Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans
The 1st Degree: Friendship
Recipients: Jericho & Kole
Hot Spot leaned on the kitchen counter, crossing his legs at the ankles.
Hot Spot liked to refer to any hero-work done in the name of the Titans as "business", and business had been slow. He thought he might someday become bored or, you know, enraged at the shenanigans of his teammates. They were his main entertainment. After all, one does grow tired of reruns.
So, instead of switching on the TV and watching his crime shows (obsessions), Hot Spot watched Jericho and Kole.
Kole ground her heel into Jericho's boot.
Crying out, but making not a sound, Jericho tightened his arm's noose around Kole's neck.
Kole choked, her face reddening as it often did when she spent one-on-one time with Jericho. Her attacks toed the line between desperation and feminine fierceness.
When her face darkened to purple, Hot Spot chimed, "I didn't know Kole liked it rough. Thanks for the demonstration, Jericho." His white eyes narrowed. "Put her down. Now. Not a suggestion."
Jericho immediately loosed her. In case she fainted, he held her elbows. She teetered, but not for long. When he observed her to be steady, one of his hands flew to the back of his neck to rub it sheepishly. Sometimes he didn't know his own strength.
Hot Spot solidly patted Kole on the back. Ignoring that he almost knocked her flat onto the floor, Hot Spot glanced at Jericho sideways.
"I've never understood you. Lover one second, and fighter the next. I thought you had a thing for Koley, but-"
"Quit calling me Koley. And let me explain."
"I'm all ears!"
Kole sighed. No matter what she said, Hot Spot's mind was decided. Jericho had hurt a little girl who couldn't defend herself. As the hero, he could not let that stand. By hardly acknowledging her status as a Titan, Hot Spot always treated her like a misplaced child. He meant no harm, but he seemed so condescending too. The Herald trusted her to take point on certain missions, and Argent trusted her with more. Jericho was a sweetheart, but Hot Spot never left anything in her hands. Not crowd control, not surveillance, nothing. Whenever she accomplished anything good for the team, Hot Spot always gave her a hearty "Good job!" Most of the time, Kole remembered to take that at face value. Hot Spot rarely hid his real thoughts. Sometimes, Kole took offense to the compliment, as if he were giving her a gold star for trying, not for succeeding.
"Don't pretend like you're not gonna kick his butt because he hurt poor little Koley," spat Kole. "I could give you a good explanation, but you would ignore it."
"So you won't even try?"
"No. There's no point!"
Jericho waved his arms. She wasn't the one Hot Spot wanted to roast over an open flame!
Kole's resolve cracked. "Fine. Here's the long and short of it. And wait until I finish before you interrupt, okay?"
Hot Spot was known to (ahem) interject with his opinion while someone was still talking.
Shrugging, Hot Spot joked, "I just wanna know if my favorite celebrity couple broke up. I can see the tabloids now!"
"Shut up!"
Jericho wore an expression that told him to shut up, times two.
Swallowing down a blush, Kole explained the circumstances of the fight.
"I went to sit down next to Jericho, because he's the only one here. Not because I like him! When I scooted up under the counter, I accidentally crushed Jericho's foot with the leg of my chair. I think he yelled, and he threw over my chair when I didn't move immediately. Then I got mad because he's thrown my chair and I didn't know why. I... retaliated by punching him in the arm kinda hard."
Looking peeved, Jericho gestured to his fist.
"And... I had crystallized it."
A pinch of sympathy touched Hot Spot's voice. "Ouch."
"Then things just kept... escalating until you stopped us."
Jericho rolled up his sleeve, showing Hot Spot a bite mark midway up his forearm. Things had gotten a skosh out of hand.
"I'm sure that's not the first time she's bit you." Hot Spot's eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
That reminded Jericho of Beast Boy, so his first response was to laugh. His second was to cross his arms and look really po'ed.
"Man," said Hot Spot, strolling away from the pair. "You two are vicious. I've got my eyes on you two!"
Jericho whistled at him, which made Hot Spot turn around.
The mute held up two fingers. He gestured from his slitted eyes to Hot Spot's round ones.
Hot Spot chuckled nervously and backed out the door.
The 2nd Degree: Camaraderie
Recipient: Herald
The Herald sauntered into Hot Spot's room like he owned the place. It was a humble dwelling, sparsely decorated, painted lava red ("red is the new black" -Argent). In the corner was Hot Spot's bed and yellow sheets, and a small metal nightstand that supported a rather large television. Posters of B-movie slashers surrounded his bed and covered his closet door inside and out. Not an alarm clock in sight, which had explained so much to the Herald.
He announced (he is a herald), "Horror Movie Night: Part Two. The Sequel. Return of the Zombie Pirates." He studied the DVD case of Hot Spot's movie pick. "But seriously, are we gonna watch Zombie Pirates from Outer Space II: Back in the Hood? Yo, this movie is so bad you couldn't even find it on the internet! Had to walk down to that crusty ol' video rental place on Second and spend actual money on it."
"Then we'd better watch it. Don't want a late fee. That's how they getcha."
"Late fees."
"Hidden fees. Physical media is dying." Hot Spot pushed the DVD into the player.
The Herald meticulously smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. As his visit was social, he relaxed in his silver mask, a black t-shirt and green plaid pajama pants (stylin'). While his hands did work, his mind jumped around. He did not want to watch another Zombie Pirates installment, but campy B-movies were kinda Hot Spot's jam. Hanging with Hot Spot during some well-earned downtime was kinda the Herald's jam. They occasionally jammed together. Zipping across time and space by the power of his radical horn also killed the time.
His mind worlds away, the Herald blurted, "Why are folks in this dimension so shady, man?"
"Shady how? Because of the late fees? They warn you not to keep the movie for too long, upfront."
"Wish women were upfront about..."
"No!" Hot Spot slammed his fists down on the bed. The stiff flame retardant cover beneath the sheets popped. "Do not... sully this movie night with girl talk! Herald. I will make this movie night a final chapter."
"Alright," the Herald acquiesced. "Aw'right..."
The Herald shifted away, sinking deeper into the mattress. Hot Spot ignored the Herald's blue mood for almost five seconds (a new record).
"Herald. You have two minutes. No judgment, no interruptions. But once two minutes are up, I don't want to hear a word about any girl for the rest of the movie. Two minutes. Go."
When Hot Spot said two minutes, that meant two minutes. The Herald could boil it all down to a vague "It's complicated" and call it quits, but that felt dishonest.
"There's no woman. It's just women in general that got me... Never say what they mean. Their minds change with the wind."
The Herald knew he had a little over a minute left to fashion his thoughts into words. Only a minute to explain what laid so heavily on his heart. There was a woman. Indeed, a woman, not a girl. Karen Beecher, common alias Bumblebee. The Herald knew much about Karen from traveling across time and space as a Herald. He felt that he knew her very intimately, yet that he didn't know her at all. Not all Karens are the same. Backstories, interests, desires, and namely love interests often change across dimensions. The Karen of this dimension is bull-headed, but not unreasonable. She cares for those she protects and those she leads, though they can never push her around. She's a beautiful lady who the Herald admires.
The Herald swallowed all those thoughts with a grimace. All were too tender to voice.
Hot Spot propped himself up with a hand and an elbow. The Herald almost made a "draw me like one of your French girls" crack, but let the moment pass.
Despite having extinguished himself for the night, Hot Spot still intimidated in orange and black swim trunks and a tank top. He crossed his arms, and the Herald wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor.
"You made me pause this masterpiece for a coupla fragment sentences? The pirates just spotted Gotham City from their lifeboat! Gotham's where all the freaky things go bump in the night! Like Batman. What's gonna happen next?!" Hot Spot pressed play. "Land, ho!"
"I have one more minute," insisted the Herald.
Hot Spot raised an eyebrow. He glanced around his room. The Herald wondered if he was searching for a clock.
A zombie pirate paused mid-kill. Thin red blood oozed from a bloody stump where the arm of a troubled Gotham teen had once existed. From the look on the pirate's face, he intended on beating the teen to death with it. The whole scene reeked of camp.
"Aw! It was gonna be good too! Tch!" Hot Spot sulked, pouting about the missed killshot. "Shoot. We can always rewind it, but now the surprise is gone."
"That's the best part."
"You're stalling. Spit it out already."
"Fine. Karen is a woman who I've known for a long time, spanning hundreds of dimensions. Slowly, over that time... I started to have feelings for her. She's smart, strong, driven, and fun to boot. Adventurous, too. I like that in a woman. But... In every dimension I've ever met Karen, she's taken. Maybe she's got a guy in this dimension too. As a Herald, I jump around so much that I can't be mad when I see Karen with her boyfriend or husband. I'd feel guilty tying her down and not ever being... around. But this dimension is my home. I chose to stay here, with the Titans, and to put down roots. There's a chance that I can be with this dimension's Karen for the foreseeable future, and maybe beyond. Question is... Does she want a lifetime of me?"
Hot Spot shrugged. "What does that have to do with women changing their minds all the time? Or is this a separate problem?"
The Herald shrugged back at him. "They're kinda related. In one dimension, Karen wants a family, white picket fence, kids, dog, the whole nine yards. Next, she dedicates her life to science and molecules, and she doesn't have time for no man."
"Have you met Karen in this dimension?"
"Yeah. And I'm still not sure what she wants. I at least wanna be her friend, so I don't wanna offend her by assuming..."
"You know what the say about assuming! It makes an a** of you and me!"
Hot Spot cackled (#dadjokes4life). The Herald roared with laughter. In all his years of travel and adventure, he'd never heard that one!
"Anyway, I got a question for you, H. Gillespie. It's a matter of life and death. Who do you think is gonna survive the zombie pirate alien invasion?"
"My money's on virgin white girl number two. Not the blond one, the uglier brunette one."
"Blondie's not a virgin. She's too hot. But I think that's all too mainstream for Zombie Pirates II! They're in the hood! I think Shawna's gonna make it. I think the creative minds behind Zombie Pirates in Gotham City can defy the stereotypes of mainstream horror." He unpaused the movie.
"You have faith," said the Herald.
"Yeah!"
"You have much to learn about horror, young grasshopper."
The 3rd Degree
Recipients: the Crocketts
Hot Spot powered down. His phone lay at the foot of his yellow bed, waiting. Lazily, he picked it up and scrolled through his contacts. He stopped when he reached-
"Mom," he breathed. "Pick up. I want to talk to you."
"Hi!" chimed his mother in that peppy voice he hated. It meant she was still at the kindergarten, or that he had reached her answering machine. "You've reached Mrs. Crockett! I'm not available right now. Please leave a message! Thank you!"
After the beep, Hot Spot waved to nothing. "Hi! Mom. I'm calling to update you on everything that's going on here at Titans Tower. I know you like to know what's going on with me... Things are good! I've even gotten used to the cold, although it's only October. It'll get colder."
He continued, "Anyway, the team's doing good. Jerry's still too shy to get with Koley. Herald's still an awesome leader. He doesn't go on trips as often as he used to. I think that's because of this girl Karen he likes. And, on a completely different, uh, subject, Argent is good too. She told me to tell you 'hello, lovely' next time you called. But I beat you to the punch this time!"
Hot Spot tapped his knee with his palm. Had he run out of topics already?
"Crime-fighting is same-old, same-old. Kicking villainous butt is business, and business is good.
"How're things at home? Is dad still 'almost done' renovating the bathroom, or do you still need a bucket of water to flush the toilet? Do criminals everywhere still fear the name of Hot Spot? That last one's rhetorical. I already know the answer."
Laughing, Hot Spot shifted the phone to his other ear.
"I better stop. Oh! Mom. I bought you something cool for Christmas. I won't give it away, except that it's cool. I'll give it to you when I visit next Christmas Eve. The old Crockett family tradition has gotta live on! Waiting until Christmas Day to open presents is for chumps!"
He concluded, "Love you, Mom. See you soon. Tell Dad 'hey' for me. G'bye."
Hot Spot swiped to end the call. He smiled at his phone's home screen as if he was smiling into the face of his dear mother.
Like his father, Isaiah Crockett (aka Hot Spot) was a family man. Every day, for as long as Isaiah could remember, Mr. Crockett arrived home at seven every weekday evening. He worked hard all week, and spent whole weekends unwinding with his beloved wife and child. How his only son wished to be just like him! Even young adulthood could not warp his father into something he did not want to become himself. But some contemptible aliens had ruined Isaiah's life plan. They gave him such power, or awakened such power within him, that he could not ignore it. When criminals threatened helpless, ordinary people, Isaiah protected them.
The otherworldly fire emanating from his heart set his enemies aflame. When he was bored, he studied his smooth, molten hands. When he couldn't sleep, he experimented with his light output. He loved the power, and he loved how he wielded it. Any corrupt person who threatens the weak deserves a butt whooping. Preferably, they serve jail time. Ideally, they reform. As Argent would say, "baddies" who keep doing bad answer to the Titans North.
Argent
Aaargent...
Aaaargent had invited Hot Spot to a haunted house! Though not exactly his scene, Hot Spot had acquiesced to go with her. In case she got scared, he had said, just to test his luck. Argent's tastes were darker and a tad more disturbing than his.
They had to leave soon, or so thought Hot Spot (sick rhyming there, Chaucer). He had yet to buy a new alarm clock since his last one had gotten just a smidge toasted. Hot Spot is not and never has been a morning person.
Hot Spot checked the time on his phone. His estimate was forty minutes early. He didn't want to bounce over to Argent's room forty minutes early and make her think of him like an impatient dog wanting to go outside.
He wrung his winter beanie in his hands. He tugged on both sweater sleeves. The night's forecast was chilly, with a chance of frost. Hot Spot would take no chances. If needed, he could stoke his body's temperature. Maybe if Argent leaned her head on his shoulder, he could keep her warm too.
Blowing a raspberry, Hot Spot said, "That's a random thought."
A weird fantasy playing in his head. A bundle of frayed nerves pulsing in his head and heart. Why was he so impatient to see Argent? Right. Because he was Hot Spot.
.
AN: Thank you so much for reading this fic! Happy Halloween! :)
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Whew! This story has been waiting in a notebook for two years! Finally got 'er done! Super happy with it!
Hope you readers out there liked it.
Not alot of fanfics out there focus on Hot Spot primarily. I like fire, so I like Hot Spot too. So I gave him this HS-centric... three-shot? I'll call it a three-shot. By now, I've typed it into the summary. Boom! My will is done.
Of course, I snuck in a little Jerikole, since they're my OTP. And some Herbee, because their kind of my... ATP? Alternate True Pairing? I kinda feel the Cybee, but I kind of LOVE the Herald. Hotgent is my secondary OTP, or my STP. That's what the cool kids call it, right?
Just me? OK.