Me: Wow, this is a great story...wait a minute (Reads the date on the folder). This Oneshot was created months ago!! Why did you wait so long to give it to me?!
Oneshot Plot Bunny: To be truly great, this story, like a good wine, needed to "age to perfection".
Me: (Crosses arms and raises eyebrow)
OSPB: ...Or its been stuck under my bed all this time, fine I admit it! Sheesh, you take the poetry out of everything!
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Dscilmaer: Polt Bnuny: Syeklr dsonet own Teen Ttains, olny the sroty. Fnnuy you can raed tihs huh? The flul rosean tkaes too lnog to tlel, but blacsilay olny the fsirt and lsat ltretes hvae to be cerorct for the biarn to raed the wrod.
Me: Tihs mkeas my haed hrut.
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Its only been two days since you freed Kid Flash, defied Madame Rouge, and pretty much shot your chances of ever joining the Brotherhood of Evil, despite Rouge's promise to "be in touch."
Seemore still doesn't know why you came back. You don't either; that whole "Goodbye" you said and the walk down the alley with that rose in your hand probably looked like some kind of life-altering dramatic exit at the end of a TV show or something. You guess your subconscious hates cliches as much as your conscious self does though, because you had found yourself back at the H.I.V.E. Five--uh, Six--headquarters when you had snapped out of your haze of thinking about Kid Fl-
NO! No, you weren't thinking about him. You were not thinking about how pretty his eyes were, or how right his words were, or how getting him wet made his suit really cling to every toned curve...You weren't thinking about that at all. You were actually thinking about...Sandwiches! Yeah, a good ham sub with plenty tomatoes and mustard and--
...OK fine, You were thinking about him. A little.
Wait, who are you trying to fool here? Yourself? After two solid days of thinking about "sandwiches"?
...That's just stupid. You hate acting stupid.
Yes, you were thinking about Kid Flash, and for the past two days, you've still been thinking about that irritating little do-gooder. You think he was right.
You hate being wrong. You hate a lot of things. But none so much as your recent realization that you've been wasting your criminal life. Its all you've ever known, and now you realize that it was wrong?
Ugh, maybe that's why you flaked on the Walmart heist the boys are pulling today. Of course, besides the fact that you don't want to admit that you've all sunk so low that hitting Walmart seemed like a big deal. Billy Numerous promised to bring you back "somthin purty". For an idiotic redneck, the guy does possess that southern chivalry.
Almost makes you want to move to Virginia or some other place south of the Mason-Dixon line. Almost.
A small sly voice in your brain tells you that a certain red-yellow hero is also chivalrous without the irritating accent, and could probably take you to anyplace you wanted to go.
You chase the voice away with a machete.
An angry, nervous energy fills you then, and you decide to go work it off with training.
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A few hours later, you're leaning your head against the shower wall as the water beats on your thin tired body. While the training simulation did expend your energy, it didn't really provide any challenge. You know Gizmo's tricks so well, you probably could've designed the course yourself. But fortunately, you're too tired right now to really think about anything, and your thoughts fade into a pleasant white noise as you scrub some Sidney Smooth shampoo by Aussie into your coarse hair, followed by the Protect + Soften conditioner by the same brand, pausing to smell the almost edible scent of the liquid. Some Jergen's Cherry and Almond body wash removes the grime from your skin, and you exit the shower in a cloud of perfumed steam.
No one really knew, but you always liked to smell good things. When the faded fragrance of the shampoo wafted to your nose at times, it always had a small soothing effect on you. It was why you washed your sheets and clothes constantly; you loved the smell of fabric softener.
While you waited for the dryer containing your uniform to go off, you wrap your long pink hair into a green toweled turban, pull on your navy robe, and head back to the control panel in the training room to watch and criticize your most recent performance. At first, you're too caught up in the facial expression you have on the screen to notice what the rest of you was doing. Was that really you? That girl looked absolutely untroubled, completely confident as she hexed off the arms of a robot and flipped forward to kick it, flipping back to the ground with grace and a momentary raising of arms in the gymnastic pose for victory. You sigh and your hand takes the job of supporting your far-too-heavy head while you drag your half-lidded pink eyes from the calm slitted ones on the screen and focus more on the movements the owner of the eyes was performing. Hmm, hexes look fine, still strong, as well-controlled as rays of bad luck can be controlled; a little wobbly when throwing a hexagonal panel, need to do more weight training; gymnastics, as always, are flawless, executed with such ease, it almost looks like floating. Uh-oh, almost caught off guard by those metal tentacle things, gotta try to better mind the surroundings. As the video ended, your hand was back in your lap and you are nodding with measured approval. Not too shabby. Time to pull on some warm newly-dried clothes.
Getting out the load and laying them out so they wouldn't wrinkle, you hang the blue-black dress with the indigo-and-black striped stockings to put on after you've finished folding. Your gray hands, callused and work-rough despite constant applications of lotion, catch slightly on the fine soft material of your rarely-worn stolen civvies and you frown, making a mental note to slather on more of the peach-smelling hand softener, and to threaten the Avon lady into ordering more for you, you're running a little low.
Again you frown, but now its at the memory of the terrified face of the young cosmetic sales lady, Rochelle or Rachel or something, as she stood on the opposite end of your glowing pink hand, shaking like a leaf as she took your order, knowing she would have to pay it out of her own pocket. Unbidden, the intense, warehouse-shadowed face of Kid Flash floated through your mind. "You don't have to hurt people to get respect."
Maybe I could cut her a little slack this time, you think, she's just trying to make a living like any other normal person, I guess I could at least pay for the shipping. Slightly thrown at how pleased you are with this unusual plan of mercy, you reach for another piece of clothing, only to realize that you're finished folding your pile of laundry. Too tired to be anything more than slightly irritated at your sudden onset of absent-mindedness, you start to pull your uniform off its hanger, when a missed article of clothing, still in the dryer, catches your eye. Its a pair of pajama short-shorts, dark red with a small black skull and crossbones stitched onto the right leg, and you pause to let the soft warm cotton glide and catch along your fingers. Looking over, you spot the top, a small, but loose-fitting sleeveless black jersey with a matching set of skull and crossbones, these ones dark red and covering most of the front of the shirt. The folded shorts are placed on top of its companion and you can feel your gaze grow longing as you stare at the sleepwear, all of the exhaustion of two sleepless nights and a long workout collapsing on you with a vengeance. You lightly touch the partially hanging uniform and discover its gotten cold; your mind is instantly made up.
Bare feet pad softly along the thin carpet that badly needs a vacuum, their owner clad in the soft PJ's, clothes cradled in your toned gray arms, the armband tattoo of delicate black Celtic swirls high on your left bicep clearly showing. The laundry is still a little warm and wafting the clean smell of Bounce to your appreciative nose.
Yes, a nap is just what you need. Bumping the "open" button with your elbow, the metal door whooshed open to reveal your still-damaged room. Lip curling, you set the clothes in organized stacks where your dresser used to be, and you plug the electric blanket into the remaining working socket. Giving it time to warm up, you head back to the bathroom and hang the robe back onto its designated hook, then remove the green towel from your hair. Still wet, the strands had turned from their usual shade of "Japanese Pink" to a dark "Thulian Pink." At least, that was what the boys said, after getting into a ridiculous argument over what exact shade of pink their leader's hair was, they had finally gone to Wikipedia and in a stupider move than usual, lopped off a lock of your hair to match the shade.
You let out a wicked chuckle as you remember the vicious beating you had bestowed upon them in your rage. Maybe that should be your excuse not to leave the bad life: beating morons to a pulp while spewing evil laughter were of some of your favorite things to do. Things that you were sure heroes were not allowed to do.
You pick up a comb and your mind resumes its debate as the teeth picked apart tangles. Then again, you would bet your last ill-gotten nickel that Raven occasionally whacked that irritating green animal shifter around. But still, evil laughter would undoubtedly have to go. Triumphant laughs, cocky chuckles, superior smirks, sassy giggles, maybe a dark snicker or two. Those she would get, but sinister mirth? That brand of humor was an unspoken no-no for the tight wearing brigade.
Tights... You shuddered, and winced as the motion tugged painfully on a tangle. That alone would be enough to quite literally "hang up the cape." The day you wore underpants on the outside was the day you did the Macarena with Big Bird on an Egyptian Sphinx.
...You processed that thought for a moment.
"Time for bed!" you announce with gusto, having no doubts that your crazy vivid mental image was due to your natural REM deprivation. Pulling through the last knot, and not bothering to blow dry your hair, you start a brisk walk to the warm haven of your bed that quickly turns to a foot-dragging crawl, but this time you could only partly blame it on tiredness. Your somewhat depressed shuffle also owed itself to your pretty much talking yourself out of being a hero because you didn't like the costumes, which was a little saddening, come to think of it. Some of the heroines didn't look that bad, like that Australian chick with the red energy powers. You couldn't remember her name, but you did remember that dress, a little black/red number that had a chic goth tutu thing going on. And Starfire's outfit was okay, if you were the miniskirt/tall boots type. Raven though; way too ballet leotard, but the cloak was ok. Then there was Bumblebee...
Probably, sometime in the future, when you weren't tired or confused, you would've looked back on your walk to your room while criticizing the fashion choices of the female Titans with amusement.
You would've, if the ultimate reason to leave the villain's life hadn't struck you like one of Robin's bird-a-rangs.
If I joined them...I could still beat up idiots...but it would just be under the pretense of "bringing them to justice."
You actually stood there in the empty hall, eyes wide, mouth gaping open, mind whirling with this revelation.
I need to contact them somehow, let them know I want to switch sides. Your mouth twists into a (perfectly allowable) mischievous grin as you thought of possible facial expressions a certain spiky-haired leader could don when he heard that little bit of news. Better bring a camera.
You pulled back the blanket and slipped under the covers, actually moaning a little as the electric blanket warmed your chilled skin. Letting out a contented sigh, your head rested on your pillow, not caring about your damp hair.
But first: nap.
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You had an interesting dream.
You were walking around Jump City. Not stealing, not fighting, just walking. The strange part though, was that when you walked by someone, they didn't freeze, or scream, or cross to the other side of the street. Instead, they smiled, saying you name in greeting, some raising their hands in small waves; even a little girl came up and asked you to sign her stuffed unicorn. You had chuckled at the irony, and on its side, signed your name with a flourish. But when you had made the final mark, the word started glowing and in a great flash of pink light, the toy became a real unicorn, stomping and tossing its magnificent bluish mane.
With the logic belonging to dreams, you knew that you needed to get onto the horse and ride...somewhere. Leaping on, and waving to the little girl (who didn't seem perturbed at all at the loss of her toy) you galloped off at rocketing speed. You grinned as you rode, exhilarated with the horses power, knowing it was under your control to go where you pleased, and the grin became laughter at the world that passed so quickly by you.
Another laugh came through the air, and you looked over, completely unsurprised to find Kid Flash loping easily beside you. The unicorn disappeared then, and you were standing at the base of a large rock, the red haired speedster atop it. He held out his hand in a familiar gesture, and this time, you took it, smiling as he pulled you up, for you had spotted a deep red rose in his other hand.
Suddenly, you were sitting in your bed, just looking at the rose Kid Flash gave you. Somehow you knew a couple days had passed since you last saw him, and it explained why the flower was drooping a little, despite the vase of water it rested in. But it didn't matter, you had drawn a picture of it when it had been in full and perfect bloom, and the picture was safe in your sketchbook.
But then, it was full and perfect again, and you wondered, but the sharp breeze that hit you made everything clear. You smiled at Kid Flash, who looked startled but smiled slowly back, until it grew to a full grin.
"I figured it was time for a new one," he said, gesturing to the replacement rose.
You nodded then raised an eyebrow, "Where've you been?"
"Everywhere really," he answered with a shrug and a grin, "wanted to give you some time." His head tilted and his smile gentled to affection, "You look pretty with your hair down."
You stood and crossed to the mirror to see if he was right, but a low whistle stopped you. Looking over your shoulder, you could see him ogling your legs and higher. You turned around and crossed your arms, ruining his view.
Or maybe not, because now he had a new view, and he was staring at it as unashamedly as he had the previous one. His blue eyes widened as they fell on the tattoo, but after a millisecond, they drifted up to your face, twinkling mischievously. "I must thank the designer of that outfit," he quipped.
You're embarrassed, but you're determined to return the favor. "And I thought heroes were supposed to be gentlemen," you shoot back, beginning to dislike this dream.
"Show me a man who doesn't stare at you when you're wearing sexy pj's, and I'll show you a robot," he misquoted loftily. You stifle a giggle and grin evilly.
"This is sexy? I cant imagine how you would've acted if you caught me in my bra."
Bullseye. His face is starting to turn bright red, and you think maybe this dream isn't so bad after all.
As you expected, he changes the subject. "Have you thought about what I said?"
Huh, for a figment of your imagination, this guy didn't know much about what was going on in your head, "Nah, when someone gives me doubts about the quality of my life, I don't really dwell on it."
Kid Flash grinned, "Forgive me if I don't believe that. So have you been thinking about me too?"
"No," you say too quickly, and the cocky jerk has the audacity to smirk.
"It was the hair wasn't it? Girls love guys with red hair." He took a step forward, and yelped as he tripped over his own feet. You were going to cross your arms, eyes still aglow and a smirk on your face at Kid Flash's expense, but it seemed that the misfortune you sent at him decided to turn against its own mistress, for the fastest boy alive had decided to fall on none other than you.
The wicked grin on his face could've rivaled Cheshire's mask, "Tired of playing hard to get?"
You never thought you had such a vivid imagination. Your mental conjuring of Kid Flash is just as annoying as the real one. Well, at least this is a dream where your powers work, "Get. Off. Of. Me!" with the last word, the yellow/red clad hero was flung into the wall by a wave of pink energy. But before you could even sit up, a red glove was being held out to you, just like earlier. You prop yourself up onto your elbows and furrowed what would have been eyebrows if you had any. "I throw you into the wall and you want to help me up?"
He shrugged easily, "Grammy Flash always told me that you don't leave a lady on the ground."
There was no answer for that. So many thoughts race around your mind; this is by far the strangest, most realistic dream you've ever had. So you don't move from your spot, only staring at his mild, somewhat amused face, wondering what would happen next.
Apparently, it would be that face growing a look of impatience, and him gently grabbing your arms and lifting you with a strength you didn't think he had. His grip didn't loosen from your arms, in fact, it grew a little tighter, and he pulled you close, close enough to feel the heat from his body on your skin. A small question mark begins to form at this, but the words he speaks next makes the wonder mist away and fill the room with a gray-white fog that clouds everything but the boy in front of you. This boy who has tried so hard, who is so sure he can help you do better, to be better, if you would let him.
Its such a shame that none of this is real.
Even so, the words he says to you are unforgettable.
"She also told me that power doesn't define you, its what you use that power for that makes us who we are." He tucks a strand of pink hair behind your ear, and his gloved hand comes to rest against your pale cheek. He's looking so intently at you, like hes willing you to listen, to understand the depth of his grammy's wisdom.
And darned if the old bat ain't right.
"Ill think about it."
Now, it seems that in Kid Flash's language, "I'll think about it" doesn't mean "Ill think about it." No, it seems that it means "Of course I'll leave everything I've ever known and join you Kid Flash! Now kiss me my handsome hero!"
At least, that's the only explanation you can come up with for the sudden fusion between your lips and his.
But then again, this is all a dream right? Technically, you made him misunderstand "Ill think about it."
At least, that's the only explanation you can come up with for why youre kissing him back. And as your shaking hands trace around his mask and bury themselves in his hair (he was right, the hair was great) you realize that you wish this wasn't a dream, that it was real, but you can feel the mist entering your mind, and you know its not.
"Signal me," he says against your lips, his blue eyes large and bright, filling your world, "when your ready, signal me, and I'll come."
"How?" you almost mumble, struggling not to lose coherence.
His chuckle is like a lullaby, "I'm sure you'll figure it out. But say you will, promise me you'll let me know when you're ready."
You cast a measured glance at him, "I wont get some peace and quiet til I do, right?"
He smiles, "Not a chance."
You let out a long-suffering sigh, "Well it seems I have no choice," you say and pull him down for another kiss, one that, had this all been real, you wouldve been positive he would wait in Jump City until he was old, gray, and used a cane to limp from place to place at superspeed.
When its over and you pull away, you feel like you were going to fall to the floor, but you steel yourself to walk and not be carried back to bed (even dream you cant stand cliches) and burrow under the covers, certain that if you went to sleep in the dream, you would wake up in the real world, and you could re-enact this scene in reality.
With a few changes of course, mainly with you having a little more finesse and not clad in your pajamas.
But, it seemed your dream decided to throw in a cliche before it faded, just to spite you, and it was in the form of Kid Flash tucking you in and kissing your forehead like a child.
You of course, roll your eyes in annoyance. But, you think as you look at the rose, he wouldn't be Kid Flash without those little cliches.
"Good night, Jinx."
"Its the afternoon, idiot."
You sleep.
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Awake.
Or at least you think so. You have been trained to be a light sleeper, responding to the slightest noise, but the sight of Kid Flash in your room makes you question your consciousness.
Well, whether he's there or not, you decide to speak to him like it was a dream. If it was, then you could tell him to get lost so you could wake up; if it wasn't, then it would be fun to mess around with his head.
"I don't recall sending any signal," you say glibly, sitting up and theatrically stretching your arms.
"Maybe so, but ve did get ze message." That voice stops you cold. Accented, sneering, unmistakably feminine, it makes your eyes go wide and your cat slit pupils to thin.
And when the visage of Kid Flash dissolves to that of Madame Rouge, her fist flies out to your face far too fast for you to move, and a white star of pain explodes in your head, you think, Maybe it wasn't a dream.
The world goes black.
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When you regain consciousness, the world is still black. You use the wall behind you to sit up.
And it hurts. The pain, you never knew your head could handle such pain!
Then words.
"I had thought you vere supposed to be smart."
A slap that knocks you back to the floor.
"I thought you vould stay on the vinning side."
A kick to the stomach.
"I thought wrong."
A viscious pop on the swollen knot on your head. You scream in pain.
"Vhat a vaste."
The crackling of electricity. A Level Four containment field.
I'm scared.
The field engulfs you, sending the pain in your head to insignificance.
Help.
As if she reads your mind, she answers.
"There is no help for traitors."
She turns up the power.
You scream again, and the room turns pink.
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You've been put into a room that is five paces long, four paces wide, and has no windows. You wondered how they knew that you were claustrophobic. It wasn't a paralyzing fear, but it was close, and a tiny room with no way out was more than enough to do a nasty little number on your mind.
When you had figured out how to make the containment field backfire on Rouge, you had tried to escape, but you were caught only halfway to freedom. But they haven't and they haven't used the field again.
Not that they need to, what with the power inhibitor on your wrist. At first, you had wondered about that, about why they hadn't simply finished you off, but six days and the equivalent of only one bowl of watery vegetable broth later, you get what they have planned for you.
They wouldn't freeze you like they had to some of the Titans, oh no. You cant blame a hero for being a hero, anymore than you can blame a dog for being a dog. But for traitors like you, freezing was far too good. Starving to death was a much more fitting end.
Hopefully preceded by a total loss of hope and sanity, compliments of psychological torment at being constantly confronted with your phobia and daily beatings.
And you thought you were skinny before...after a few more days like this thin wouldn't be the word. Emaciated sprung to mind. Spotted too, with all the bruises on your thinning body, it wouldn't be just your eyes that bore resemblance to a leopard.
And so did other things. Your past, present, and non-existent future. You remembered the first time your powers manifested, when a kid had stolen your bread, the only food your family could afford to eat that day. Taunting you with it, using his superior height to have it dangle just above your small fingers. With a final sneer, he took an exaggerated bite from it, and you wailed in rage and pain.
And the boy turned blue, choking on the food he had stolen. You were too young to know what his odd color and strange noises had meant, all you knew was that it was your chance to get what was rightfully yours. But, stubbornly, stupidly, the boy still held onto the food, until you grew so angry you punched him in the stomach with all the small strength you had. Ironically, your blow dislodged not only the morsel from his throat, but the bread from his hand. Snatching the piece away, you scarfed it down as you ran, leaving him on his hands and knees as he regained oxygen, you praying he wouldn't recover until you had chewed your last bite.
You hadn't even considered that the incident had anything to do with you until later that day, when the boy's older sister banged on your front door and repeated what her sibling had told her.
Things changed very quickly after that. After that, it was like a floodgate had opened. Your eyes and hair gradually changed color, your night vision became pristine, and wherever you went, bad things happened.
Your parents, as superstitious as the rest of the village, but hopeful there was a cure for you, let you stay with them, going to witch doctors, medical doctors, old wives and witches, praying their child could be free of her durbh agya-bad luck.
But finally, they had driven you away. You didnt really blame them; burning down your home would be the last straw for anyone.
The days following that you never clearly remembered, nor did you ever regret that vagueness. Alot of fear, alot of cold, alot of hunger...
Just like now, come to think of it.
But there was no H.A.Y.E.P. Scout coming for you now, holding out a gentle hand and offering a new home, one where you would not be feared, but respected.
Later on, you found out that the "Membership Bracelet" they gave you was yet another power inhibitor. They had feared your durbh agya too.
But no more. Now, you were neither feared nor respected. You were despised.
And you were going to die. The only thing to do, the only thing you could do, was sit on the cold floor and mark down the hours until it happened. On the second day, you had heard two men outside your room, one had asked the other for the time.
Ever since then, you were counting the seconds, marking each hour on the door with the spoon they had given had laughed at that when the first gave it to you, five days ago. I get not even a mouthful of soup, you had thought, and they give me a spoon to eat it with? But now that spoon was your distraction, your savior, as you documented the time until your doom.
It was a maddening process, but it was better than staring at the four walls around you, watching them grow closer, with you in the middle.
Why did you ever think you could change without consequences? Even if this hadn't happened what would've? Jump City's walls were bigger, but they had no more love for you than the ones surrounding you now. If the Titans hadn't killed you right off, the police or the citizens certainly would've.
Still, dying then would have been better than dying now. Then you would've had at least a shot at not ending up at "the bad place", if it did in fact exist.
Now, you were pretty sure that Heaven's Gates weren't going to fly open for you. If that's where do-gooders went either.
Well, if there was an afterlife or not, you would find out soon enough.
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You think they broke a rib this time.
You're huddled on the ground, cradling your injured body. Every breath brings pain, which leads you to your earlier conclusion, but you don't really mind the pain. In fact, you welcome the pain, it takes you mind off the pain in your belly. They haven't given you any broth all day, but you're not sure you could've swallowed it if they had.
Its been 17 days, and the beatings are getting worse. You think they're getting frustrated with you, ten days ago, Madame Rouge even started paying visits, turning into various people--Kid Flash, the boys, Brother Blood--to make your breaking point arrive sooner.
They can't know that their being there actually helps. People meant there was still a world out there, big and spacious, where it doesn't hurt, where you're not trapped. If they want to break you, they should leave you alone.
You pray they never figure that out.
The bolt on the door slides open, and you would smile if you weren't so weak. Defiance still flows through your dying body, and you were going to go out laughing at their impotence.
If you're able to laugh when that time comes.
The door opens. Ahh, Madame Rouge, and now she's Seemore this time.
"Jinx," she says, "Oh God, Jinx, what have they done to you?"
Well this is a new tactic. Pretty good one too, the chick sounds almost genuinely horrified.
"C'mon," the shapeshifter whispers, "I'm getting you out of here." Rouges crosses over to you, pausing for a moment and trying not to wince as the smell you have hits her nose. She is on a role tonight. If you didn't know better, you'd almost believe it was Seemore.
She reaches down, and you shy away involuntarily. Rouge has such a convincing look of confusion and hurt that you pause and stare distrustfully. The single eye she has donned widens in fake revelation.
"Jinx, its really me," the impostor lies, "I'm Seemore, not Rouge. I can prove it."
You cock a nonexistent skeptical eyebrow.
Her hand goes to the illusioned helmet "Look," she says, and flips the eye until a familiar iris with a red pupil is there. Your own eyes grow saucer-like as a red beam shoots out of it and breaks the inhibitor on your wrist.
Rouge can do a lot of things, but she can't do that.
"Seemore?" its not a wheeze, or a croak, but the sound that comes from your dry throat.
You're instantly cradled in warm stringy arms, "Oh thank God, Jinx." He whispers that over and over, and you would cry if you weren't so dehydrated.
The moment is quickly ended, though, and Seemore is handing you a bottle of water while clinically examining your injuries. The pure liquid is sweeter than anything you've ever known, and you want to gulp it all down, but force yourself to take small sips.
"OK, you have a bruised rib here, do you think you're strong enough to walk?"
"Yes," you say clearly. His lips flicker at your lie, but he nods anyway.
"Alright, we only have a few minutes before they find out you're gone, and I'll have to go 'look' for you when the alarm sounds. But I'll carry you until then." He doesn't bother to wait for any objections before he picks you up gingerly, mindful of your rib, and starts sprinting down the hall with as little jouncing as he can manage. He stops and hides at all the cameras and passing guards telling you all the while how to get out once he leaves you, and you wonder how long he's been working at this base.
Then you wonder how long he has been planning this. But your musings don't last for long, as a klaxon tone rings throughout the building.
"That's my cue," he doesn't bother to whisper, "Do you know where to go from here?"
You nod, never feeling more grateful for the H.A.Y.E.P.'s mandatory course on instant memorization. "Thank you," you say inadequately, "I really can always count on you."
He blushes and rubs his arm. "Anytime Jinx." And he rushes down the hall, yelling that he saw you go the opposite way.
You stare after him for only a moment, then turn around, firmly ignoring the flash of pain the movement causes. The flash grows to a blinding beam as you start to run, but the opportunity of freedom is too sweet to have any quibbles like broken ribs to slow you down.
Not to mention the fact that you've been dying to see if that conversation with Kid Flash was real or not.
You laugh aloud as you realize that now you have a chance to find out.
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Fresh air has never been sweeter.
So many things you've taken for granted: wind, grass, the stars in the night sky, they will never again lose their value for as long as you live.
And elevators. Elevators are the best inventions in the world. But stairs on the other hand, if you don't have to climb a single stair again in your life, you'll be happy. Thank anything and everything the third floor was clear. You glance at your blurred reflection in the metal walls and are glad its blurred. If anyone else had seen you, they would've alerted the Brotherhood members chasing you to your location.
The red numbers on the screen suddenly die midway between the shift from 12 to 13, and you swear like a sailor at the irony. Great, more stairs; why couldn't Seemore have left that stupid inhibitor on my wrist?!
You retract that thought as you hex the doors open, revealing the bottom half of the 13th floor. Gasping aloud as you pull yourself up, you allow yourself only a second to recover and dash for the stairs. Thankfully, there were only three more floors to go. Unthankfully, a Brotherhood agent spotted you as soon as you entered the stairwell. Panting, climbing, and throwing down hexes as fast as you can, you were exactly five steps from the door leading to the roof when a red blast ripped along your right thigh. The scream you let out echoed down the flights, followed by a massive wave of energy that effected every supporting nut and bolt for 6 floors down.
You could hear the screams of metal and humans alike as the stairs started crashing down, but you didn't care. Raising your hand to the sky, you summoned all the strength you had left, and fired rays of pink into the dark sky.
As they faded, everything was quiet but your harsh pants as you fought to stay upright.
"Jinx."
You freeze and turn around.
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She looks so surprised to see you; frankly, you're surprised to see her. Of all places, you never expected her to go to a roof.
Her voice, so weak from misuse, coming from a body so abused, yet still somehow strong, tears at your heart as she says your name.
"Seemore."
You had been the best choice. You understood their reasons why they chose you to capture her when she entered the building.
You could fly and see through the walls, so you could see where she was.
You two were friends and teammates, so she would already trust you.
You weren't on her side, but she didn't know it, so she would let her guard down.
You were jealous that she had picked Kid Flash, so you had no reasons against taking her down.
You were disappointed in her for being a turncoat, so you knew what you needed to do.
"I'm so sorry Jinx."
You let out a large eyebeam, so that she fell off the edge of the building.
You walked to the edge, so you could see the gray and pink figure twist and fall.
You watched closely, so you wouldn't miss the moment she disappeared in a flash.
You cared for her, so when you saw a streak of red and yellow coming to your location...
You knew you wanted to save her.
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Plot Bunny: You know, its actually YOUR fault this Oneshot came to you so late.
Me: MINE?! How!?!?
Plot Bunny: After you had written your 7th Oneshot, when I said I had another long Oneshot for you, you had immediately rejected it! REMEMBER?
Me: Oh...(blushes)well, when had my rejecting a Oneshot ever stopped you before? Why didn't you keep on pushing me to write it?
Plot Bunny: You're not getting out of the blame here Skyler.
Me: Fine...Well, sorry about my negligence folks, but wouldja review anyway?
L8r
SAT:)