Here's the third installment.
I own nothing, and don't you forget it!
P.S. Irish, I'm glad you left that comment becaussssssse every time I've ever seen PMS on a board I thought it was either a weird abbreviation for requesting a sassy private message OR the more mainstreamed use of the acronym. So now I know when people use that they aren't, in fact, talking about periods or sexy messages. So thanks for that!
Chapter 3
Again with the droplets in the eyes. Right. In. The. Eyes.
It never failed.
Last night it was rain. Tonight it was sweat. Her own sweat.
She encouraged her body. Silently begged it to holdout. To hold on for a few more seconds. At least ten. Ten more seconds. That's all she was asking for.
A strained whine tore from her throat. Muscles squirmed and quivered along her back, screaming their displeasure.
Her fingers flexed against the surface, slowly losing purchase.
It wasn't long enough. She wasn't going to last as long as she needed to. She knew her body. Could read its warnings. Anticipate its limits. This moment was one of those limits.
Suddenly her hands were torn from the edge by her treacherous lower half.
The air ripped at her now plummeting form.
Limbs flailed for traction they wouldn't find.
Sooner than she'd projected her shoulders and head were assailed by the unforgiving ground.
Her impact was punctuated by a hoarse cough and pulse of darkness.
"Just under thirty minutes that time." The announcement drew a throaty moan from the woman sprawled across the floorboards.
"How much under?" Croaked from her panting mouth.
"Seven seconds. You fall like a spaz. I don't know how you managed to make a six foot drop look like a sky dive, but you did."
"Shut up Aiden. You're fired."
"Yeah like I believe that for a second."
"Seriously, let's see you hang from that board for a half an hour with weights velcroed to your shoulders."
"I've already conceited to the fact that I can't do a third of the shit you do. That's why you're doing the doing and I'm doing the training."
"If training entails watching me sweat my ass off while eating all the food in my house then yeah, I'd say you're doing a lot of training."
"Oh you're just pissy because you landed a picture in the paper."
"Uh yeah, the last thing I need is the media crawling all over me."
"That photo was like a mug shot. Fucking hilarious. I want to frame it."
"The kid was a shitty photographer!"
"At least your ass looks good in spandex. You're welcome for that by the way."
"Oh my God. It's not spandex! Out. Get out of my loft." Her numb hands pushed against his well-muscled chest, forcing the man across the room in short, rhythmic bursts.
His deep laughter bounced off the wooden floors and red-bricked walls.
"Fine, fine. I'm going woman. Ice bath tonight," she found an authoritative finger pointed in her direction, "you really pushed your body. And on Friday we're doing speed and endurance so carb it up."
An annoyed grunt sounded from deep within her throat, dismissively acknowledging his reminder.
A playful hand prevented her from shutting the door completely. "And Ash, if you want a sexier photo in the paper I can send them a few I've got lying around from high school."
"You ass, you're lucky I even told you about this." She gestured exasperatedly down at the black fitted suit dipping along every curve of her body.
"Please, like you could hide those bruises from your personal trainer. You lasted a week before I knew something was up. But don't worry, your sexy secret remains forever safe with me." Two hands covered his heart as he dropped his head back, face drawn into a teasingly wistful expression.
"Out, out, out. I've got shit to do Dennison." His amused face was abruptly escorted from her vision by the slamming of the door.
She sauntered over to the fridge, hoping for something to replenish her aching muscles and exhausted mind. An unopened carton of iced coffee and various condiments occupied the otherwise empty fridge. She grabbed the coffee and hopped onto the counter. At least one of her bodily needs would be taken care of.
A heavy, haggard breath escaped her lungs. She pulled the paperwork and files previously delivered by her assistant into her lap, absentmindedly thumbing their edges. Her hand tensed, stopping its idle motion. The change had not gone unnoticed by her.
Upon Aiden's departure the loft had become blanketed by a hushed stillness and the silence had begun its customarily venomous descent upon the brunette. She sat nervously, anticipating the impact.
Its bitter, accusatory whispers began seeping into her mind. Unearthing past sins. Urging her thoughts to the familiar realm of self-disgust.
Her body and mind flinched from the unseen eyes that burned guilty welts into her tattered conscience. They hovered in the space just beyond the reach of the lights, veiled by the maelstrom of darkness spilling through eager windows. The longer she sat in wait, the more intense their gaze became. The more she twisted and buckled under their omniscient weight.
An anxious foot worried the cabinet, her body's plea for escape. She discarded the papers on the counter next to her and, grabbing the carton of coffee, slid from the granite surface.
"Guess I'll be going out then." Her words acted as a reprieve, a barrier between herself and her own unease.
Mask securely set over her eyes and coffee held firmly between strong teeth, she dropped out of the window. Her hands gripped a passing sill, anchoring her body against the side of the building. Her arms protested feebly at the action, still feeling used from their earlier activities.
She shifted her position, one hand and foot anchoring her firmly to the building, their counterparts reaching out in relaxed anticipation. With a quick spring of her muscles she found herself clinging to the adjacent building, her practiced joints giving way just enough to prevent a jarring impact. Her feet worked with the cracks in the structure, aiding her arms as she propelled herself upwards. She continued on this way with a swiftness shaped by accumulated experience and relentless practice.
She pressed onward from one building to the next, letting the methodical movements numb her psychological wounds. The mask reminding her of the protection it granted. The escape it provided from her own mind.
Her arms gave out briefly as they came into contact with another ledge. Muscles hoarsely crying out their fatigue. A sharp kick from her foot and her balance returned.
It was impossible for her to engage in hands-on confrontations every night. Her body could only do so much. It wasn't like she had it easy with super strength or speed or whatnot.
Superman, that lucky bastard.
And especially with her muscles complaining the way they were tonight, it wouldn't be wise to drop down on gun-clad, hot-headed criminals. No, tonight she'd be an observer. Keep her senses open. Watch for any signs of intelligent, organized crime. It was always better to meet their operations with just as much consideration as they put forth. Less dangerous that way.
She skidded to a clumsy halt as her feet hit a familiar roof. There was one important activity she could never leave out of her nightly excursions, overworked body or not, and tonight it would be a two phased operation.
Enter phase one. She set her iced coffee on the tar paneling and strode over to the corner of the roof. In one swift movement she flipped her body to the outside of the building, maintaining her perched position by clasping the decorative corner trim with all four limbs. It took her less than forty seconds to shimmy down to street level.
She peered through a dingy glass window. The room appeared to be empty save for one person. The exact person she was looking for. A quick rap of her knuckles caught the man's attention, his tired eyes flashing in recognition as they landed on her shadowed form. She padded into the shop at his wave, her soft shoes producing little sound.
"Johnny, please, please, please tell me you have a pepperoni left. It's life or death this time."
He tossed a flour smeared rag onto the counter. Spots of the white powder peppered his face and ragged black shirt.
"Only cheese right now."
"What? Is this real life? Pepperoni pizza is the backbone of American society. It's basically a necessity!"
His entertained chuckle stilled her somewhat exasperated movements. "Wanna wait out back? I can pop a pepperoni in."
"No, no, I don't have much time tonight. I'll just suffer through a cheese. I'll need a bag as usual though." Her attention was directed downwards as she eased a twenty from beneath the taut laces of her shoe.
"You got an article in the paper you know."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. With a picture and everything."
"You don't sound too pleased."
"I'm not."
"Well what did I tell you, you can't go running around doing the things you do and expect people not to talk about it. Knew they'd get you eventually."
"There's a difference between talking and stalking. The last thing I need right now is the media tailing me trying to rip this mask off my face."
"Eh, give people a little more credit. They just want something to believe in, you know? I see you—how many times a week?—and I don't have a problem not knowing who you are."
"That's because you're too distracted by my girlish charm and stunning good-looks to snatch at my mask."
"Right."
"I'm serious though, I want to keep a low profile. The only reason you see so much of me is because your pizza is the love of my life."
"Or because I give you a discount."
"Hey you offered it, what do you want me to do, turn down discounted food? I don't think so Mister. Here, keep the change. I need to get out of here before someone comes asking me for my autograph. You know, because of my new level of fame and all."
A smile was his only response to her teasing retreat through the door.
The pizza now hanging temptingly from her shoulder, she once again wrapped her body around the corner of the building. Her limbs slid easily up the surface they had become so unabashedly acquainted with, shifting from one decorative notch to the next.
Reaching the rooftop she scooped the coffee carton up and continued her earlier activities. She vaulted lazily from one slated surface to the next. The narrow alleyways and identical buildings in this section of the city demanded little of her attention.
Just as her stomach muttered a pitiful plea, unable to withstand the tempting aromas of her now lukewarm dinner, she spotted her destination. Hurdling one last alley, her feet slid across rotted and worn slating. A few final trots and she was over the edge of the building, landing with a light grunt on the bulky ledge that had held her many times before. Her body sunk down. Tense back supported by aged brick. Tender feet swaying easily below her.
Enter phase two. She distractedly ate her meal from her perch, most of her attention invested in the street below her. Bodies trickled sporadically in both directions down the street. Some dressed in work attire, others in more casual wear.
Her eyes shifted from one figure to the next. Searched attentively for the indicators. Overlooking her target was not an option. Not when it came to this particular task.
She dusted the last bits of crust from her fingers and pulled the remainder of the coffee into her mouth. She needed to go grocery shopping. Her habit of dropping in for pizza was a little risky now.
Damn puberty infested camera kid.
Damn article.
She hadn't read it yet. She probably wouldn't. She could only guess what it said, undoubtedly christening her with some ridiculous moniker.
Star Shadow.
The Panty Pirate.
Spandex Girl.
The Punisher.
Actually, The Punisher would be pretty badass. But every time someone called her that they'd need to say it in a deep man-voice. It'd be a rule.
She shifted slightly and pushed the pizza box and coffee carton away from her. She used her hands to pull herself even further from the empty containers. Could never be too safe. Pigeons were sneaky. In a brainless sort of way.
She was getting restless. It was later than usual. Typically she'd be trailing at this point.
She let her body slide down to a lower story, pulling herself closer to the now abandoned street. Just then her senses caught wind of a familiar figure. Her muscles stiffened, position crouched. Her eyes followed the form beneath her. The woman beneath her. Spencer Carlin.
The blonde was a hard worker and pulled long, late hours. It obviously aided in her fast transition from intern to pay-rolled photographer. It was also what drew Ashley so faithfully to the nightly ritual.
The brunette knew from experience that this neighborhood was anything but inviting after the sun hit the skyline. She wasn't the only thing lurking in the shadows. The second the Doctor had mentioned Spencer's work habits, she'd made a point to act as the blonde's silent travel companion.
She always kept the blonde at an arms distance after her sessions. This situation was no different. She did a fine job watching over her from seven stories up. Her boundary remained unbroken.
She'd seen too much in her months of prowling. Too many lifeless faces. Too many abused bodies and souls. Too many acts she'd never let come to pass on the blonde.
The woman on the street did something to the brunette. She stirred something inside of her. Made her feel. The masked-woman's heart would only let her push the blonde so far. Spencer Carlin was her weakness. And even as each step and thought directed toward the photographer left her more raw and vulnerable—tore further at her armor—there Ashley was, diligently watching over her. Unconditionally protecting what could prove to be her greatest undoing.