A/N: So I couldn't be bothered to tackle the mountain of marking I have to do, and this is what came out instead.

Once again, Mindy was awake in the small hours of the morning staring at the peeling ceiling above her head. Moonlight filtered in through the tiny holes in the ragged curtains, making it seem as though little starts were twinkling on the wall opposite the window. It could almost be construed as beautiful, if it were not for the colouring of the wall in question.

Despite earlier misgivings, she had decided not to bottle it and allow Dave to play the hero. What sort of friend would she be if she didn't try her best – her absolute best – to discourage him? Of course, Marty hadn't helped the situation when he excitedly agreed to Dave's proposal to haul ass back to New York and don his Battle Guy costume for the last time. Apparently he viewed it as some kind of swansong, a chance to go out with a bang and take down the last piece of the D'Amico puzzle. Admittedly, Mindy saw the attraction, the poetic justice in it all: three escapades, three D'Amico thugs knocked down. It would bring everything to a neat conclusion.

Yet a niggling feeling in the back of her mind persisted, telling her that this was wrong. Ralph didn't have the nickname 'Ruthless' for no reason. In her gut she knew this would be their hardest test yet – perhaps too hard even for them. Even for her...

Letting out a loud, frustrated sigh, she sat up and threw the duvet off of her. When she was younger and couldn't sleep, she would usually make herself a cup of hot chocolate (with a side of marshmallows, of course) and watch her dad sleep; for some reason it comforted her to see him safe and seemingly content. His deep breathing reminded her that, in sleep, everything was fine. The world could be exactly as you wished it to be – free of the worries and problems that hounded you during the day.

She just wished she could escape to that world once in a while.

Accepting the inevitable, she once again tiptoed out into Dave's living room. His hot chocolate wouldn't sate her needs, but water would be better than nothing. Perhaps even a walk in the brisk night-time air to clear her head and steel her resolve for her latest attack on Dave's foolish death wish of a plan.

As soon as she stepped into the living room, she could tell something was off; only the sound of one person breathing punctuated the otherwise silent room. The occasional grunt of a snort told her it was Marty, not Dave. Scanning the room, she made sure nothing else was amiss before she slapped Marty around the face.

'Arghh, gerrof – erh.' He sat bolt upright and squinted at Mindy through the darkness. 'M-Mindy? What the hell?'

'Where's Dave?' Mindy asked peremptorily, ignoring Marty's dumbstruck look.

'Huh?'

Feeling the urge to sting his cheek again, Mindy instead clenched her hands into fists and waited as patiently as she could for him to wake up fully. Mere seconds past before her nails were digging into her palms and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming in his face.

'Dave? He's...gone?'

Mindy rolled her eyes and leapt to her feet. 'Yes, numbnuts. When did you last see him?'

'Er...before I feel asleep?' He rubbed his eyes and let out a long yawn. 'I went off pretty quickly after we finished talking about our plan.'

'Plan?' Mindy could hear the pitch of her voice raise ever so slightly. 'What plan?'

'Oh, you know – the one where we kick Ralph D'Amico's ass and save the innocent people of New York. Again.'

'Shit,' Mindy muttered under her breath, uncomfortably aware that that her heartbeat had also increased. 'What the hell are you thinking, Dave?'

It took her precisely 4 and a half seconds of pacing to make her move: ignoring Marty's sleepily inquisitive gaze, she rushed back into the bedroom, snatched her gun from under the pillow, and strode back into the (so-called) living room. As she was about to yank the front door, it creaked open.

There, before her, stood Dave, wearing a somewhat puzzled look on his face. It took him a split second to spot the pistol gripped in Mindy's hand.

'Er...what's going on?' he asked slowly, glancing over her shoulder towards Marty still seated on the couch.

'You tell me,' Mindy replied shortly, pursing her lips into a thin, white line reminiscent of Dave earlier.

Apparently Dave could tell what she was thinking; he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly as he looked down at her.

'I went out to get some gas.'

'At this time of night?'

'I couldn't sleep.'

'Uh huh.'

A tense few seconds ensued as they stared each other down, neither one blinking between the determined glares. Then, without warning, Mindy balled her free hand into a tight fist and smacked Dave hard on the chest. He stumbled backwards into the door, more than a little surprised.

'Mindy, what - '

'You fucking stupid jerk!' Before Dave could regain his balance, she prodded her finger into his rib cage – hard. 'Do you have any idea how idiotic that was?'

Dave grabbed her wrist between his large hand. 'I can look after myself,' he argued.

'Not from these guys you can't! Not after all this time without practice.'

She twisted her arm out of his grasp and stormed away from him. Right then, she needed some distance, as much as this poky apartment could afford her. Dave's wilful ignorance irritated her so much, she wasn't sure what she would do if he continued to justify himself. She knew, of course, that he was stubborn. But this? This was too much even for him. It was as though he was determined to annoy her – or die trying.

'Er...is everything okay?' Marty chipped in.

Neither Mindy nor Dave seemed to notice his presence: Mindy was glowering at the kitchen wall whereas Dave, judging by hairs that were prickling on the back of her neck, was glaring after her. Of course, it could simply be her own anger.

'Why did you come back?' he asked suddenly.

Mindy spun around to face him. 'Excuse me?'

'Why did you come back?' Dave repeated, seemingly calm apart from the small muscle that twitched in his jaw.

'That – I...' Unusually, Mindy floundered for the right words. 'I told you why.'

'No, actually, you didn't.'

Her mouth clamped shut, Mindy offered no response. Truthfully, she couldn't.

'If you're not here to help me,' Dave continued, 'why are you here?'

This time, Mindy had time to collect her thoughts. 'To stop you,' she snapped. 'To stop you from getting yourself fucking killed on this ridiculous crusade you're planning.'

'Thanks for the concern, but I don't need you for that. I've made up my mind: I'm going back to New York.'

'And that's exactly what Ralph D'Amico expects!' she near shouted at him. 'He wants you to go back to avenge her death and he'll nail you to the mast just like all the others. You're the one he wants. You're the one who started all this when you decided to pull on that mask. With your death, he wins. Nobody else will have the guts to fill your shoes after what he's done.'

Dave was silent; he knew she was right. Of course she was right. For all his clever tactics as a mobster, Ralph D'Amico was as predictable in his revenge plan as all the other scumbags. If Dave stepped foot back into the city, Ralph would be there to capitalise on his mistake.

A terse silence fell over the room. Mindy watched Dave's internal struggle with his thoughts play out on his face, wordlessly imploring him to see reason. Marty's gaze flitted between the two of them, waiting.

A few minutes passed before Dave mustered the energy the reply. When he did, it was as though someone had stabbed a knife right through Mindy's heart.

'I don't need you to stop me,' he said quietly. 'If you're not going to help me, you may as well leave.'

Mindy stared at him, stunned. He had never sent her away before; in fact, he had always actively sought her help in times of need. She had let him down before, but he had forgiven her, understanding and accepting her personal feelings. This time...

'If that's how you feel,' she breathed, 'then fine.'

Without looking at either of them, Mindy walked into the bedroom for the second time, snatched up her overnight bag and returned to the living room. Dave had moved away from the front door, allowing her an easy exit. She nodded, comprehending the message.

Without uttering another word, she pulled open the door and left them standing there.

A/N: This is rather angst-y, I know, but something dramatic (and real!) had to happen sooner or later! Let me know what you think about the pace of the story so far. Too slow? Too fast?