Bordering on a dangerous obsession. Chapter 29
The days this week seemed to fly by and with it, my frustration grew.
Why, of all the weeks, with all those quiet days, why only now did all these assholes come crawling out of the woodwork? Was the parole board stamper replaced with a goddamn drinking bird?
I swear I recognized half the bastards I brought down. What the fuck?
Allow me to summarize my week:
- Monday: Sore throat still, Muggers mugging dumbfucks. We mugged em' back.
- Tuesday: Rooftop stakeout. A half dozen Neo-Nazis and a Chinese run EZ-Mart. Fun, but no time to talk.
- Wednesday: Training day. Was distracted, and Dave tagged me in a boob. Went slightly mental. Slightly mauled Dave. Slightly.
- Thursday: Slack Day, Dave healing from mauling and wants his space. Perfectly understandable.
- Friday: Got shot.
Hmm, best I explained that.
Oo0oO
It wasn't that bad. Just a few muggers, none with a gun, just a bat here and a machete there. Oh, and a bike chain, can't forget the classics.
Anyways, we spotted them, circled round and got the drop on them. Two went down easy, and I was doing a flip over the asshole with the chain to get behind him so I could work his kidney's a bit.
And then that's all I remember.
Dave filled me in afterwards.
Apparently, in mid-fucking-air, I got tagged by a rifle bullet. The shot was loud, and Dave, along with the muggers froze in shock.
Then Dave saw me land on a garbage pile, wheezing and spazzing and then he went a little ape-shit...
He put the muggers went down in seconds and then he dragged me out of the alleyway backwards trying to use the dumpsters as cover. Even now he was desperately looking for snipers.
Now you might be saying, "But Hit Girl, you said you switched to IIIA soft body armor a little while back. That can't stop a rifle."
And you'd be right, little falsetto voice. If the bullet was fully powered it'dve gone right through me. But it wasn't.
I came to with Dave tearing open my costume and running his hands over my chest. You'd think that'd be hot, but he was feeling the kevlar. Shame.
When he dug the bullet out, it was intact, and it was barely deformed. I'd have a bruise, but nothing major. The shot tagged me right in the diaphragm though, which explained the wheezing and spazzing. But it also clued me in as to who and why.
No one is gonna try and aim for a girl flipping in mid air, they'd wait till it was over, aim for my head and pop me. And no one would use a bullet so underpowered that it barely got dented.
Unless it was on purpose.
Fucking Max, you could'a warned me.
As soon as I could speak and not cough up a lung, I told Dave in no uncertain terms he was getting at least a vest or so help me I'd break every fucking bone in his jacking hand.
And when the asshole said no, I simply upped the ante. If he wouldn't wear one, I wouldn't wear one. With my costume still open. I reached for the straps threateningly.
That did the job. Dave was worried as all fuck and practically draping himself over me. And he said yes.
It was sweet, though pointless, as a proper rifle round would go right the both of us and bury into the concrete.
In the end, I made him promise not to say anything about this to Marcus, and we took triple the time heading home. Ostensibly checking for more of the Motherfucker's snipers.
I didn't say a word about Dave having his arm around me, hand on my chest, even if it was on the armor.
Oo0oO
Now where was I?
- Saturday: Doctor checked me out.
If I didn't know Max was responsible before, I certainly did now.
I didn't even get a chance to speak as he whisked me in to 3C and unbuttoned my shirt, then took off the upper half of my fat suit, and then the cloth band. He clearly was expecting this.
He was swearing steadily in that language of his, quiet and sequential, like he was making a list, and I heard Max's name come up more than once. I really had to figure out what language it was, anything that could rant and swear non-stop was a language worth knowing.
He studied the bruise in the light, which looked pretty ghastly without shadows. I'd had worse, and told him so, which only made him rant even more.
Finally, he looked up from the bruise and at me for the first time. "You will be all right."
Of course I would be. Daddy made me tough. Then I realized he meant for his Sculpting. Like he cared that'd I'd be in fighting form.
He marched me over to the sink and had me wash my tits off. The Brown Jar didn't peel, and it was still hours before it'd flake into chunks. I toweled off my boobs, the novel sensation of having little boobs to towel had still not really sunk in.
Then, as was quickly becoming a routine, he gooped up one boob, the right one this time, and demonstrated this weeks motions. On my back, nipple firmly pressed down, firm circular motions with my thumb. When I had done the left one to his satisfaction, we moved onto the pills.
Two out, one in, another dozen adjusted in strength.
A small jar for the bruise. Twice a day.
And finally, the piece de' resistance. The needles.
Zero.
Allow me to repeat that. Not a single fucking harpoon.
What the fuck?
I knew he had them, the fuckers hands were twitching and he kept making longing glances at the far drawer where he usually dug them up.
"Why?"
His face looked like the saddest, most disappointed Nazi of all.
"None this week, Max insists that you need no distractions." His eyes narrowed. "Or excuses."
Excuses from what?
Oh.
I fought down a blush.
Right.
"Hurry up and do whatever you have to do." He grunted. "My work suffers when it is interrupted. Also, draw a 1 on the old Yellow Jar. With luck you might be able to reuse it in the coming months."
He brought out a waxy strip of paper. "Now lick this." Okay...
With a little bit of blood, piss and hair I was on my way, with my new pills and a new #2 Yellow Jar of goop in tow.
Oo0oO
Dave was waiting for me in the waiting room, barely even noticing the triplets eyeing him like meat.
I nodded once.
The look of relief made my heart flutter a bit. The hug helped even more, despite the fat suit.
Oo0oO
We didn't speak until we were in his Dad's car. And I swept for bugs.
"I'm alright. Just a big bruise. It wouldn't have been half the size if i'd I'd been in my Class III proper armor."
Or if I'd had everything properly tightened. I'd been leaving it a bit loose for the boobs to have air.
Vanity goeth before the fall I suppose.
Dave nodded and made approving sounds. Best nip that hope in the bud.
"I haven't forgotten you know. You are getting some armor. You promised."
There it was, the look of hope fading into despair.
Maybe I needed a monocle. I certainly was enjoying it.
Oo0oO
"This," I slapped Dave's back. "Is Class IV armor. Forget handguns, forget shotguns, forget nearly all assault rifles, This'll stop 'em all."
I paused in thought. "Except for black tips. But they are way too expensive to waste on soft targets, so we likely won't run into those."
"I feel so stiff." Dave grumbled. "I can barely move."
I smiled, remembering when I'd said those exact same words to Daddy.
"Don't worry, you won't be wearing that unless we're expecting assault rifles. But, when we have to invade whatever fort the Motherfucker is holed up in, Your ass better be in it."
"You'll be wearing what I wear; either IIIA for high mobility, or just Class III which'll stop pretty much all small arms fire and still let you move and bend proper. You'll be trying both tonight."
Oo0oO
We trained pretty lightly, though Dave thought it was for me. Silly Dave. I'd taken worse hits from Daddy during training against baseball bats. It's not like the scum will let you get to your feet and point out your mistakes.
I just didn't want a repeat of Wednesday. A skittish Dave is not what I want. It's the last thing I want.
I didn't fight too hard when he insisted on a stakeout, though I did demand to pick the place.
It was "All-You-Can-Eat Bacon Night" after all.
