Word count: 6490
We Could Be Heroes (Just For One Day)
The thing is, John doesn't really hate the superheroes. Oh, he says he does – at length to anyone who asks, because he has opinions – and sure, it's not a lie, but it's also not exactly the entire truth.
As an actual officer of the law, hating superheroes is kind of a given. Sure, they're helpful to have around in a pinch, and sure, John has seen too many good cops, too many friends, die at the hands of superpowered freaks with illusions of grandeur, to really push them away when they come to help, but…
But they should definitely stick to those cases, the ones the police isn't exactly equipped to handle. Their vigilante bullshit, though it does lower the crime rate in the streets, also makes John's work that much more difficult.
After all, superheroes, as beloved as they can be, also have absolutely no authority to arrest any actual criminal, and vigilantism is still, at least until someone tries to make it otherwise (and good luck with passing that law, really), a crime.
Unfortunately, said vigilante bullshit is also what saves his life.
.x.
John should really know better than to wander through the murky streets of Hogwarts after dark. Even for a police officer as experienced as him, they're dangerous. They've been getting better in the last few years, what with those vigilantes coming out of the woodwork to pummel criminals into the ground every time they tried something, whether it be big or small, but some places are still worse than others.
It's unlucky, but one of John's CIs, a man named Mundungus who can turn invisible – which, in John's opinion, is the only reason he's never actually been arrested for his crimes, and further proof if he needed any that powers weren't all they were made out to be – spends his time in one of the worst parts of town, and he always insists John be the one to come to him.
John wouldn't – shouldn't, really – except that Mundungus always gives good intel, and right now John desperately needs some. There are rumors that a shipment is coming in soon, and it's big enough to have a lot of Hogwarts' petty criminals running scared. John, and the police force with him, needs to know what's in that shipment, and when it's coming in.
Still, it always makes him uneasy to come to this place. Mundungus insists John come alone, so John does, and every time he's afraid this will be the time he'll end up gutted like a fish by some crook who makes him as a cop.
Shifting on his feet and looking at his watch in annoyance, John blows on his hands to warm them up as he waits for Mundungus to show up. He's pretty sure it's a game, to the thief, to make John wait, and usually John's happy enough to humor him – really, the day Mundungus is no longer useful is the day John happily puts him behind bar, and he cannot wait – but today's the coldest day of winter so far, and John would really like not to freeze to death.
Finally, Mundungus appears.
John scowls. "I hope you've got something good for me," John states in way of greeting, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
"Come on, Johnie-boy, when have I ever let ya down?"
"Do you have something for me, or not?" John asks, rolling his eyes and ignoring the question.
"What's the rush? Nah, let me guess, ya're in a hurry to get home – hot date tonight?" The man leers, revealing yellow teeth, and John scowls again, disgusted.
"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't. I just want to get this over with. Some of us have to get up in the morning – some of us have an honest job," he adds pointedly.
The insult rolls right over the thief's shoulders. "Fine, fine, I get it. And let's skip the part where ya promise to stick me in jail if I don't cooperate, right?"
"But it's my favorite part," John mock-whines, holding back a satisfied smirk with practiced ease. If Mundungus wants to believe John's threats are harmless, let him. It'll only make his arrest sweeter. Still, he digs in his pockets and takes out a twenty, which he reluctantly hands out to his CI.
"That all?"
"Until you give me something solid, yes. You know the drill."
"Fine, fine," Mundungus says, rolling on his heels. "I might've heard a few things that'll interest ya."
"I'm listening." At Mundungus' somewhat sheepish look, John frowns. "You'll get your money when I get my information."
"Fine, be like that," Mundungus scowls, unveiling his broken teeth again. "Anyway, this thing's ya're looking for? It's big. Not much's known about it either."
"Do you know anything or not?"
"Who do ya take me for?" The thief retorts, offended. "Have some patience, I'm getting to the good parts now. Anyway, as I was sayin', nobody's sayin' much, but I kept my ears to the ground just for ya, and I've heard back some truly nasty rumors. Word is," and there he leans forward, his pungent body odor, a mix of cold tobacco and old sweat, threatening to make John puke, whispering the rest in his ear with the satisfaction of the cat that got the canary, "they're transportin' drugs."
"Drugs?" John almost bumps their head in surprise. "You mean all this for drugs?"
The thief hisses and gestures at John to be quieter. "Ya can ever know who's listenin', 'ven down here. And no, it's not the normal kind of drugs, if ya catch my drift."
Mundungus leans back and rubs his fingers together, winking at John as he turns his hand invisible for a few seconds.
Suppressing drugs. Mundungus is talking about suppressing drugs, or as they're most commonly known, anti-super drugs. Hit anyone with powers with it, and they'd be down for the count for hours, if not days.
Sometimes, the powers don't come back at all, and John tries to ignore the cold shiver of the memories he's been repressing for years that thought never fails to bring up.
"Any idea when they'll get there?"
"Streets says two days, but could be less, could be more." Mundungus shrugs, and John knows that's all he'll get out of the man. Still, it's more than what he had to go on ten minutes ago.
"Thanks," John finally says, committing everything he's heard to memory as he hands Mundungus several more bills.
Mundungus vanishes back into the night after that, there on moment and invisible the next, and John starts the long trek back to his apartment.
The only warning of the attack he gets is from the way the shadows seems to get thicker and darker the more he walks, and then suddenly he's fighting against an enemy he can't see.
Thin tendrils of shadows wrap around his neck and John barely manages to get out a shoot before he's fighting for his life, fingers desperately trying to find purchase on what strangles him, legs kicking out toward where he thinks his assailant should be.
None of it connects, none of it works, and John's lungs are screaming out for oxygen even as the edges of his vision blur.
John isn't quite sure what happen next: the tendrils wrapped around his neck jerk back, allowing him to take in much needed air, and John is too busy trying to breathe to really pay attention to the fight.
Because there is a fight. It is between one of Hogwarts' so-called heroes, the woman they call Justice – her partner (or is it tag-along? the newspaper never seem quite sure of what the tall, dark-skinned man is to her) is glaringly absent though, but no, John sees him, his speed causing him to flicker at the corner of John's eyes as he ducks around the same tendrils of darkness that tried to kill John – and a dark figure John can only identify as a Death Eater, the white mask a dead give-away for a member of Hogwarts' super-powered crime syndicate.
No one really knows if Justice is actually super-powered. She fights like she is, skin-tight leather suit stretching with her every move, but she doesn't fly, doesn't have super-strength. There are rumors about her senses though, and seeing her fight, even through blurry eyes as John tries to massage the pain in his throat away, John believes every single one of them.
Justice is magnificent in motion. There's an economy of movement that John has never seen outside of old martial arts movies, the ones he used to watch with his father before everything went wrong, and sometimes she leans away from a hit seconds before her opponent moves to make it.
With her partner distracting the Death Eater's shadows, John knows how the fight will end minutes before it does, Justice's fist smashing into John's would-be assassin with enough force to knock his head against a wall and render him unconscious.
Before he can stop himself, John has reached for his handcuffs, and tossed them at Justice. Her partner, the one they call Lightning (who ever said the people of Hogwarts' were inventive has clearly never seen what they name their heroes), catch them in the air and a second later, the Death Eater is cuffed and sat against a wall, his head lolling on his shoulder.
"You're a cop?" Lightning's voice is surprisingly deep, but for all his running around, he doesn't sound out of breath in the slightest.
The joy of having superpowers, John thinks with a bitter twinge in his heart he's usually better at suppressing.
Not trusting his voice yet, John simply nods. Taking support from the wall, it takes him a few seconds to fully stand up, and he's relieved to see that he can still walk, if a bit shakily.
While he was standing up, the two vigilantes appear to have had an entire conversation, because in a blur of speed no normal human could ever hope to reach, Lightning disappears, while Justice moves toward John.
"He's going to check on the perimeter. We don't think anyone else is there, but better be safe than sorry." Her voice is softer than her partner's, but she sounds no less sure of herself. Confidence, even after the hits he's seen her take in that fight, bleeds from her every pore, as does righteousness.
He can see why the public likes her, and almost against his will John finds himself relaxing a little.
She doesn't look kind, not with the way her suit conceals almost everything that makes her human, turning her into some cross of devil and avenging angel (the red says demon, but the rage he saw in her fight was all avenger). Then again, justice isn't kind, and John guesses that's the point of the name, really.
"Where do you live?" Justice asks suddenly, as if listening to someone John can't hear, no matter how hard he strains himself.
"I can get back on my own," John manages to say, his throat too tight around the words, glaring in hopes of conveying his annoyance more clearly.
"And undo all the work we just put into saving your life? I think not. Besides, you're barely keeping upright. If another one of them doesn't off you, I'm sure a strong gush of wind will do the job," she mocks, crossing her arms in front of her, her mouth – the only part of her face that is visible – pulled in an unamused scowl.
Said this way, she brings up a good point. While John doesn't believe he's as bad as she's making him out to be – he is standing upright, thank you very much – his close-call with death has taken a surprising amount of energy out of him, and he isn't sure how much of a fight he'd manage to be against another attack.
Besides, he's exhausted, and has been so since well before he was set to meet with Mundungus. He can tell she's not going to relent on this, and John is really too tired to keep arguing about this.
With as much reluctance as he can put into his moves, John scowls. "Fine," he says, and then rattles off his address. He has to repeat it twice, because he keeps tripping up on words as his voice goes out, but finally Justice nods.
A flash of silver something later, they're standing in front of his apartment door, Lightning already speeding away to, no doubt, check out the neighborhood (though he could also be going out to eat, running that fast has to burn through energy quickly).
John would be mad if he weren't so glad to be back, and five minutes later he collapses on his sofa with a content sigh, a glass of cool water in his hand that he sips at slowly to ease the soreness in his throat, Justice a silent, scowling shadow at his side.
He doesn't offer her anything, and she doesn't ask.
"Any idea why that guy was after you?" The woman finally asks when John is done drinking, tone serious. Even waiting that long must have been hell for her, and John allows a small smirk to play on his lips for a few moments before he sobers up.
He can't see most of her face behind the mask, but if the tight pull of her lips is any indication, she's worried, and probably a bit suspicious. John would blame her, but he's also just been attacked by a Death Eater, and those don't target just anyone.
He shrugs, going for nonchalant. From the quicksilver smirk he spies on her lips, there and gone, it doesn't really hide his discomfort. It feels like his heart is beating so fast it could be heard from the other side of the room, and rumors are Justice has hyper-developed senses. His panic probably sounds deafening to her.
"Sorry, private police business."
"Oh right, and how's that going for you, huh? Who knew where you'd be and when you'd be there well enough to set a trap like that? Because that's what it was – a trap, and you weren't meant to escape it."
John curses between his teeth. Loath as he is to admit it, she's right. Mundungus could have talked, but then he'd never have given John the information he had. No, the thief is probably dead by now – most likely, Voldemort, the Death Eaters' boss, wanted to know exactly what Mundungus knew, and how he was getting that information.
John spares a moment to grieve for the man – he may not have liked him, but no one deserves the kind of fate Death Eaters inflict on other supers – before refocusing on his own problems. Justice is right – no one knew where John was going. No one, except those in the police district with access to his files, who knew where John usually went to meet his Cis.
This means they have a mole. "Damn it!"
"So, ready to accept my help now?"
It's the last thing he wants, but Voldemort is too important – his organization is too big – for personal likes and dislikes. John barely grimaces as he accepts.
.x.
Turns out, Justice knows about as much as John does about Voldemort's operations. She's able to confirm that the shipment comes in two days from now, and she's very interested to hear that it's transporting suppressing drugs, if not half as horrified as John thinks she should be.
Lightning joins them at some point, carrying more Chinese than John thinks he's ever eaten in his entire life, and proceeds to eat all but the two cartons he's set aside for Justice and John.
And that's how John finds himself planning an attack on an anti-super drug shipment with two vigilantes. The worst part is that it's really not as bad as it should be. The two supers are quiet, and though they never really go far, at least as far as John knows, they also respects his privacy enough to leave him sleep what few hours of night remains in peace.
The next morning, he calls in sick. His still broken voice helps convince his boss that he's really too sick to work, and so they spend the day going over their plan.
It's rather simple, really. It rankles terribly, to know that they can't trust the police with this, but the Death Eaters are too much too handle for most officers anyway. John tries to console himself with thinking he's protecting his fellow officers, and when it doesn't work he tells himself that at least, when they take his badge for this, they'll have dealt a heavy blow to Voldemort's operations.
If he's still alive for anyone to take his badge, that is. The thought isn't nearly as frightening as it would have been the day before.
They rehash all the information they have so many times John sees the words dance behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes, but by the end of the day, their plan is really as solid as it's going to get.
"You should train with us," Lightning suggests at dinner. It's Thai this time, and part of John feels so guilty at the way he could so easily get used to this companionship.
He had never realized how lonely his apartment felt before, and they've only been there for a day. It feels longer though, and his heart twinges in his chest at thought of going back to his previous routine.
"I don't think that's a good idea," John deflects with a self-depreciating smile, trying to keep his heart steady even as he feels the beginning of panic settle in.
In the last few hours, he's learnt that Justice truly has enhanced sense – he had asked where her partner was, and she had nonchalantly answered that she placed his heartbeat three blocks over – though he has her doubts about her sight. The way her hands linger on the corners of every object one could walk into, and how Lightning hovers at her elbow sometimes, reminds of the way his mother used to be around her father once the man got too old to see much of anything.
Justice scoffs. "We need to learn how to move around you."
"One day won't be enough time for that, though," John points out, taking another bite of the truly delicious mix of vegetables Lightning brought back for him this time. It tastes like ashes in his mouth now, but John forces himself to chew and swallow, if only to avoid talking.
There is a slight slant to Justice's mouth that John doesn't really like, for all that it makes his heart beats just a little faster, and he likes the way she turns her head toward Lightning, body language adjusting to say something John can't decipher, even less.
"Consider watching then, if only so you can get a better idea of the way we fight," Lightning corrects, though it's easy to guess from the way he says 'we' that he only means Justice. After all, Lightning moves to fast for John's eyes to really keep a track of him, much less see how he fights.
John hums noncommittedly. "I'll consider it." He'll come, and they all know it. The two supers are right after all: he does need to see how those two fights so he can adapt, and preferably not from the grainy security footage where they're barely visible.
The rest of the dinner goes by quietly. Eventually, they clear the table, and John fetches two beers from the fridge. Lightning doesn't drink alcohol – he says it doesn't do anything for him, but John suspects it might be a religion thing – so he doesn't offer, but Justice accepts the cool bottle with a nod.
"So, ever been in a superpowered fight? Apart from that shadow mage who tried to kill you, I mean," Lightning asks.
John chokes on his beers, the bubbly liquid burning down his still healing throat. His eyes water as he painfully tries to expel the liquid that went down the wrong way, and by the time he feels like he can breathe normally again, is face is burning red and his two guests look understandably worried.
His grip on his bottle is so tight it's a miracle it didn't shatter in his hand, and his sleeve is wet were the liquid sloshed over the top. Still, it grounds him against the images that assault his mind – memories, something whispers in his head – better than anything else could.
"Once," John states, hoping his tones is enough to convince them not to push. In his mouth, he can still taste the bitterness of the pills they gave him, one, two, three and then too many to count, until the fire it ignited in his veins burnt everything away even as they laughed.
It had taken ten of them to hold him down at first – by the time the drugs had run their course through his body, any single one of them could have killed him without breaking a sweat. Instead, they had laughed and left, and John still hated them for it, more than he thought any man should hate.
"Is it going to be a problem?"
Justice's voice drags him out of his thoughts, drags him out of the past, and just for that he is more grateful than he had ever been to another human being.
"No," he states, his voice rough but sure. He smiles at her, a brief turn of his lips, and she nods.
She trusts him – they both do – he realizes, and it feels like he's been hit in the stomach, like someone's taken all the air in the room. Oh no, he thinks, watching as Justice and Lightning converse about something in that private language of theirs. Even now, her body is ready for a fight. She's not as tense as she was in the street the night before, still high from the rush of the fight, but she could be.
If she were an animal, she'd be some kind of feline, or a snake. Something deadly and quiet, always ready to pounce at the slightest moment of notice, and hypnotizing to see strike.
It is just like him to fall for the most dangerous woman he'll ever meet, he thinks ruefully. Lightning's dark eyes meet his, and for a moment John tenses, but then the vigilante nods, something like amusement shining in his eyes, and John knows that somehow the man approves.
That, or he'll have fun seeing John get pounced on.
.x.
Watching Lightning and Justice spar is somehow even more breathtaking than their fight against the Death Eater had been. While part of that may be due to the fact that this time John actually possesses a breath to be taken, mostly it is because the two supers know each other so well that their fight is more like a dance than true combat.
It makes him feel inadequate. What does he truly have to offer them, but a gun and a badge that won't be worth much where they're headed? His hands to hands skill are nothing to scoff at among his peers, but these people are not them. Compared to Justice's ninja-like combat skills, or Lightning's inhumanely fast strikes, his abilities aren't so impressive.
He knows his part though: grab the drugs and get out, destroy them if he can. As the only non-powered individual, he's also the only one immune to their effects, and so the only one safe to transport them in what will likely be a dangerous fight. It is an important job, though maybe not the most glamorous, but joined wouldn't have joined the police if glamour had been his goal.
Mostly, he wishes he could do more. Seeing the vigilantes fight though, it is clear he is hopelessly outmatched.
"Are you sure you don't want to spar?" Justice asks him when she and Lightning break away. She's smiling, truly smiling for the first time John's seen, and it transforms even what little of her face he can see.
It makes him wish he was an artist, just so he could immortalize the moment on something less fleeting than mere memory.
"I'm sure," John replies, an answering smile on his lips. "I'd rather still be in one piece tonight, you know."
She laughs at that, throwing back her head a little, shoulders shaking. It sounds clear as bell, bright and beautiful. John could listen to it all day.
On the other end of their improvised sparring ring – the roof in John's building is never used, and John is pretty sure he's the only one who knows how to access it anyway – Lightning shoots John a thumbs up behind his partner back, smiling too.
"But you do know how to fight?"
"Yes, I do," John answers, too amused by the way she tries to hide her concern to be offended.
She huffs, then shrugs. "Fine, then. Let's go over the plan one more time."
John holds back a groan, and follows her down and back to his place.
All in all, going over the plan one last time isn't such a bad idea. It does occupy quite a bit of the time they have left before the sun goes down and they have to leave, and any time where John's mind can be focused on anything but his mostly likely imminent death is, in his opinion, time well spent.
He is not the only one stressed, though the two supers are better at hiding it. John is a detective though, and they can't quite hide this from him. The hours left until the evening seem to stretch on forever, and when it's finally time to leave, they're all very eager, though it is a wary kind of eagerness.
John spends the entire trip to the docks rehashing what he needs to do in his head, though from the light tilt of Justice's lips he sometimes mutters his thoughts aloud. Still, nothing could have prepared him for what truly happens.
The situation at the docks turns into a mildly organized chaos not five minutes after they get there. There a dozen Death Eaters there, standing guard around a container, and one of them must have a power that lets them know someone's sneaking up on them, because instant everything is going according to plan, and the next Lightning and Justice are fighting half the Death Eaters at once.
It is far too easy for John to slip away from the commotion, and get as close to the container as he dares. By the time he gets there, the two vigilantes have already downed three Death Eaters, and from his hiding place John has a perfect view of the person in charge as she orders half her entourage to go replace their fallen comrades.
John sucks in a breath as he recognizes her.
The thing is, not many of the Death Eaters' identity are known. Almost all of them wear masks and complete body armor to hide the shape of their bodies, and those are extremely difficult to remove. The most that is known about them is usually their power, but even that is no way to identify them unless you find yourself face to face with one of them, and by then it's usually too late for you.
This woman is different though. Her name is Bellatrix Lestrange, and as far as everyone knows, she never wore a mask. She escaped from prison three years ago with her husband and brother-in-law by blowing up half the compound, killing the majority of the other inmates as well as most of the guards. The only way they had even survived was by picking up a Barty Crouch Jr., who had shielded them from the blast, and had gone on the run with them, resurfacing as one of Voldemort's followers a few weeks later.
She's dangerous, the definition of 'run the other way' and more than a little bit crazy, but she's also in John's way, which means she has to go.
His best bet is to get her and the other two with her – with his luck, her husband and brother-in-law – to engage in the fight. He hates that it puts the two vigilantes in more danger, but it's not like he can fight against a woman who can turn any object into an explosive, a man who can turn into an actual tiger and a man who manipulates weapons with just the pocket knife he carries in his left boot and his service weapon.
Justice told him shortly before they left that if he had a message for them, he should just say it and she'd hear him. John's not exactly sure how that works, and it's really only a one-way line anyway, which isn't exactly ideal, but he trusts her enough to try.
"I need you to get the last three out of their positions and keep them occupied," he says, hoping it's loud enough for Justice to hear, but not loud enough for him to be heard by the Death Eaters guarding the containers.
His heart is pounding in his chest – did it work? did Justice hear him? can they help? – but suddenly something crashes right in front of Bellatrix Lestrange. From where he is, John can't quite see what it is, but whatever Justice did, it drives Lestrange to seething rage.
"You, with me," she hisses, grabbing one of her two acolytes by the arm and dragging him away. John would have preferred she take both of them with her, but beggars can't really be choosers.
Luckily, the man faces away from John, and he's too busy looking at the fight taking place to take much note of his surroundings. John is barely breathing when he gets behind the man, and his hands are shaking as he reaches up – he only has one shot at this.
Lestrange is strong, but thankfully he's not the one who turns into a tiger. John isn't sure how trying to suffocate a tiger would turn out for him, but he's willing to bet it wouldn't be good. Super or not, he still needs oxygen to live, and though John acquires deep scratches all the way down his forearms and deep bruises that promise to turn an ugly purple soon pretty much anywhere else, Lestrange eventually faints.
John drags him behind the container, snapping handcuffs around his wrists, and steals the keys off his belt.
It is easy to open the doors, but that only reveals John's next problem. "Damn it," he curses, surveilling row upon row of square white packages. There are way too many for him to carry or even to destroy safely. As fine as that powder looks, it would make a fairly big explosion.
Looking at the power gives John an idea though, and fishing the knife out of his boot, he sets to work, slashing deeply into as many of the plastic packages he can reach as quickly as he can. His hands are covered in white powder when he finally steps back of the container and locks its door again, but the smile on his face is darkly satisfied.
"Don't breathe," he whispers, hoping that Justice's senses are good enough to hear him even among the chaos. He hates what he's about to do – remembers the pain it had been for him, how much worse this could likely be, how badly it could end – but he's also got no other choice. His friends, because that's what they are for all that he's known them two days, are in trouble, and he has a solution, as unorthodox as it is.
Beside, his mission was to destroy the drugs, and in way, that's what he's about to do.
He sees her head jerk in his direction as she dances away from Lestrange's unending supply of explosive knives, and though he will never be able to truly explain it, he knows she understood him.
"Clear the area," he adds just as quietly as he creeps closer to the container crane he had spotted earlier.
It is slightly away from the fight, and luckily enough it is completely unguarded. Either a Death Eater had that role, or whoever did has more sense than John and run the other way while they still could.
Operating the heavy engine isn't as hard as John thought it would be, but having to do it discreetly enough that it goes mostly unnoticed makes it much harder. Luckily, John isn't working alone, and the two vigilantes on his side redouble their efforts to distract the Death Eaters as John puts his plan in motion, maneuvering the crane just above the container full of drugs.
It takes him three heart-stopping attempts to position the crane properly and grab the container. Lifting it above the fight is easy, and John yells "Now!" for his friends seconds before he lets it go. In a flash of silver, Lightning and Justice are gone, and as the container collapses with the piercing sound of wrenching metal, a cloud of white powder erupts out of it, covering every Death Eater. John, the only one able to check on them, isn't spared, though the drug can't harm him anymore.
It makes him sneeze though, and his eyes water uncomfortably, but these are symptoms he can live with.
In the end, John stands in the middle of a circle of downed Death Eaters, covered in a white powder that is surprisingly itchy. He's yearning to go to his friends, to see that they're unarmed, but as he is now, any single contact with them would damn them as surely as it damned their enemies.
"I need a shower," he mutters disgustingly, trying to at least shake the drug out of his hair. He's inhaled so much of it the department is going to insist on doing so many check-ups, and he tries to spit the sticky mess that clings to the back of his throat with only mild success.
Further into the docks, far away to be safe, Justice's laughs rings and tells him that she's heard. "And I bet you do too," he shouts, scowling but keeping his tone playful. Justice's laugh only redoubles as Lightning joins her.
Almost despite himself, John finds himself smiling again. He digs into his pocket for his phone, and swipes his finger across the screen to unlock it, scrolling down until he gets to the number of his precinct.
Like hell is he getting stuck with the clean-up now, after all. He'll wait until they show up, but then he's headed back home for his warm, relaxing shower. The rest of the world can wait until tomorrow.
.x.
The apartment feels oddly empty without the two vigilantes in it. It's slightly terrifying, how quickly John got used to their presence, how much he's allowed them to burrow themselves into his life. But what's even more terrifying is the thought that he may never get to see them again.
Someone had the presence of mind to bring him his back-up clothes from the office – he's not entirely sure, but he thinks he remembers saying his had gotten ruined during the fight – so even though his skin is still stained white with powder, his clothes drug-free enough that a good wash will manage to save them. His earlier outfit isn't quite so lucky though, and will definitely have to be burned.
Stepping into the shower is heaven after the day he's had – after the night he's had – and John stays under the spray until the hot water runs out. It's a luxury he can rarely afford, but right now he feels like he deserves it.
When he steps out, clad in his softest pajamas – an old Rolling Stones T-Shirt he borrowed from his roommate in college and never gave back, and a pair of black joggings – there is someone waiting for him on his fire escape.
Rolling his eyes, John goes to open the window. "You know, I do have a door."
"I know," Justice replies, smiling. Her outfit looks slightly different, and it takes John a few seconds to realize that it's another one. He can't imagine having to keep the thing on for hours, even less days on end the way she did, but she wears it as though it is a casual outfit.
"So, what do you need? Because if you need my help with something else, I'm warning you, I need at least a week. Doctor's orders-"
Anything else he could have said is cut short by the lips that mash against his own. Their teeth click a little at first, before Justice eases back. It is good though, easily one of the best kisses John's ever had.
When she pulls back, he's dazed.
"I guess this means I'll see you around, then?" He manages to say, still dizzy from the kiss.
"Not if I see you first," she throws back at him, teeth bared in a smile. John huffs a bark of laughter, and lets her go.
Twenty seconds later, she's outside the window, and John tracks her on the rooftops until she blends in too well with the shadows for his eyes to keep track.
He collapses on his bed soon after that, finger still on his lips.
.x.
He meets Amelia Bones two days after the disaster by the dock. She's gathering evidence for a case that, from what John's gathered is against one of the Death Eaters they managed to arrest at the docks.
She walks with a cane, dark sunglasses masking her undoubtedly blind eyes, and John is ashamed to say he wouldn't have paid her any attention if he hadn't noticed the way her lips looked so familiar.
He sits beside her as she waits for her information, heart pounding giddily in his chest.
"So, justice, uh?"
To her credit, she barely jumps, though the way her hands tighten around her cane is rather telling. "It's a worthy purpose," she replies steadily. A light, and oh so familiar smirk plays on her lips.
John hums. "I'm John, by the way."
"Amelia Bones," she replies, holding her hand out. He shakes it, and it is too callused for a lawyer's hand.
"Well then, Amelia Bones, what do you think about going out for coffee sometime?" Her name feels sweet in his mouth. It rolls off the tongue, and just this little conversation is enough to make him feel more at home than anything he's done in the last two days.
She pretends to think about it, before nodding. "I would love to."
She smiles, and that too is familiar. It is just as beautiful without the mask.