Damn. I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot. He was right all along. I might as well change my name to Failure Girl. Not that I'm giving up on my scheme. "Alright. Well, we're scheduled to go take a look at the house tomorrow afternoon, so you should marinate in some bleach for a while or something. Whatever gets the scent off."

The head wound wasn't too serious, so it healed pretty quickly and I don't even need the bandages. It was just messy, is all. Today I walk to the car rental in a sunhat and sunglasses instead of my burkha. It's getting hot, and accordingly, the car I chose is silver. White looks cheap. It's an Accord, a newer model, but not too new. Don't want to draw too much attention. The windows are only slightly tinted because black windows look suspicious to me. The best way to hide is in plain sight.

When I pull the car up in front of the storage facility, I find my partner waiting there, looking unnerved, but clean. He wears a nice button down, a pair of slacks, and sensible shoes. His goatee is meticulously trimmed. He cleans up well, when he makes the effort.

Doctor Impossible opens the passenger side door and scowls at me. "Really? A sedan? You couldn't have gotten something... I don't know. A truck, maybe?"

"Trucks only get fifty or sixty miles to a gallon."

"What?"

"Have you not noticed the price of gas? I'm not paying ten dollars a gallon for crappy mileage."

"How much does this get?"

"About a hundred and thirty."

He whistles. "Damn."

"We've been driving for a while."

"You said we needed something out of the way."

"I didn't mean eighty miles out of the way."

"Well, that's your fault for not being specific." I take an exit that has a few names of beaches on it. Suddenly, Doctor Impossible stiffens.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Oh, did I not mention I also rented a room on the beach for a few days? Have to get our money's worth."

"If you weren't so useful, I'd kill you."

"Nice to know there's a reason not to throttle me now."

"The reason is starting to seem less important. Don't give me ideas."

"You're not as threatening as you think, sir." The exit ramp ends and we're on a stretch of road that runs directly parallel to the water's edge. Between us and the ocean, a sandy beach sprawls out as far as I can see, lined with fancy hotels, condos, restaurants, and shops. It's starting to feel like home. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

All I get is a growl. Doctor Impossible is about to sublimate in his seat. "Will you relax? We're here to have fun, and you can either make this difficult and mope the whole time, or you can try to enjoy yourself. If you haven't noticed, this is me being friendly."

"Taking me somewhere I specifically said I didn't want to go is friendly?"

"It is if it's for your own good."

He makes an indignant noise and crosses his arms. I swear, he's pouting. It would be funny if he couldn't snap me in two and wasn't probably weighing the pros and cons of doing it.

He somehow manages to not uncross his arms while he gets out of the car once we arrive at the building I've booked us a stay in. It's tan with raw wood accents and floor-to-ceiling length windows along the side that faces the beach. The curtains can be drawn, of course, but where's the fun in that? We enter the main lobby, and my partner's sour look does not dissipate.

"Good evening," the clerk greets us. "How can I help you?"

"We have a reservation here," I reply, searching in my purse for my wallet. I hand him a fake ID.

"Martin?"

"That's us." He hands me a pair of keys to the room and directs me to the elevator. Top floor, penthouse suite.

"May I ask what the occasion is?"

"Excuse me?"

"We don't often get customers willing to pay for that particular room. I'm just curious."

"Oh..." I hadn't thought about a back story. Time to improvise! "It's, um, we're on honeymoon."

"Well, congratulations! On behalf of Seaside Resort Condominiums, I hope you have a wonderful stay."

"Thank you."

On the elevator up to the top floor, Doctor Impossible remarks, "Honeymoon. Interesting choice."

"I had to think of something quickly that didn't sound suspicious."

"Hm. Martin's not your real last name, is it?"

"No. I'm not that stupid. The ID has my real first name on it, though, if you're curious." I hand him the slip of laminated cardstock. It's a top-of-the-line fake, and I paid good money for it, like everything else on this trip. I've been more liberal in the three weeks since Doctor Impossible got here than in the entire eight years I'd been thieving beforehand.

"Elizabeth."
"Libby to friends. Always hated it."

I think I can almost see a smile play across his lips. The mood seems to be brightening around here.

"How much did you pay for this room, Libby?"

"You could refrain from calling me that."
"I'm exacting my revenge. That's what I'm good at. Answer the question."

"Um. Close to seven hundred."

Jonathan squints at me. "You're going to run us into the ground." He huffs. "This had better be a good room, Libby."

"It will be. Stop that."

"We're married. You said so yourself. Why can't your husband call you by your name?"

"That's not really necessary, either." I can't help but smile. It's good to see him feeling at least a little better, even if he has to torment me to do it.

Once we're in the room, I rifle through my purse for a little while until I find what I'm looking for. I throw a pair of trunks at the lounging Doctor Impossible. He's probably glad to be able to spread out those lanky limbs of his. He peels them off his face and takes a look. Red with yellow hibiscus flowers. "I hope you're not counting on me swimming."

"I am."

"It's not going to happen."
"Why? Are you insecure? If that's the case I guess you can chicken out and leave the water to the real men."

He frowns at me, but something about it is different. It doesn't really reach his eyes. He isn't angry. "Fine. Not much sense in putting up a fight. I just don't like being wet, is all."

I almost do a victory leap, but I figure that's a little too much. Finally! It took him long enough to take me halfway seriously. "Good. If that's how you feel, you won't object to dressing well tonight. We're going somewhere nice for dinner." That earns me a groan. I was wondering when he'd revert back. "Look, all you have to do is live the high life for these few days, and if you like it, maybe you'll consider a lifestyle change or two. And if you don't, you can go right back to living on Chinese takeout and tinkering with your machines all day. But if you're going to rule the world, I figure you ought to know how to live like a leader."

"Why are you spending so much money on me?"

I'd been asking myself that question, too. I was hoping it wouldn't come up. I'm having a serious identity crisis. Once, I wanted money because I wanted money. I wanted to sleep in it, bathe in it, live and breathe and eat and drink it. Now I want to use that money. Don't get me wrong, I still don't care for the whole ruling the world thing. I'm not competing with Doctor Impossible. No, this money is for him. If he achieves his goal, I'll be happy. There'll always be more money. But there will be only one Doctor Impossible, only one person to come up with his schemes and put those insane plans into action. Only one person who will ever be my personal idol. Only one person who'll be the closest thing I've had to a friend in years.

I want this money to be his before it's mine. I want him to succeed in ways I never will. He's smarter and more experienced. But beyond logical reasoning, there's a certain amount of irrational devotion. I guess it comes with being the breadwinner or something. You bring home the bacon, and you've got to have someone to cook it. Specifically, to cook it into lasers and robots and bombs that could turn a planet into a giant nuclear reaction.

It's irrational, alright. I'm probably the only person you'll find who wants the Smartest Man in the World to become the Smartest Dictator in the World. And trust me, it's not for the perks that come from being his ally, assuming there are any. There probably aren't.

Anyway, there's your summary of my predicament. At the end of it all, the question stops being "Why am I spending so much money on him?" and starts being, "What is it about him that makes me want to?"

I realize Doctor Impossible is still waiting for an answer.

"I don't know." I massage my temple. This is starting to give me a headache. "Let's talk about something else."

"Hmm."
"What?"

"Nothing. Just you."

"What about me?" Crap. My cheeks are starting to get hot. My hair isn't quite long enough to cover that.

"You're very entertaining. There's something about you that piques my interest. I hadn't noticed before."

Something about me that piques his interest? Weird choice of language, to say the least. But weird is probably the norm for someone with an IQ you could split in half and still get two geniuses out of. I have no idea what goes on in his head. I'm just glad I don't bore him. "I'll be right back. I need to go get the suitcase out of the car."

"There's a suitcase? Jesus, how did I let this much planning slip by me?"

"Maybe it was so obvious you didn't notice."

"Possible, I suppose."

I'm a little perturbed he doesn't offer to help me get the suitcase, but he didn't ask for it anyway, and it's not like I'm not strong enough to get it myself. I haul it up the stairs with no problem. I hate riding elevators by myself. Something about it kind of freaks me out. Everyone has their phobias.

Once I'm back in the room, I unzip the top zipper to reveal neat rolls of clothing, one outfit each, underwear included. It saves space; my mom taught me that. "Well," I say, catching the Doctor's attention, "pick your outfit."

He blinks at me. "How did you get my clothing size?"

"I took measurements of your costume the last time I went to the laundromat."

I earn a head shake. "You're crazy."
"I wanted to be prepared."

I select my attire for the night and lock myself in the next room. It's an elaborate bedroom with a massive bed, canopy and all, in brass, white, and periwinkle. It goes nicely with the cream carpet. Very beachy color scheme. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder if I'll end up in here. Would we end up in here? Something about the thought makes me shiver, and I promise you, it isn't in pleasure. No, I'll take the couch if I have to. I'm sure there's another bed around here somewhere, though.

I decide to take a shower before I get dressed. The master bathroom is the one with the jacuzzi, unsurprisingly, but it also has a regular old shower. No bathtub or anything, not that I needed one. I use the provided shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Being clean makes me feel considerably better, no matter how I feel before. Especially now, showers have been few and far between, and I'm happy to say goodbye to that.

My dress is the color of the sky on a cloudy day. It's sleeveless and sleek around the bodice, but the skirt has a little volume. I've never been one for makeup, so I just throw on the pair of silver pumps I've brought and comb out my hair (I'd forgotten a comb, but they've supplied one for me in the master bathroom), and I'm ready to go. I don't have anything to carry besides the room key and a few bills, and I can hopefully slip those into my bra if I'm discreet about it.

One glance at my partner tells me we're ready for a night on the town. Doctor Impossible looks excellent in a suit I picked out for him. It's a white button-down with a starched collar over black slacks, but the vest is what makes it. Double-breasted, brass buttons, and a paisley of gold, black, and crimson. The tie is blood red. It's reminiscent of the genteel era of the golden-age hero. All he needs is a top hat and monocle, but I think that's a little over the top. Today he conquers high-end menswear, tomorrow, the world.

"Um. Thanks. I, uh. Well, it's definitely me."

"No problem," I say nonchalantly.

"Where do you find clothes like this?"

I shrug. "You know. Malls, department stores. The whole style isn't too uncommon nowadays."

"I'll keep that in mind." Damn, that red makes his eyes pop. It's almost a perfect contrast to the light blue. He notices me looking and sort of smirks. I avert my gaze.

"So. Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The elevator ride is more awkward this time since we're both silent. Or maybe less awkward. I can't decide if I like Doctor Impossible talking when he just antagonizes me, or if I like him silent better. There are a lot of people in the lobby, and I can tell he's on edge. Not nervous, necessarily, but his guard is up.

"Take my hand, Synergy."

"What?"

"I said, take my goddamn hand."

I politely inform my captor that he is paranoid with a capital P, but I do what he says. Once we're out in the parking lot, he releases his death grip on my palm. His hands are so clammy; it's weird. Maybe it's because my skin is abnormally hot. But I've been over this before, and I'll feel what I'll feel. I cradle my hand and look at him irately. "Why was that necessary?"

"You're the one who said we're married. We've got an image to keep up."

"You, sir, are ridiculous."

He just shrugs enigmatically. "You said it. Don't blame me."

"Just get in the car."

"As you wish, madam."

We ride in silence and a valet takes our car at the restaurant I've made our reservations at. It's beautiful. I try to ignore the connotations of the mood lighting that I can't help but think about and enjoy myself anyway. The food is delicious. It's perfect. Everything is. Doctor Impossible even occasionally interrupts his silence to make small talk. Otherwise, he gives me the blank stare of a housecat, and there's even the slow blink. Strange. I can't help but think I'm being examined or something, but I humor him when he speaks to me and I can tell he's listening.

"So, Synergy. Where'd you grow up?" He hasn't called me by my real name again, which I guess I can be glad about.

"Um. Georgia. I lived in Georgia until I moved up to New York to join the League."

"What league?"

"Oh. The League of Righteous Fists."

"Good lord."

"What?" I hand the waiter a wad of bills that I'm trying not to cry over stuffed inside one of those little black wallets they've got at restaurants.

"Is that what replaced the Champions?"

"Oh, not hardly. At least in my world, the Champions disbanded pretty soon after they caught you for the last time. Or, the New Champions, I guess. There seemed to be some stress among the newer members." One of whom was Lily. I'd prefer not to go too deeply into it and I'm glad when he doesn't ask. "But Blackwolf and Damsel got back together, at least for a little while. Never quite followed it after that. Anyway, after the Champions came the Warriors of the Sun; they were mostly from out of the solar system, then the Iron Clash. I think that one was headed by one of the former members of the New Champions. Fatality, or something? I don't know. Then the League."

"Wow."

"Yeah, things had been a little shaky, but the Iron Clash is still out there, just not as prominent as the League. They've kept themselves together pretty well. Alright group of people."

After that he went back to finishing his dessert, but it was a different story when we returned to the condo.

"Tell me more about the League."

"You could ask nicely," I mutter, throwing off my heels. They're not quite hurting, but the dress and heel combo is becoming pretty cumbersome.
"I could, but I won't because you should've briefed me on the heroes sooner."

I hold up my hands. "Alright, you've got me there." I study him for a second while he unbuttons his vest, trying to think of where to start. "Well, the leader for the most part calls himself the Civilian. He can fly and he's a good marksman, but I don't think he has anything else going for him."

Doctor Impossible stares at me blankly, as if he's copying notes from somewhere. Except there's no paper or pencil. He nods at me. "And?"

"Hmm, let's see. The Civilian's right-hand man is Pinstripe Chrome. He's young. I totally wasn't expecting that fourteenth birthday party, but I wasn't the only one." I chuckle. Life in the League wasn't all bad; it just wasn't my cup of tea.

"How old is he now?"

"God, I don't know. Got to be... twenty-four? Twenty-five? I guess he's not too much younger than me, but..."
"Wait, how old are you?"

I cock an eyebrow. "Twenty-six."

"Fuck. I thought you were... a little older."

"Oh. Thanks?"

"Don't worry about it, just keep going." He slumps and runs his hands up into his hair like something's wrong, but I don't ask.
"Sure. Uh... where was I? Pinstripe. He calls himself The Indestructible Man for a reason. I don't know of any way to kill or even permanently hurt him. He shoots people, too, and he's got a small army's worth of guns on him at any time. Guess safety doesn't matter when you heal up in a matter of minutes." I'm pacing back and forth now, trying to recall everything I know about the League. "BlindSide is their tracker. She's blind, like the name implies, but she's a powerful psychic. She reads auras and mental presence around certain places or objects. If someone's been around something for a while, she'll know. She has her limits, of course. She can't track a person she doesn't know, and she has a range, but she's very, very good.

" She isn't much of a fighter, which is why they'd usually send one of the other members with her. Claymore was the best choice, I think because he's quiet and nothing but brute strength. Big guy in a suit of armor, two giant swords, not much else to say about him. He was really mysterious. Only showed up when he felt like it, and no one really knew anything about him, from what I gathered, other than he wanted to help.

"If Claymore wasn't around, there were Feral and Beastmaster. I think they're sort of an item. Feral named herself in honor of the Feral of your time. They were from the same breeding project, as far as I know. She looks like a walking cheetah. Beastmaster was nice to me. He has a good personality."

"And he does...?"

"Be patient; I was getting to it. He's a shapeshifter. Any sort of currently living animal you can think of, he can take the form of. He was an excellent spy and a force to be reckoned with in battle, too."

"That's it?"

"There weren't a whole lot of them that stayed in the building and fought together on a casual basis. Those were the regular members, last I checked. Oh, yeah. And there's Rio. I figure she's a regular too since it looked like she was just on patrol with them."

"Rio. Yes, that could be interesting."

I shrug. Kind of gives me the shivers, but I figure if I see her again I'll assume my natural villain ambiance. "I don't know much about her personality-wise, but I know exactly what she can do, so I guess that's valuable as well."

Doctor Impossible crosses his arms and leans back into the armchair he'd sprawled out in. "Hell of a lot more valuable than 'she has a nice personality'."

I scowl. "Look, I was their ally for a while. How they treated me was pretty important. Most of them weren't terribly nice. If they were better to me than you are, I'd have gone back."

He strokes his goatee thoughtfully. I don't think I've ever seen him do that before, but in the fancy clothes, it's almost comical. "That's ironic, isn't it?"

"What?"

"They're heroes, but according to you they're worse company than a supervillain."

I shrug. "I guess so. I don't think my personality clashed with theirs quite right. Pinstripe, especially. We're sort of similar, and things get ugly when you get too much stubborn asshole-slash-bitch comic relief in one place, you know?" Silence. I almost want to nudge his arm: "Eh? Eh?" But I don't. "Alright. I guess you don't know."

"Can't say I've had the experience."

"Well, that's okay. Not the best experience in the world, anyway. Rio must be pretty different from me personality-wise, because I don't know how else she'd put up with them."

Doctor Impossible smiles at me. I wish I could say I've gotten used to it by now, but it's still a treat. "It couldn't have been that bad. They're heroes. What'd they do to you?"

"Pinstripe was an asshole."

"You've been over that part."

"He was the worst. But it always seemed pretty tense. I guess it was like they never really welcomed me. Like I wasn't supposed to be there or something. No one talked to me unless they had to, and no one seemed to want to be my friend all that bad, just my ally, and then maybe not even that. It made me bitter, in a way. And lonely. I think that was what eventually drove me out."

He's giving me that cat stare again. I'm under scrutiny. "What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Do I make a better ally?"

"You make a better friend."