rest of her wine glass in one go. “Honestly, I didn’t really… understand what it was I was feeling until years later. And then… it was too late.” She shrugs and looks away. Can’t believe this conversation is happening. Have you lost your goddamn mind?

Ortega is shaking her head, equal parts amused and pitying. “I never would have pegged you for the shy type.”

“Hey!” Jane crosses her arms, “not shy enough to keep from kissing you.”

Ortega laughs again, “I’ve noticed.”

“I learned from my mistakes too,” Jane lies.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

murder lives forever

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

[Read on AO3]

This is who you are now. Better get to work. Tw: death, self-harm [Savages]

“Rosie – position?”

Her voice crackles over the helmet radio, “Yeah, I’ve got clear sights.” Can hear the little hesitation of held breath.

Wait for it.

“You sure about this, Ghost?” She’s already switched to your new moniker, you note. Say what you will about Rosie; the woman is a professional. After tonight the rest of the city will know to mark ‘Puppetmaster’ as out of date.

“It’s – it’s not like you’re going to kill him. Just… flush the game if I give the signal.”

“...right. Okay, you’re the boss, boss.”

“Don’t forget it.”

Tucking your chin down you drop over the edge of the roof you’ve been hiding on. Jet boosters cushion your fall to a light landing. Fastening your cape close around you, you make a difficult figure to spot in the gloom. An impossibly dark shape blending into the larger shadow.  Lou Marconi is a career bureaucrat who’s had a job working for the city for almost as long as it’s been called ‘Los Diablos.’ Long-lived and well-paid to be able to afford living in his own private mansion up on celebrity row.

This part of town, houses are further apart and street lighting is reduced. There’s a cool satisfaction to be had in how Marconi’s eagerness to flaunt his wealth only makes it easier for you to infiltrate. A brick wall delineates the edge of the lot. About as tall as you are.

It’s like he’s not even trying to keep you out.

A scramble over the top and you drop into a row of bushes. Tap the side of your helmet to switch into low-light vision. One of Mortum’s handy little programs starts tagging likely laser detectors. Under everything the pulsing thrum of a telepathic dampener blankets the minds in the building.

That’s your first target. With the Rat-King buffering you against the worst of it, you pull a song tight against your head – keep focused. Push forward to where the psychic chaff is the loudest. If you’re lucky, it’ll be a security station for the whole complex. Make your job easier.

So many shadows, so many nooks and crannies for you to stick to as you move along the perimeter of the building. It’s an open secret that Marconi makes his living as one of Los Diablos’s most bribable officials. If you’re going to reshape the city’s politics then the knowledge in his balding, wrinkled head is going to be invaluable.

Breaking into locked city hall safes, or cracking encrypted files is risky and time consuming. So you’ll break into his mind instead. He’s been avoiding public functions for a while now – paranoid little sleazeball. It’s like he thinks someone’s after him or something.

As you get closer to the dampener the pounding in your head intensifies. Can feel it in your teeth. A pressure pushing down, or something like the hiss of a CRT screen, a hissing pain that pierces through your skull with all the precision of a mortar round. Stripping away everything.

The Rat-King chitters in irritation. Sorry guys, we’re almost through this part, you promise. A small security station, wooden walls, windows. Hah. You were worried it would be inside the main building. But this? Marconi may have been around a few blocks but it’s clearly made him arrogant more than it has anything else.

Quick check up and down the walkway, no incoming patrols. Gritting your teeth you slide inside, stepping over the laser detect across the threshold. Inside, a bank of monitor screens takes up one wall while a bored looking man in a blue guard outfit reclines in a chair with his back to the door, feet up on the desk. There in the corner, the stainless steel tube about as thick as your torso rises from floor to ceiling. Take that out and you can finally breathe.

But first the guard.

He doesn’t even register you behind him until you’ve got your arm around his neck, crushing his windpipe. Your other hand claps over his mouth. He tries to pull free, slip out, fight back. But you’re the one in control here.

Finally the man goes limp and you let go. Immediately you get to work examining the control board. Dampeners consume a lot of electricity. You doubt they keep it live all the time, so…. There, the dail. Turn it down and the oppressive weight on your head easies up and fades away. It’s like standing up in the open desert after a week in confinement. Laughing you stretch out your awareness, casting wide and mentally tagging the notes of the guards patrolling the building. And… there’s Marconi in the dining hall, with some guests and… is that?

You sigh. So much for joy. Well, he’s the sole Ranger you haven’t fought yet. Suppose it was time.

Before you leave, you press your left hand to the dampener. The nanovores don’t need much coaxing to reduce the damn thing to dust. You’ll take no chances tonight.

As for the guard… He’ll wake up soon on his own. Raise the alarm. Grabbing his mind, currently placid in unconsciousness, you drag it down deeper, wrap it in a dream. On a whim you coax it to be something nice. Ice cream with his daughters.

There.

That should at least buy you time until the next check in.

Dining Hall is towards the back. You’ll swing around, wait for the bastard to go to the bathroom and snag him on the way back. If it goes well, you won’t even be noticed.

It’s not going to happen like that, but you can hope.

Sure enough, Rosie cuts in on the radio. “Uh, hey, Boss?”

“What?”

“I’m seeing some weird movement.”

“Police?” Was there a tip-off? Who? How? You didn’t even tell Rosie the actual mission until this evening.

“No, I don’t know what. It’s just… bad vibes, man.”

You grit your teeth. ‘Bad vibes’ huh. Well, you only have yourself to blame for encouraging Rosie to be candid. “I’ll take it under advisement. Keep your eyes on the roof.”

“Roger.”

The voice in your ear goes silent again. You hang at the corner. So far, you’ve stuck between the pair of patrols circling the grounds. Not much time left until someone discovers your work at the security station. Marconi is on the other side of those windows. Just his bodyguard with him still…

Fuck it.

Ducking your head down you break into a run, jumping over the hedge and crashing through the window. Alarms immediately start blaring as people start screaming. The Rat-King pulls your attention and you throw yourself down to the ground. Something flies over your head and explodes in a burst of light and sound outside.

As you get to your feet, you find yourself face-to-face with the bodyguard. “Marshal Steel.” You grit your teeth. “Playing private bodyguard?” Not even the inflexible Wei Chen is above making money on the side you guess. Disappointing.

Chen watches you, hands at the ready, a shoulder-mounted mini-missile system attached to his power armor. Great. “I can’t say I care what you think of me, Puppetmaster.”

“It’s Ghost.” You do your best sneer with a mirrored helmet. “Try to keep up, Marshal.” This is your only second time out, and first time using the name, but he doesn’t need to know that. Let them sweat a little.

“I’d heard the rumors, but you disappoint me, Puppetmaster.”

Rumors? So there was a tip-off. Who squealed?

You shake your head. Stay focused. Stay in control. “Just going to ask our friend here some questions. That’s all.”

Marconi bristles at that, presses himself back against the dining table, a half-eaten roll of bread in one hand. His face is bright red as he raises his voice “What are you doing!? Protect me!”

Chen frowns, a note of irritation spiking across his mind. What’s the matter Chen? Don’t like taking orders? He plants his feet, and you tense up, waiting for the missile you’ll have to dodge.

“No!” Marconi shouts, “Don’t blow up my house you idiot!”

“My orders are only to keep you safe.” Catch the briefest glimpse of a smile on Chens face as another rocket goes flying your way. You throw yourself sideways, crashing through the dinner table, the wood snapping in half under the sudden weight of your suit. Your helmet flashes black in response to the burst of light, ears ringing. Stun bombs? What is with these assholes and treating you with kids gloves? You’d think at least Chen would be willing to go for the kill.

Noise – people talking you can’t make out while your ears keep ringing. But, fuck. Marconi’s running. The roof. He’s going to the roof.

You grin.

Great.

You’d give Rosie a head’s up, but the fist coming down on your torso takes priority. You roll out of the way, scramble to your feet. Shake your head, think the ringing is calming down. “Alright. Fine.” You raise your fists. “Only fair I treat the Marshal too.”

“Hrm.” Chen frowns, staring at you. What’s he looking at? Seeing something – fuck – You push off, taking a swing at him. Force him to focus on the fight. He staggers backward. Gets his bearings and then swings his arm around at an unnatural angle. A plated fist catches you in the throat, knocking you to the floor.

Coughing, you sputter, pushing yourself backwards to put space between the two of you as you catch your breath. Damn, when could he extend his arm like that? The Marshal has some new tricks.

“So you’re just another contract killer after all.”

You dodge his fist as you get up, duck under his arm as you get behind him. “What are–” You cut yourself off, hiss, “Don’t think y–you can distract me. I know your tricks, Chen.”

He twists around as you dodge around him, “Do you?.”

Oh fucking goddamnit.

You grit your teeth. This. This is why you should just keep fucking quiet on operations. Don’t get mouthy, you idiot. The two of you trade blows as you dance around each other. This is not good. Not a good match up at all. You’re fast enough that Chen can’t really touch you save for the occasional lucky hit. But are any of your blows getting through that armor? He’s showing no signs of slowing down. You need to disengage. Grab Marconi before he gets away.

The Nanovores? Could they crack the armor? But what if they…? Steel is your enemy. Killing him is part of the end-game. Taking him out shouldn’t be sending your stomach into knots. Why did you even get these damn things if you weren’t going to use them?

Fuck it.

Gritting your teeth you catch his arm with your left hand. Start to coax the Nanovores to life and –

An explosion shakes the building, the chandelier above you both jostling in a chime of clattering glass.

You let go, jumping back. Heart in your throat.

Chen doesn’t press the advantage, glaring at you. “What did you do.”

“I didn’t do anything!” You raise your hands. Under your breath you activate the radio, “Rosie?”

“Boss! Something on the roof just went–”

“I know!” You hiss.

Chen narrows his eyes. “Who are you talking to–”

“Shut up!” You hold up a hand, tuck in your chin, not taking your eyes off Chen. “Keep an eye on the fucking roof. Don’t let him leave.” You jump backwards out of the way of Chen’s fist. “Goddamnit Chen, I’m not here to f–f–fucking kill anybody!”

“Then who set off that bomb, Ghost?”

“I don’t fucking know!” You grit your teeth. Fire is spreading through the building. Was it a bomb or a missile? Which would be better? And then there’s… “Shit.” You look away from Chen, run through the map in your head. “There’s people trapped.”

“What?” Chen tenses up, staring you down. “How do you know?”

“Don’t act stupid.” You snap back. “I know you know I’m a telepath.” You move towards the far end of the hall. “We need to get them out of here.” You put your hand against the wall, frown, glance back at Chen. “Don’t just f–fucking stand there, you idiot. Use your plasma cutter. Help me get through this wall.”

Chen frowns. Some sort of internal debate. Then he nods and follows you. “Roger.”

Fuck, this isn’t going to help you at all. It’s too like the days you and Chen worked emergency relief. But– “Why are you doing this?” Chen cuts through the wall, kicking it down.

“W–what?” You take stock of the other side. Looks like some kind of guestroom?  Still not far enough.

“You could have left this to me. It’s not your problem.” Chen follows your direction to the next wall you indicate with a tap of your hand.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m – I’m not a killer.”

Things would be so much easier if you were.

“Still.” Chen grunts, knocking down the weakened square of wall. “Not killing and actively saving are two different things.”

“S–shut up.” You hiss.

Now here’s a room with some damage. One wall is gone, open to the outside air as flames lick the edges, spreading across the ground and burning the furniture. There’s a hole in the floor where part of the basement roof caved in. With a hand gesture you take the lead, hopping down first into the cellar.

Some kind of storage room. More collapsed ceiling blocks the way out. Two panicking employees freeze in their efforts to dig their way out, looking up at you with dread. Ah shit.

Catch sight of a woman trapped under a toppled shelving unit at the far end. Ignoring the two men you push through the rubble towards her. Can hear the ‘thud’ of Chen following you down. Clearing out the rubble.

A broken gas pipe catches your attention and you divert to twist it closed at the nearest valve. Would be just your luck if there’s still enough gas to blow the room up when the flames get here.

Back to the woman. Grit your teeth as you strain to lift the shelf. Chen catches up with you and you jerk your head towards the woman, unconscious against the ground. “Get – get her out of here.”

Chen bends down, cradles her between his arms. As soon as he’s clear you let the shelf drop with a gasp of relief. Jesus. Those exercises are paying off. You shoo him away, as you catch your breath. “Go, idiot!”

He hesitates. Face unreadable. “Be careful.”

“Y–yeah whatever, just go!” You sag backwards as Chen finally turns, shielding his charge under his body as he shoulders through the collapsing rubble.

If you were smart you’d make your own exit now.

You aren’t smart.

Race to the hole up. Boost-jet jump back to the ground floor. The room is fully ablaze now. A second explosion rocks the building, sending you scrambling to keep your balance as you race through the hallway. Rosie’s voice crackles back over the static. “Holy shit, you alive down there?”

“I’m fine. Report.”

Rosie’s voice is frantic, speech rushed. “Guy was gonna fly out. I scared him into cover, then his damn chopper blew up.”

“Shit. Is he still alive?” You stretch out your awareness, canvas the dozen panicking minds fleeing the building.

“I don’t know! I can’t see anything in the smoke.”

“You did your job.” You job up the stairwell, run down the hallway to the roof access. “Pull out. Wait at the rendezvous.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Every damn cop in the city is going to be on you any second.”

“Consider me appraised.” You cut the connection, up another round of steps and then – oh. A chunk of the building has already collapsed. Well fuck. That’s not a good sign. Gritting your teeth you peer through the smoke and flame, try to appraise a chunk of roof that’s still stable. There!

A running jump with boosters flaring puts your hands just in range to grab the edge. Smoldering wood creaks under your weight as you swing in the open air. Arms scream complaints as you pull yourself up. Wheeze for breath once you’re on your feet. Shit. Not in total shape just yet you guess.

Firelight coats the ruins of the roof in a dozen criss-crossing shadows. Chunks of scattered metal litter the ground. You foot catches on something and you glance down. Dead body. Kick it over, and it looks like a guard. Blue uniform. Damn. Dead for an asshole like this? Not worth it.

Speaking of which…

There! The Rat-King directs your attention. Weak, stunned thoughts. You race across the roof to find a prone Lou Marconi on the ground. Blood gushes out of his nose. Broken? But still alive. That’s all you need. Who doesn’t want the two of you talking this badly?

Well, too bad. They failed.

Maybe – maybe wait until you’re somewhere safe before you say that.

With a grimace you pick up the bleeding man. Only one way off the roof from here. Can your booster jets handle both of your weights?

Fucking hell.

Holding the limp body against you, you take another running jump. Jets flaring against the pull of gravity as you plumet. Slowed, but not by enough. You crash into the brush, white fire cascading up your legs and into your spine. Momentum carries you forward still, sending you crashing against the perimeter wall and

fuck

fuck no no no…

You shake Marconi. Where’d his mind go? It was still there. However faint. However dim. Can’t check for a pulse or breath with your gloves on. Press a hand to his chest as tight as you can bear. Nothing.

You drop the body to the ground with a thud.

He… he was going to die stuck on that roof anyway right? So – so you didn’t really – you were trying to save him. Sure you were planning to rifle through his memories like a thief through cabinets, but you weren’t – you weren’t going to kill him.

Fuck.

fuck fuck fuck

–––

Watch your reflection in the mirror. Only minor bruises and sore muscles from tonight, but you’ll fix that.

The face in the reflection is empty, it’s eyes a rancid green, partially obscured under a veil of curling red threads twisted out of shape. Skin paler than anything has a right to be under Californian sun. Whoever you jacked your genes from clearly was never meant to see the light of day.

Don’t look down, stare ahead at that grimace, gritted teeth. The sharp pain. The knife clatters out of a hand as steam from the faucet brushes the silver, condensing against the glass. With a hiss you shift position, pressed against the counter. Too hot – too warm. You jerk the arm out from under the spray. Pat it down with a towel. Distant screaming alarm bells in the back of your head. Grab a stretch of bandage and wrap the wound.

You’re here. This is real.

Almost.

Almost fooled yourself back there. Sneaking in where you shouldn’t, dropping everything to get someone out of trouble. It’s not you anymore. Let it go.You put two Rangers in the hospital and humiliated a third. You destroyed priceless exhibits and ensured no one would ever remember your old alter ego ever again. Now someone’s died – directly because of you.

‘He was going to die up there anyway,’ ‘it wasn’t your fault.’ Excuses. If you hadn’t had Rosie keep him from the helicopter, then at least his death wouldn’t literally be on your hands.

There’s no turning back from this, only pressing forward. However far you can get before the end.

You’re not going to burn alone.

–––

Jane shades her eyes from the afternoon sun as she looks down at the business card in her hand, frowning. ‘Mia Ochoa.’ A reporter for LD Confidential. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

The deceptively small Fillipino woman sitting across from her huffs at that. “It’s the most respected independent newspaper in Los Diablos.”

“Uh-huh.” Jane slides the card into her purse, making a show of thinking it over. Wound her professional pride. Make her think she has something to prove. “And… how can I help you, Miss Ochoa?”

Ochoa flips over to a blank page in her penpad, chewing on her pencil eraser. A serious look settles over her face. “I know you were at the Gala the night of Puppetmaster’s debut… and…” She hesitates, watching her lunch partner carefully. “I have reason to suspect you know more about what happened that night then anyone else.”

Jane’s eyebrows shoot up. She ducks down her head, hissing angrily. “And where do you get off making that kind of claim?”

From you, of course. You sent her the anonymous tip-off. Something to whet her appetite. Mia Ochoa is exactly what you need to start working the media angle. An established reporter with a respected reputation for pushing the edge, but not so famous as to be unapproachable by a nobody.

“I have my sources.” Ochoa answers, tactfully. “As I trust you have yours.”

Jane sits back, frowning. Drums her hand on the table. “Suppose I did. What’s your angle?”

Ochoa leans over the table, dropping her voice. “There’s something going on with this city. Something weird. I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Hrrm… Jane hums to herself and shifts in her seat. Pulls out photocopied piece of paper. Ochoa’s eyes watch the paper as Jane spins it between her fingers. “You hear about Marconi?”

“You’re going to tell me it wasn’t a house fire.”

Jane purses her lips, puts the paper down on the table between the two of them. “Nooope.”

Ochoa picks up the paper, brow creasing as she tries to read the smudged print. “So the whole Puppetmaster arson thing was just a cover-up.”

“Oh, Ghost was there.”

She looks up at Jane. “Ghost?” Blinks. “Oh.” Looks back at the paper in her hands.

“And somebody wanted our friend dead. But it wasn’t Ghost.”

“Who?”

Jane spreads her arms wide, leaning back in her chair. “You’re the famed investigative reporter. Investigate.”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne #tw: death #tw: self harm

[erintoknow]

it feels like a lie

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Three lives to juggle means three times as many more lies and conflicting agendas. How is anyone supposed to balance all of this? [Please Just Go]

[Read on AO3]

Alarms blare inside your helmet. Shit. They realized you're here.

Rosie is on the other side of the city; you had her create a distraction coating Memorial Park in smoke to try and lure The Rangers away. After the bridge fiasco last week you could use a break, sick as you are of fighting Argent.

That doesn’t do anything for the local rent-a-cops.

With a practiced haste you fold up the sheaf of papers and tuck them into a black storage bag attached to your suit belt. You’ll have to go over the rest in detail when you’re back at your best.

For now, you better cover your tracks.

The Nanovores make quick work of the rest of the filing cabinet before you turn yourself to the rest of the record room. Pulling out paper sat random, ripping shelves off their hinges and toppling over entire metal units. Damage done, you put a hand to one wall and weaken the joists.

Squaring your shoulder you back up, bracing yourself. When you charge forward, the drywall collapses into splinters and dust. Cries of alarm echo out in the hallway and someone fires a gun.

Ugh.

Idiots.

You turn towards the source and the man in the dark blue uniform takes a step back. You grab his mind, pulling him into a daymare just long enough to close the distance and knee him in the gut. Catch the gun before it hits the ground and it dissolves into dust in your left hand. “Someone could get hurt.”

You let the man drop and he just lays there, staring at you.

As tempting as it is to keep basking in the adrenaline rush, you should get out of here before Argent shows up.

Besides, Ariadne and Jane both have appointments of their own to attend to today.

To the same woman.

–––

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you adjust your sunglasses, press them up your nose and flush against your face. You’re just… going in to check on Ortega. That’s all. Nothing weird about that.

Just your friend.

Ortega.

Who is your friend.

That you’re checking on.

You step up to the door, hesitate – hand on the handle shaking. You let it go. Shit. Shit. Fucking – You turn back to the door and throw it open, storming in. The secretary at the desk looks up at you in alarm, one arm poised under her desk. “Hello! Can I… help you?”

“Ortega.” You state. Wait. Shit. Context. She needs context. “I’m here to see Ortega.”

The woman frowns at that, eyeing you up and down. “Can I ask who’s calling for her?”

You echo her frown back, cross your arms under your shawl. “I… guess?”

The two of you stand there in silence.

Oh.

Wait, shit – “Ariadne.” You offer. “Ariadne Becker.”

Her face perks up, suspicion easing slightly. “Oh! Your Ortega’s friend. I remember you now.”

You frown at that. She does? You’ve only been here, what? Twice? “I’m… sorry?”

She laughs, which only makes you frown more. “Ortega mentioned you were coming by today.” She did? “You can take a seat, I’ll let her know you're here.”

It’s not a long wait. Have to bite your lip to keep from smiling at Ortega walking out of the elevator. Raise a hand to catch her eyes. “Hey.”

She takes sight of you and smiles. “Hey yourself.” God. Just seeing her here is a relief. This building isn’t anything like the HQ your used to. Too clean and too sterile. Professional. Like the Farm.

“I – I made it. Hope you're happy.”

“You bet.” She grins, smug. No one would ever accuse Julia Ortega of being a graceful winner. “Com’on,” she beckons you after her. “Let’s head to my, uh...” She flashes a grin back at you, “special office.”

You tilt your head as you follow her back into the elevator. Tuck your sunglasses into your purse. Are you supposed to laugh at that or…? “Should I be worried?”

“Nah.” She punches a number into the keypad. “I’m too tired to get into trouble today.” She raises her other hand, shakes the coffee thermos she’s holding for emphasis.

Small talk with Ortega is an old routine. As comfortable, as it is dangerous: to forget for a moment this woman is actively working towards your destruction. That her smile is directed at an empty facade.

Well.

At least Jane gets to kiss her.

Oh –

Why did you have to think that just now?

You follow after her out of the elevator, a short walk past offices and meeting rooms and into what looks like an unfinished closet, ceiling joists exposed naked to the air. An obviously outdated computer, weighs down the desk at one end of the room while a white board with empty red circles spans another wall. But what really gets your attention is the set of out of place and utterly garish cheetah-print chairs. “What the…?”

“Donations.” Ortega shrugs, as if that explains anything. She pulls a seat over for you. Comfy enough, you guess.  “Sorry Ari, I can’t chat too long,” Ortega slides into the seat across from you, a coffee in one hand. “I’ve got to meet someone for work later.”

You frown at that. “Oh. Um… sorry?” Isn’t she meeting Jane? Going somewhere else first?

Ortega blinks, taken aback. “It’s… not your fault?”

“That’s my line.” You force a laugh, trying not to look as awkward as you feel. One hand pokes out from under your shawl to fiddle with your sunglasses. “I just… thanks for meeting me on short notice like this. I… know this, um, new villain has you running ragged.”

“It’s fine.” Ortega waves your concern off. “You know… you’re always welcome to stop by when I’m at HQ.” She makes a face, sitting back in her seat. “Which is… all the time now since, well…”

“Chen still won’t let you back on active duty?” How long has it been now? Two months since she got out of the hospital? Time is starting to blur. Getting harder to track.

“He’s afraid I’m going to do something stupid.”

“Hrm. Y–yeah, that definitely doesn’t sound like you.”

“Shut up!” She laughs, punching you in the shoulder. You make a show of almost falling over, as if you’d been hit far harder.

“You poor thing.” You tsk, a faint smile fighting to form. If Ortega’s staying on a desk, she’s safe. Safe from someone that could hurt her again.

Safe from you.

You glance at the doorway. “You must be bored out of your mind, stuck here.”

Her smile gains an edge, “Don’t worry. I’m keeping plenty busy.”

You frown, searching her eyes. “I know that look Ortega. That’s a – a face that means trouble for somebody.”

Her smile only broadens. “Only the ones that deserve it.”

You eye the whiteboard. All the conspicuously empty circles. “And how’s that going?” That’s the real question, isn’t it? How aggressive can you get with your tactics before the Rangers buckle down?

Assuming they don’t collapse like a house of cards first.

Ortega shrugs, noncommittal. “I’m working on it. I’ve got a…” Her eyes flit away from you for a second before returning with a smile. “A multi-pronged approach, let’s call it. Keeping me busy at least.”

“Just… d–don’t get yourself put in a hospital again. Okay?” You try to catch her eye. You don’t have to fake this. This sincerity. The ache in your chest. “Please?”

She smiles back at you, soft, maybe a touch sad. You can never be sure with these kinds of things. “I’m taking this dead serious Ariadne. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Mm.” You frown. If anything her assurance just makes you more concerned she’s going to do something stupid. “Is that why you’re plotting in Harry Potter’s broom closet?”

Ortega gasps in mock shock, a hand to her chest before collapsing into laughter. “Ariadne! I’ll have you know this is the most secure broom closet in Los Diablos!”

You laugh, “Nothing’s secure in this city.” You should know. It’s been hell isolating your workshop off the network.

Ortega clicks her tongue and taps the side of her nose. “Not so hasty now. Maybe that's the Mayor’s line but you shouldn’t believe everything she says.”

“Ortega!” You laugh, “did you just tell me not to trust the government?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds silly.”

“Uh-huh. And since when did you become a technology wizard?”

“That used to be your job.”

You fake a laugh. “Hey, if anything, it’s, uh– well, it’s more my job now than it ever was.”

“Well, I had some help.” She glances away, “Angie has a bit of a way with technology.” There’s a pause followed by a wince, “Don’t tell her I told you that.”

“Why?”

Ortega takes a drink from her coffee, dragging it out. “Because she’ll kill both of us.”

“I’d, um – I’d just as soon steer clear of her.” You answer, waving the concern away. “She s–s–scares the hell out of me. She’s like a… like a… woman-shaped shredding machine.”

“Angie’s really sweet! She just takes some effort to get to know.” A meaningful glance is shot your way. “Not unlike a certain asshole in this room.”

You smile back at her. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Ouch! You’re vicious today.”

“S–sorry. I…” You go silent. Not sure how to finish that sentence. What else you can possibly say…? “Hey, um…”

“Yeah?”

“You said I could pick somewhere we volunteer at… that isn’t a hospital, right?” You watch her from the corner of your eye, not quite facing her.

“Uh, hey, yeah! You had somewhere in mind?”

“Y–yeah. There’s uh… there’s this soup kitchen. Up in… Pasadena. They’re… small so we should, uh, call ahead.” Got some memories of that place. Hadn’t expected them to still be around, over seven years later.

“Pasadena?” Ortega purses her lips, thinking. “That’s around one of your old haunts, isn’t it?”

You nod. No point trying to play it off “Y–yeah.”

“Okay. You make the arrangements, let me know a date. I’ll try to make sure my schedule is clear.”

“That’s… thanks.”

Ortega takes a sip of her coffee, “So. Was that all you wanted to ask me about?”

“Not exactly… um.” How do you put this? You shift in your seat. “I’ve been, uh – seeing the news stories lately… What’s this about Argent working with vigilantes? Did you know?”

“I…” Ortega looks away, back down at her coffee. “Yeah. I mean. It’d be kind of hypocritical of me to disapprove, don’t you think?”

“Someone’s going to get hurt.” You sigh, “I mean… I understand what you mean but…”

“We made a good team.”

“...yeah.” You sigh, hold yourself up with a hand to your forehead. “But Lady Argent doesn’t seem to be a – well…”

“A team player. I know.” Ortega glances up at you, a quirk of suspicion on her lips. “But you’re retired now, Ariadne. You told me yourself, this isn’t your world any more.”

You sit back, stare out the window at the passing traffic. “I… I know. But – having…. Having you around again. It’s… hard not to care. I… want to let it go. But when it seems like the Rangers are falling apart and I’m just…”

Responsible.

“Now that sounds like the Ariadne I know.” Ortega’s voice is sad, sad enough to get you to look at her again. “You never could just sit on the sidelines. Even when it was for your own good.”

You make a face. “Well, neither could you.”

“Guilty as Charged.”

“Oh f–fuck you.” You laugh, slapping her hand away. “I can’t believe you never – never made that pun before.”

Ortega’s smug grin doesn’t leave her face. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed your helping Herald now.” She leans over to you, still grinning. “Anything I should know about?”

You lean away from her, eyes wide. “W–what!? I’m just– we’re just–”

Ortega bursts out laughing. “Relax! I’m only teasing you.” She looks up, sees the expression on your face and starts laughing again.

“Asshole.” You hiss at her, face red. “He’s just a dumb kid who doesn’t know the first thing about how to hold himself in a fight.”

“I think that fight with Ghost finally shocked him out of his comfort zone.”

“Or maybe,” You give Ortega a pointed look. “You all just weren’t training him right.”

“You were his childhood hero, you know that right?” Ortega’s smile fades. “He looks up to you.”

God. There’s a terrifying thought.

“Give it time.” You huff. “I’ll fix that too.”

–––

“There she is!” Jane flings her arms into the air, “I missed my practice buddy.”

Ortega laughs, catching Jane in the coffee shop door. “Just your ‘buddy’ huh?”

“Hmph!” Jane pouts, “You know what I mean.”

“Madre de Dios, I’m so glad to finally be out of that hospital.” Ortega smiles with her whole face, pulling Jane in for a hug. For a moment it feels like they might kiss. And then they disentangle.

Jane mirrors the smile back with a touch of puzzlement. “Did they really only just let you out?” Jane and Ortega haven’t had a chance to meet up since Ghost crashed the Gala over a month ago now. Two months? It’s getting hard for you to keep track of time. But you know she’s been out for a while now.

What’s going on?

Ortega’s smile freezes on her face as she rubs the back of her neck. “Well… I’ve been busy too. Work.” She flaps an arm in the general direction of Ranger’s HQ “Sorry. I should have at least called.”

“It’s okay…” Jane’s smile takes a bitter edge. A knot twisting in her gut. “Our date didn’t exactly… go well, did it?” Maybe that’s it. She’s just trying to spare Jane’s feelings.

“Hell, Jane, I am so sorry. And then you got… hurt because of me and…” Oh. That’s why she’s been avoiding Jane. Guilt. That makes sense. You understand guilt.

“Stop it.” Jane presses a finger to Ortega’s lips. “It’s not your fault. It’s…”

Ortega takes her hand, gently lowering. “Ghost’s.”

Jane laughs, disdainful. Weaves her fingers between Ortega’s as they move to walk down the street together. “Is that really the name now?”

“Yeah.”

“How dumb. What is this guy, emo?” Jane glances back towards Ortega. Was that a frown on her face? It’s gone. She’s smiling again. Jane smiles back.

“It is pretty dumb isn’t it?” Ortega laughs along. “I’ve heard worse ones before though.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Emperor President is still my top pick.”

Jane laughs, “That’s not dumb, that’s fucking amazing.”

“Maybe it wraps back around to that.”

“Well, maybe it does.” Still laughing, Jane twists around so she’s standing in front of Ortega. Bringing the both of them to a stop. “So. I think you owe me something.” There’s a glint in her eye. This is – this is forward. Too forward? No, it’s Ortega. Relax.

Ortega’s face is a careful blank. “Do I now?”

“Another date? I…” Jane breaks eye contact, biting her lip. “I mean. If you want to. Of course.”

Ortega squeezes her hand. “Of course.” Her smile turns sheepish as she looks away too. “Honestly, I… was worried I had, well, scared you off after everything.” It’s like a weight is lifted from Jane’s shoulders. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer.

“Hey!” Jane pats her on the face, redirects her to meet Jane’s eyes again. “It’s going to take a lot more than bombs and a mentally disturbed wacko to scare me away.” She tilts her head, laughing with her eyes. “that’s practically my day job already with all the debt BS.”

“Alright…” Ortega’s smile broadens, more confident. “Alright, great!”

Jane steps forward in Ortega’s space, “And I’ve got just the idea of where we can go…”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

everything breaks in me

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Well, you know what they say; no plan survives contact with the enemy intact. [Wolf] Originally: [Everything Breaks In Me]

[Read on AO3]

You breathe a sigh of relief as Herald shuts the break room 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 or 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 that Ghost is making regular headlines.

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

You can’t afford to forget that.

Never again.

You won’t go back.

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

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 cocoa.

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? The two of you have never actually discussed that night, despite your promise. You’re terrified to bring it up. 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 cocoa powder when the door opens. “So.” Chen announces as he steps into the break 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 th–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 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. “Free country, Chen,” you lie. “You’re the – the Marshal, if really you want me out you could just have me 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 have you tossed out? Chen sighs, rubbing his nose. “But I won’t. You aren’t a threat.”

You blink. “I uh – I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever 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?”

You hear Chen sigh, he sounds exhausted with you. “Is that really what you think this is about?”

You narrow your eyes at him, staring 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 a ‘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 is all you can do not to throw your mug across 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.”

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. Ever since you started coming by again you keep fixing little things, giving Ortega advice...,” Chen takes a pull from his squeeze bottle. “You act like you hate it, but no one’s forcing you to give Herald lessons. Argent’s the only person you’ve really avoided.”

“I just–” you hiss, frustrated to be on the back-foot once again. “If – if Ortega’s going to–to–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 let Ortega 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.”

“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 a 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 and 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… Chen has always been something of an outsider, like you. Why can’t he understand? “But they… they might have enemies.”

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

“So you found something then.”

“Bits and pieces.” He admits and your heart freezes. “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.”

“Hún dàn.”

Chen’s eyebrows shoot straight up, and then his mouth quirks to the side in amusement. “Your pronunciation could use some work.”

“Fuck you.”

“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.” Pick up your mug again and take a sip. You 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 don’t have to wait long before Ortega shows her face. Sauntering through the door, cool as anything just as you’re pulling your mug out of the microwave. “So. I won’t even ask what you two talked about.”

“It’s just Chen. Being an asshole.” You huff, staring her down, clutching your cocoa to your shawl.

“Sure. Chen was the problem.” There’s a quiet, knowing smile on her face and it makes your heart hurt. She knows this song and dance just as well as you do. “I’m sure that’s it.”

“W–whatever. Believe me or don’t.”

“Hey, I’m pretty much done for today so…” She jerks her thumb to the door. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You groan. “God, yes.”

–––

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. The ocean carries a cool salt breeze. In the fall air, it’s almost cold.

You don’t understand, don’t understand your own body’s reaction to her. How 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 rather than 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. Lost control and got shown up by Argent. 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 in 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.

Ortega doesn’t have an answer for that. Stares out over the water. You follow her gaze. The way the waves crest and break against the rocks. It wasn’t that long ago you were out there. Water filling through a puncture in your suit. Air supply compromised. Could have drowned then. You didn’t.

But you could have.

“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 shrubs. “Ten years this year. We just passed the anniversary. It’s been in the news a lot.”

You blink, try to relax. “Oh.” Swallow down the tightness in your throat.

Truthfully, you haven’t paid much attention unless it concerns you or a future target. It takes less effort than you’d like to get sucked back there. To hear Elysie screaming. The shifting of the ground under everyone’s feet as it literally dissolved into a silver dust. And now you carry a piece of it with you. A sword to point at your enemies, at the entire world.

“Oh…” You try to clear your throat, “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.”

“I still get nosebleeds sometimes.” You admit, surprising yourself. “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 hers. 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 Ghost.”

“Banshee.” 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.” You force a laugh, smiling at the ocean. Have to play this cool. “Ghost was kind of stupid name anyway, wasn’t it?”

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

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

Ortega’s gaze is 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 a 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… 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. 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…”

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 you 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.”

“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 your eye, tries on a smile. “It’s a start.” She holds out a hand towards you. “Well. Since we’re here, and 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 gets 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?

It’s a soft inhalation of breath and then warmth against you, every point of contact a spark demanding your attention. Hand on your back, neck, lips too close to yours. You cling to her as it gets harder to stand.

Swallow back panic. Swallow back memories of white. You are stronger than it now. You have to be. What was the point of all this otherwise? “If… If you drop me–”

She pulls you in, barely audible over the city and the waves. “I won’t. Never.”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

so unfamiliar now

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Unless you want Ortega hounding you to the end of your days, you’re going to have to put on a show and convince her she doesn’t need to keep worrying about you. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. Wait – [Horseshoe Crab]

It’s my birthday today so have a second update this week!!!!!

[Read on AO3]

If you’re going to get Ortega to lay off of you, you need to start thinking about your appearance again. Dressing in hoodies to look inconspicuous doesn’t do you any good if it actually ends up drawing more attention to yourself. So… What do you dress like?

Once upon a time Ariadne fancied anything and everything from skirts and the femmest outfits she could get her hands on all the way to shrugging on a leather jacket and gloves as part of her roller derby get-up. What could possibly be a logical progression from that?

Don’t want to look too affluent. A waste of resources. But you don’t want to look destitute either. So… Clean, some color. Mostly greens, some purples and black for variety. Cloth and cotton, things you can layer. Mix in some new items with thrift store purchases to fill out the rest.

One day at the mall, you stumble across a cute pair of shoes with a 1” heel and add them to the pile. The old Ariadne would never have worn something like that, but fuck her. She’s dead.

Should you start doing make-up again? Stare yourself down in the mirror in the morning and make a face. Bad enough you have to see that wretched thing as much as you do already. The concealer work is enough. Leave the eyeshadow and lipstick in the past. Anyone misgenders you, you can just beat the shit out of them. It’s 2020 now, you’re totally allowed to do that, super villain or no.

God. Do you look human yet? You don’t feel it. What is Ariadne like? How do you play this? Do you play up the stutter or tamp it down? Does she find it cu– Fuck. Fucking hell. No. No you are not thinking about that. Jesus fucking christ.

You pull fabric around your shoulders, frowning in disapproval at the mirror. Once upon a time, Ortega’s mother gave you a serape like this for Christmas. That one was a rainbow of color. This shawl is a duller green, with a white geometric pattern along the edges. Still, it’s long enough, draping down to your waist. You could hide your arms completely underneath, maybe a few other things if there was a call for it. Kind of like the cape for your villain suit.

So is this you, now? Or at least, if not you; is it Ariadne? You’re allowed to change, right? Will she even buy it? You’re not sure that you do.

When you get the phone call from Ortega one evening you go along and let her make plans. You’ve got time to kill before your next big operation anyway. And you can field test your new wardrobe.

–––

“Ariadne! Hola!” Ortega raises her arm, a bright smile on her face. Looks like the last of the stitches are gone. Thank god. She’s got jeans on, another flannel shirt. No jacket today? If it wasn’t for the gave-away glint of metal embedded in her arms and hands she’d look like a textbook middle-age butch lesbian.

Did she always dress like that? Is it because she’s seeing Jane now? Swear she flirted a little more femme when she was with men. Not that you were paying attention at the time. Of course not.

Shut up.

You raise your hand back, “Hola yourself. Y–you look happy today.”

“I like the new look.”

You blink, glance down at yourself. Doubt creeping back into your head. “Uh. Well. It’s uh, it’s just stuff I had… laying around… you know.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” She doesn’t believe you at all, damn her.

“D–don’t think it’s for your benefit!” You hiss back, you reach up and grab the edges of your shawl, pulling the green fabric closed over your body. “B–because it’s not!”

Her smile broadens. “I didn’t say anything, Ariadne.”

“F–fuck you.”

“I like the shawl, it’s cute.”

Oh god. You can’t look at her. Face warm. Ortega has a girlfriend, what the hell is she doing? “G–good for you. You um, you want to – to get on with w–whatever the fuck we’re doing today?”

“Alright, alright.” She laughs, turning and beckoning you to follow. “We’re already here actually.” Ortega gets about halfway to the front doors before she realizes (acknowledges?) that you aren’t following her. She turns her head, flaps her arms in a ‘what?’ gesture.

Pulling your shawl tight around you, there’s newfound gratitude for how your sunglasses help to mask your eyes.

You stare up at the front facade of the Los Diablos Children’s Hospital, white tiling and red brickwork and dozens of little panes of glass like too many eyes. “Ortega…” you try to keep the panic out of your voice. “I thought you said we were doing something fun.”

She walks back to you, tight frown on her face. “We used to do this all the time, remember?”

You stare at her, “Do what?”

“Visits? Readings? You know?”

Bite your lip, is that true? Ortega seems so sure of it, but… Thinking back to hospitals all your memory coughs up is a very different kind of picture. One that makes your stomach roil and your head dizzy. True or not there’s still one problem: “Ortega… I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

Ortega sighs and pats you on the shoulder. “Look, there’s no PR crew, no cameras, I haven’t even told Chen. The only person who knows we’re coming is the lady in charge of managing volunteers, Sue, and as far she knows you’re just a friend I’m dragging along.” She steps beside you, hooking her arm in yours. “So, you’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

You tense up as Ortega half-walks, half-drags you to the doors. “If – if, um – ninjas descend from the ceiling and kidnap me, I want you to know…”

“Yeah?”

“I f–f–fucking hate you.”

Ortega laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bright lights and white walls, men and women in scrubs, medical masks. You keep your shades on, damn politeness. Mercifully, hardly anyone spares you a thought, eyes sliding off. Fewer people than you'd believe recognize Ortega out of her Ranger’s outfit. At the same time, you do get the sense she’s a known quantity here, this isn’t her first rodeo. You’ll just have to trust her; there’s an uncomfortable thought.

You wish you had the Rat-King handy, you can wrap a song tight around your head but you could stand to have a little help filtering out the background noise. Maybe it’s your own baggage, but the chatter of hospital thoughts always has this tension to it – forced cheeriness.

Hang back and let Ortega talk to the front desk, a few minutes of waiting and the woman, she mentioned, Sue? –Susan?– comes out frowning behind the too-thick fireproof doors. Straight brown hair, dressed in white, stud earrings.

It makes an interesting contrast between her and Ortega. Ortega’s sporting her Ranger-branded sports jacket today. Ranger-blue indigo shirt underneath. Her bronzed skin a touch darker in shade than her conversation partner. It’s a good look for her – the outfit that is.

You guess.

Not that you’re an expert on Ortega’s style choices or anything.

What do you care what she looks like?

You don’t.

Shut up.

Sue and Ortega make small talk, and Ortega keeps glancing your way. Expecting you to join in? You’d rather hang back. Not talking to any doctors today, thanks.

You worry the sleeves of your shirt, pulled down to the wrists. Rub the fabric between your fingers, trace patterns over your thigh, anything to do that isn’t further chewing up the inside of your cheek.

It’s been weeks now and neither one of you have discussed the kiss in the Hospital. Maybe Ortega doesn’t even remember. Some drug-fueled fever dream.

Or…

Or maybe she hated it? Is politely letting you pretend it never happened. She’s with Jane, you have to remember. Ortega is a lot of things, but she’s not a cheater.

And now Ortega’s beckoning you over. Welp.

Take a breath, in – hold – out. You’re not scared. What are you scared of? You are Ghost, the mysterious plight of Los Diablos. They ought to be scared of you. Ortega taps the side of her head. No shades? You make a face and she gives you a serious look. You huff and pull them off, fold up and tuck them in your purse. White walls. White lights. Can feel your heart jump. Fuck. Ortega smiles at you, you fake a smile back.

You’ve got this. Everything’s under control.

Here we go.

Sue hands the two of you off to a nurse who in turn acts as your guide. You trail behind, not paying much attention to his and Ortega’s conversation. What you bother to pick up confirms that Ortega’s made a habit of these low-key visits apparently, to different hospitals across the city. Ever since returning to the Rangers.

Did Ortega used to drag you along to official Ranger PR events? You can almost remember. The memory of remembering. Try to think too hard about hospitals though, and you get panicky. Short breath. Little dizzy. A hospital is the last place you want to pass out at, thanks but go fuck yourself.

–––

A pair of tiny arms clings to your leg and a jolt of panic shoots through you. “Uh… H–h–hello?”

A girl with cropped brown hair stares back up at you. “HI LADY! I like your hair!!”

You glance at Ortega, she’s got her back to you, teaching a boy how to do some fancy handshake. You catch the eye of the nurse, hanging back by the doorway. He gives a small smile. No help there. Look back down at the kid, “T–th–thanks? Um– Don’t you want to talk to Charge over there?”

She remains undeterred. “What’s your name?”

“Ari?”  You glance towards Ortega again. Help. She remains utterly unaware of your plight.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

You choke. “W–w–what? I’m uh– I’m a girl.” Fuck. What did she pick up on? You usually pass just fine these days. Could just die right now, that would be great, thanks.

“Oh. Okay!” There is absolutely no hint of embarrassment in this girl’s mind. “Are you Ms. Charge’s girlfriend?”

You hunch down and very gently try to pry her arms off your leg. “What um, what gives you that idea?”

She tilts her head, staring you down with full intensity. “‘cause you keep looking at Ms. Charge AND everyone knows the hero’s girlfriend ALWAYS has red hair!!”

You smile to hide the panic. “W–what uh, what makes you say that?”

She gives you a doubtful look, can’t believe an adult doesn’t know this. “‘cause it’s in all the movies!! Duh!!”

“Ari!’ Oh thank god. You breathe a sigh of relief as Ortega walks over, the other kids curiously watching behind her. “Making friends?”

“Hi Ms. Charge!!” The little girl fixes her full attention to Ortega.

“Hello!” She smiles widely, “Introduce me to your friend, Ari?”

“Uh–”

“My name is Casey!” The little terror cuts in. “SHE never asked!” Casey huffs. “Your girlfriend is RUDE Ms. Charge.”

“Girlfriend?” Ortega raises her eyebrows at you.

You shake your head wildly, suddenly way too warm. “S–s–she came up with that one herself!”

An hour and a half later of helping Ortega handle the meet and greet and you’re free again.

You slip your shades back on as the two of you exit the hospital. Run a hand through your purse to find the chocolate bar, peel off the wrapper at one end with shaking hands. “That was… that was something.”

Ortega claps you on the back and you stumble forward a step. “See? I told you you’d be fine.”

“Y–yeah, well…” You frown, “If you d–don’t hear from me in a week, you only have yourself to blame.” You break off a piece of chocolate, “Want any?”

“I’m good.”  Ortega smiles, you shrug and pop the candy into your mouth “So…” Her smile fades as she glances towards you, “what did you think?” The two of you leave the parking lot, walk the sidewalk, you follow her lead through the streets.

“What d–did I think?”

“Want to come with me the next time I go?”

You give her a wry smile, “Y–You’re not gonna just, uh, just spring it on me again?”

She smirks back at you, “Me? Spring something on you? Never.”

“F–f–fucking smug-ass liar.” You punch her in the shoulder, and Ortega overplays it, comically swinging to the side. “W–why do I keep letting you do this to me?” You keep asking yourself that, and the answer hasn’t gotten any less terrifying.

“Do you remember the last time we did one of those visits?” Ortega glances at you as the two of you hurry across the street.

“When was that?”

“It must have been… well, right before–” She grimaces.

“Oh.” You chew your cheek, trying to think back. Can feel your stomach lurch as the world tilts under you. You have to stop and steady yourself. Cover it up by shaking your head. “I… kind of do? I–I–I haven’t thought about this in years, sorry.” You furrow your eyebrows, “I…”

“You were–” Ortega stops herself, “Oh, sorry, go ahead.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, finish your thought, it’s fine.”

Damn.

“I… think this might be… um, the first positive experience I’ve had with a hospital in… in years.” You grimace, keenly aware of the line you’re skirting. “Between uh… you in the hospital and…”

“And…?” Ortega slows down to match your pace.

Shake your head, “No, it’s – it’s nothing. Sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” You try to smile even though it feels fake. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, well–” Ortega rubs the back of her neck, “I was just going to say; I had to step outside to handle a phone call. And–” She laughs, “You were on the verge of panicking, all ‘Charge! Don’t leave me alone with these kids!”

You come to a stop, and groan, run a hand over your face. “Oh my god.”

“You remember now.”

You bite your lip, nod your head. “Uh-huh.”

“How did you get into teaching them about taxonomy? You never told me.”

You can feel the heat on your face now. “Okay. Look. It–it–it made sense at the time okay!? I thought it’d be easiest to keep them from going crazy if I r–r–read them a story?”

“Okay?” Ortega stops walking, leans her shoulder against a boutique storefront’s window, watching you with a smile. You cross your arms under your shawl to try and keep your hands from shaking.

“Okay. So. I just – just grabbed the first children’s book I saw. It–It–it was this animal book? I think? But it was all cutesy and inaccurate.” You bite your lip. “And when I pointed out a mistake, they all laughed so… I just… kept… doing… that…?”

She laughs at you.

You cover your face in your hands, heat going straight to your ears. “D–don’t laugh!”

Ortega covers her mouth, “Okay, okay. Sorry, you’re just so–”

You drop your hands to your sides, “I’m just so what?” You narrow your eyes at her.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll have to get you a book to read, the next time we go.”

Oh god.

“You’re going to – to kill me Ortega…”

Her smile falters, “I hope not.”

The two of you walk the next block in silence. Is it as awkward for her as it is for you?

Finally Ortega stretches her arms over her head and says, “I don’t do these hospital visits often enough these days.”

Watch her face from the corner of your eye, trying to get a read on her. “How come?”

Ortega sags, shoulders slumped forward. “Too easy to get caught up in work. Especially lately.”

Ah.

You have to keep your face blank, don’t let your heart race. “S–still obsessed with trying to figure out Ghost?”

She gives you a grim smile. “You know it.”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

[erintoknow]

Messages

fallen hero fanfic? chargestep

mostly i was just having fun playing around with a fake text message generator 

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#fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fhr #fhr/Ariadne #mc #ortega #text messages #wlw fanfic