Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure the only character I own who actually appears in this story is Al. So there.
This be a CATfic. (www. freewebs. com/ catverse) It takes place in June, 2016, Arc Six, and as of what's posted right now, it fits neatly between "Catching Up" and "That Darn CAT." I hope. I have a very bad memory.
PS: While there will be a fic that touches on this, it isn't ready for posting yet, so just be aware that by this time our Squishykins is walking normally. Sorry yet again for posting the entire series completely out of order. Fright
More and more, Al and the Scarecrow were becoming a party of two. The Captain was just slightly too pregnant to move, and they didn't want to leave her home alone, so either Al or Techie had babysitting duty. And, somehow, it usually ended up being Techie.
Al was a decent thief and bodyguard in her own right, and it didn't make that much difference that there was only one of her. She felt perfectly secure trailing the Scarecrow to the Iceberg, his menacing but unobtrusive shadow, to conduct some of the less exciting end of their business.
The confidence crumbled when they were met just outside the door by a threat that Al had never anticipated.
She was a woman, maybe thirty-five years old, wearing a traditionally skimpy midnight blue costume under an open trenchcoat that was too warm for the weather. Her white-blond hair and pale skin were almost luminescent under the glare of the streetlamp--she seemed more than human--and the untouchable Dr. Crane was staring at her like a deer in headlights.
"Jonathan," she said, and moved forward as if she expected to be allowed to hug him. Al's hand went behind her back, going for the tire iron inside her jacket. Jonathan moved out of hugging range, offering the woman a hand to shake instead. She took it and didn't let go.
"Linda?"
Al bristled. Linda? Since when were he and this--this--woman on a first name basis? Who did she think she was, trying to hug Squishy like they were old friends? Her fingers curled around the warm, pitted metal of her security blanket.
Jonathan's expression hardened suddenly, and he extracted his hand.
"How are you, Dr. Friitawa?" he said frostily. She smiled at him with an apology in her eyes.
"Still mad?" she asked gently.
"Shouldn't I be?"
"I heard you made a full recovery." She reached up to touch his face. He turned away. The tire iron began its stealthy progress out of Al's jacket. "Jonathan! You have to understand, I was--"
"Looking out for yourself. Of course I understand." He knocked away the hand that was trying to stroke his hair in a gesture of tenderness and familiarity. She reached for him again, undeterred.
"I never meant to hurt you."
"Linda, stop." He caught her wrist and physically held her away from him. "I don't blame you for working toward your own ends, but you have to stop trying to be my friend, you manipulative, hypocritical, lying bitch."
Linda pulled away, finally taking the hint, subtle as it was, and crossed her arms over her chest. Al held the tire iron out of sight against the back of her leg, just waiting for Jonathan's signal to bash the bitch's brains in.
"So you didn't get the flowers?" she asked in a dry tone that belied her former gentleness.
Flowers? Her brain matter was going to make such a lovely splash across the pavement.
"Patients aren't allowed to have flowers anymore. Not since Poison Ivy came along. And you know everything that was in my medical report, including what I'm allergic to."
Al cleared her throat loudly. If she didn't get the go-ahead soon, she was just going to have to act on her own, whether he had his closure or not.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Linda said, seeming to notice Al for the first time. "Does she work for you?"
"No." He put an arm around Al's shoulders and pulled her close to him. "She's my friend."
The tire iron clanged against the sidewalk, her ankle, and the sidewalk again. She didn't move. But when she did, it was going to be with a hell of a limp.
And she didn't care.
"Friend, is it?
Al smirked at the stranger.
"Yeah, friend."
"Well. If that's what you want to call it. Take care of the man, Tire Iron. That trust is a fragile thing, and it's rarer than you think."
Al glared. What right did she have to offer advice and talk about Jonathan's trust?
"Goodbye, Dr. Friitawa," he said pointedly. She smiled.
"Goodbye, Jonathan. You hang on to this one. She agrees with you."
Al watched the woman go, hips swaying hypnotically, until the darkness swallowed her up. All the while, she was painfully aware of Jonathan holding her. Like a friend.
She hated to remind him that he wanted to let go, but she had to ask.
"Who was she?"
He didn't push her away.
"Something from the past."
"Should I set her on fire?"
"If you want. It's unimportant." Now he let her go, but casually, not at all as if he had been caught doing something wrong. She stooped to pick up her tire iron and replace it in its lucky spot.
"Are we going in?" she asked. He turned away from the Iceberg's doors.
"No. Not tonight. Coffee?"
She grinned.
"Always."
"Good. Across the street. Try not to get run over." He walked off. She limped after him.
"You know, Squishy, I really am glad to be your friend."
He glared at her over his shoulder.
"If you don't strike that word from your vocabulary right now, I won't get you the mocha latte I know you want."
She blinked.
"Congratulations, sir. You've just discovered the threat that works."
Took you long enough, Squishy, my friendy-friend-friend.
Author's note: Linda Friitawa, aka Fright, was a character I had high hopes for in the comics. She was like a somewhat subdued CAT prototype, only she wasn't being honest about her motivations.
She's pretty spiffy, though. For more about her, go read As the Crow Flies
Um...I hope. Memory. Suck.