Authors Notes: Welcome back! Thanks for joining me again for another installment of this little pet project series. If you've never seen this OC before, know that these one-shots are written and meant to be read out of order, but it would be beneficial to read the first installment to get a firm grasp on my OC Cheyanne's character.

This update takes place in the HD era and is told in present tense.

In this chapter, we get a closer glimpse into Cheyanne's relationship with those who are not her husband, including her natural maternal instinct and the use of adorable(!) nicknames. In case it hasn't been made clear in past chapters, I use "-" dashes in the middle of seemingly random words to mimic Schwoz's unique/exaggerated speech pattern. There are several instances of this occurring in this chapter. There is at least one obscure reference to the canon series that I'm unbelievably proud of, and we learn a lot more about Cheyanne's personality (as well as a possible hint into her backstory which I'm still internally debating on). See if you can spot all of these exciting tidbits! I'd be happy to gush over them in comments!

Know that this is currently the longest installment in the series to date, and that I have at least 3 more ideas/chapters planned for the eventual future. Two of them will be set firmly in the Danger Force era/time period, but I will continue to tag both series for all installments to gain the most exposure in this tiny fandom as possible. As always, my upload schedule will remain erratic, but I appreciate those who continue to check into this series.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy this update.

/ /

Cheyanne starts every Saturday the same. By tending to the half dozen potted plants of various shapes and stages of development she has long since scattered about the Man Cave. About half sit beneath warming lamps to mimic natural sunlight. A third need fertilizer at precise intervals. All are meticulously watered, measured, and spoken to in a calming voice every seventh day like clockwork. This is how they have survived so many years, including one past it's anticipated lifespan, despite being confined within the hectic and, often times, treacherous landscape.

Cheyanne met Ray well after the completion of the hero's hideout. Said underground apartment dwelling/laboratory disguised as a small-time business had been designed purely with Ray, a young bachelor new to living separate from an overcontrolling parent and thwarting evil alike, in mind. As a result, there were limited amenities for the college graduate to partake in.

Nearly two years after their first lunch date, Cheyanne moved in. Schwoz, who was a cohabitant from the beginning and was responsible for the Man Cave's creation, had upgraded and expanded the kitchen without much complaint. Considering how it was the only room Cheyanne frequented; he ascribed the project to be an early wedding present. Cheyanne was never intimidated by the overtly personalized ecosystem. She simply collected plants she could call her own. Named them. Potted them in attractive, custom flowerpots. And gave them a worthy home. This microscopic detail in the grand scheme of over twenty-five thousand square feet of real estate (not including the tubing system) was enough to make the now forty something practicing accountant feel right at home.

The flower on her bedside table receives special attention first. Followed closely thereafter by the fern upstairs in Junk N' Stuff. A shop she is no stranger to. There, her role is bookkeeper. It is she who brings in new and unusual supplies to keep the odd return costumer happy. Yet, for the last few months, she has gladly taken on a little assistant.

"Ulch!"

Jasper is one of Henry's two childhood friends and the latest member to join the ragtag crew. A handful of Saturdays was all it took to train the boisterous teenager. Now, when not in school, he's in charge of nearly everything from clean up to lock up. Most days he's content to help customers, run errands for Schwoz outside the store, or share lunch breaks with Cheyanne when they discuss the latest crazes in bucket collecting. (Everyone else is under the impression that Jasper had long outgrown his childhood fixation, but they keep that secret between them.)

However, it's no secret Jasper tends to feel isolated while sitting half a mile above the place where his friends protect their fair city day in and day out. Usually, his biggest role in assisting the crime fighters involves flipping a metal switch behind the counter and proceeding to play the part of distraction, or even bait, when the shop goes under seize – purely a pawn in the latest baddie's scheme. He loathes the wait to be rescued.

Which is why when he appears from the back room, feet plodding along and open cardboard box in hand, Cheyanne anticipates his exact feelings towards his current predicament before they explode forth in a fashion typical of the youth.

"I am frustrated!" He pauses in the center of the room for dramatic effect.

"About what?" Cheyanne humors.

The box crashes to the ground. Rubber balls, golden bells, paper weights, and multi-colored toothbrushes rattle about sharply. Several spill out. "I went downstairs to take my fifteen-minute midmorning break like I do every day. There were no customers to wait on, and I'm caught up with my chores."

"Uh huh."

"But Ray gave me this box and said I couldn't come back until all these useless items are catalogued for sale." Jasper picks up a paddle ball and a handheld fan. He spots a card table holding plastic display boxes overflowing with said items. "This is busy work. And he assigned it on my break!"

"Looks like he picked up a random box from storage, too." Cheyanne comments on the weathered cardboard.

"He did!" Jasper rotates the box until a message written in faded marker faces the woman. 'Ray's useless items for storage, bx. #3'. "The elevator doors opened, and he threw the box at my head! I barely dodged out of the way in time. Then he closed the doors on me. He did it because he doesn't want me hanging out down there. I'm not as fun as Henry or Charlotte." Jasper kicks the box away and goes to collapse atop a stool behind the counter.

"Sugar, you know that's only partially true."

"Hey, I thought you would be on my side!"

Cheyanne giggles. "I am. You should know the whole truth is everyone loves having you here! Movie days wouldn't be the same without your unique, unfiltered and unrequested commentary."

"Thanks, I think." He scratches his head at that.

It isn't so much that Jasper is dumb. A common misconception. Far from it, a more apt word for Jasper is…simple. With a one-track mind, a go-getter attitude, and a heightened sensitivity to boot, Jasper is simple and charmingly so.

Cheyanne finds it to be an adoring trait. She considers, not for the first time, that it's a quirk Ray recognizes within himself. The two share more in common than either realize. Thus, she suspects, is the primary reason the superhero is so hell bent on keeping the boy at arm's length. It's not that Ray doesn't care for the boy as much as his other apprentices. It's just that Ray has never taken kindly to competition. And, perhaps, an even smaller part of the man-child who refuses to grow up wants to protect the boy from growing to be too much like himself.

Cheyanne keeps this in mind while the conversation unfolds. "Everyone has a job. And yours is up here. You're our lookout. It's a very important position if you think about it."

"My job is lame! And everybody forgets that I'm here to do it the same way they are here to do theirs."

Cheyanne rests her manicured hands on her hips. "What am I, a bushel of Brussel sprouts? I'm up here working alongside you."

"Yeah, but you," Jasper glances around. He makes sure no customers have wandered in and he's reminded to flip the door sign since his break has been preemptively terminated. He whispers on his way to the glass entrance. "…live in the Man Cave. Everyone is always so happy to see you when you clock out and ride downstairs."

At the top of the entryway, Jasper faces the seasoned confidant with an expression suggesting he seeks her validation. "I want to do more around here. I want to help people! Ray doesn't think I can handle it, but I can. I do, literally, all the time. I've helped Captain Man and Kid Danger stop loads of bad guys. Why doesn't anybody else see that?"

Her giggles are as light as air. "I still get a chuckle out of the time you put a stop to King Bowling-Pin's reign of terror. How you led him to trip on the freshly waxed lane and slide all the way down to earn a strike. We both know it wouldn't kill Ray to compliment your crime fighting skills every once in a while. But it would severely bruise his ego if he did, and we can't have that."

"Why not? Why can't we have that? Just this once, oh please!" Jasper clasps his hands together.

"Without his ego, we don't have a true Captain Man. Do we?"

The child's shoulders droop. "Guess not."

"Exactly. His ego is the one thing keeping Swellview safe. Because every time a problem arises, he has to prove to himself, and others, that he is capable of overcoming it."

A man sporting an orange mohawk waltzes in off the street to peruse the miscellaneous merchandise.

Jasper welcomes the customer inside and offers service with a smile. When he faces Cheyanne again, his grin fades and he reluctantly steps up to the dreaded cardboard box. Slowly he pulls items from it and takes them back to the counter. A massive leaguer lies in wait. He will have to log each item individually before placing them around the store.
"Think of it this way," Cheyanne starts. "I don't see Henry or Charlotte helping customers and running the store all by themselves. Ray only trusts one person to take care of his business and that's why he hired you for the job."

The teenager begrudgingly accepts she has a point. It isn't until Cheyanne relents to an extended lunch break that the boy's smile returns in full force, and he cheerfully sets to work, bustling about the small business.

Cheyanne retires to the basement where the rest of her plants have been perched around the tubes, elevator, and sprocket (which opens into a corridor of branching hallways and mostly underutilized rooms). It is in the primary control/entertainment room where she is once again pulled from her peaceful morning meditation. And not for the last time.

As she pours over a white rose bush the secret passage behind the computer monitors cracks open wide enough for Charlotte to step through. The brilliant young woman is Henry's other childhood best friend who began working in the Man Cave roughly two years prior to Jasper. She was smart enough to discover Henry's secret identity on her own and joined the team a mere few weeks after the boy wonder took up the mantle of sidekick. Uncharacteristically, she huffs and puffs while muttering nonsensical repetitions under her breath.

"What are you doing here so early?" Even on weekends, it's rare for Charlotte to arrive before noon. She uses the early hours of the day to study for her advanced classes and attend extracurricular activities attached to her schooling.

"Where else would I be?" Charlotte taps at her phone's screen. This is when Cheyanne discovers it is resting on top of a heavy spiral note pad. A yellow pencil is pinning a section of Charlotte's intricately braided hair behind one ear. "It's not like today I had plans to go to a super important charity event I have had scheduled for weeks in advance. I'm sure the bottled nose dolphins can relocate out of Siberian waters all by themselves."

Charlotte's quick wit brings up several questions. Cheyanne begins by asking, "'Dollars for EnDangered Dolphins' was today?" Because, of course, she knows the teenager's complex schedule. "Remind me what they were doing so close to Siberia again?" With an attentive ear trained on the conversation she upholds with equal importance to the one she carried out upstairs, Cheyanne moves on to the next plant. And then the next. And so on as the women's dialogue resumes.

Charlotte contemplates the stacked monitors mounted over the control panel before sitting down to work on more than one at a time. She looks like a captain piloting a ship on Star Trek. "I guess we'll never find out." She plucks the pencil from behind her ear and begins to nibble at the wood.

If Jasper oversees decision making for Junk N' Stuff, then Charlotte definitively pulls rank in the Man Cave. Over the years she has learned more than a few skills from Schwoz which would qualify her for acceptance into M.I.T. She's usually the one who is on look-out for emergencies that do not resort from a call via the Captain Man hotline. And if it weren't for Charlotte's inquisitive mindset and domineering attitude, the superhero duo wouldn't have solved half as many cases as are currently under their belts.

Charlotte has never let the testosterone filled work environment intimidate her. Quite the opposite. She's first to kick the boys back onto the path of the straight and narrow as soon as they long to stray from it. The child protégée has proven herself an irreplaceable asset.

Cheyanne makes more than an educated guess as to what is causing Charlottle's distress. "What momentous and undoubtedly important task has that silly man placed on your shoulders?"

"You've picked up on that, have you?" Charlottle throws a cynical glance over to her maternal mentor before her head snaps back to the screens. She engrosses herself fully in any task she sets her mind to until she can successfully complete it. "Do you remember that crime wave that happened last month?"

"How can I forget? They only happen once every twelve to eighteen months."

"April was one for the history books." Charlotte's fingers touch-type a mile a minute. In spreadsheets, she enters names, locations, dates, and the number of crimes committed that align with the delicately handwritten notes on the pad in her lap. "Ray has me creating an algorithm that will eventually be able to compare last month's crime wave with past ones already imputed to the system. It should help me predict when the next crime wave will happen and if crime waves are growing at an exponential rate. Or, if this year's wave was a fluke."

"Ray, the man who thinks chocolate milk comes from brown cows and strawberry milk comes from pink ones, that Ray asked you to that do all that? In those words?" Cheyanne attempts to lighten her mood.

"His exact words were: You should use your precious calculations to figure out when the next crime wave will hit so I can plan my vacation days and leave Henry to deal with the villains on his own." Charlottle's fingers pause long enough for her to do an impression of Ray with an exaggeratedly low and slow voice, and to roll her eyes at the memory of him being obtuse before they continue to blaze a trail across the keyboard.

"That sounds more like the man I know."

"Schwoz was in the room and suggested an algorithm to track patterns and the rate of growth."

"That I would also believe." Cheyanne gravitates toward her final treasured plant, a string of pearls, which hangs next to the decorative doorway.

Suddenly, Charlotte whips her chair around and stands to her fullest height. The notepad lands on the floor with a quiet slapping sound. "Normally we have four, maybe five crimes in a month. Last month we had an unprecedented twenty-eight. Every one of them committed by a different criminal. I get that it's exhausting for Captain Man and Kid Danger to go out and capture the criminals. But this is tedious work that I have to enter by hand then convert into ones and zeros.

"Normally I'm happy to come to work and help out. But between the all-nighters we pulled locating the bad guys, and being captain of the school's debate team, and the charity events I went to in April, and prepping for finals next week, I'm mentally and emotionally drained. And instead of being reasonable and waiting until I get out for summer break, Ray thinks he must have this algorithm done immediately." Charlotte rubs the heels of her hands in circle patterns into her eyes. "Preferably today. He seriously has never learned patience. I mean, how is it you tolerate that man?"

"Many years of practice. Years I wouldn't wish on anyone else." Cheyanne puts on a jaded tone. Only when Charlotte removes her hands, thinking the veteran crime fighter sympathizes with her plight, does Cheyanne reveal a cheeky grin and goading inflection. "Mainly because it's a burden I'm happy to bear."

Charlotte's groans are high pitched while she throws her hands up in frustrated defeat.

With Cheyanne's duties to her plants met, she turns to her pupil, pausing on the staircase overlooking the room. "I am sorry you are feeling so much pressure. Once finals are over you will have so many more hours in your weeks. You can dedicate as many of them as you want to your charities and prepping for SATs next year. As if you needed prepping. Honestly, would it kill you to take a break this summer from all of your impressive responsibilities?"

"Are you willing to risk my life to find out?" Turning her back on Cheyanne, Charlotte mumbles new complaints about love and blindness.

Charlotte truly is the daughter Cheyanne never got to have. "You know Ray wouldn't assign you things he didn't think you could handle."

"I wish I could believe you, but he makes it awfully hard."

Cheyanne makes her way over to the ultra-futuristic auto-Snacker. Of all the gadgets Schwoz has built which have infiltrated (and largely eased) her daily life, this is the one Cheyanne maintains an ongoing rivalry with. Controlled with voice commands, the advanced technology can conjure basically any food product or combination thereof in a matter of seconds, so long as it remains filled with water, carbohydrates, and other common food molecules. If Cheyanne isn't cooking for herself (as she greatly prefers to do) or for Friday night dinners, she is being out cooked by the auto-Snacker. And for that alone, she loathes the mechanism.

However, her stewing animosity doesn't prevent her from routinely requesting an array of complex lattes, cappuccinos, and chai teas – the likes of which she could never hope to master on her own – from the cocky robot. One day she hopes to come up with a combination so convoluted she'll stump the darn thing.

That day is not today. The machine spits out her exact order at a scolding hot temperature. Just the way she likes it. "Curses." Cheyanne mumbles, so that the minor present doesn't overhear that she has been thwarted once more.

At the same time, while Cheyanne waits for her coffee, the left tube drops down from the ceiling. Schwoz rockets down from an upper level, no doubt coming from one of his scattered laboratories, and tumbles out headfirst as though he hadn't broken his forward stride. Looking like a man on a mission, and with a general wave to Charlottle that goes unreciprocated, he confronts Cheyanne with a bit of urgency.

"Hel-lo Annie!" Instead of a spring, Schwoz walks with a slight shuffle in his footsteps.

Since the day they met, Schwoz has always had a difficult time pronouncing Cheyanne's name. Whether due to his unique accent, his even more distinctive dialect, or simply because it aligns with his obscure mannerisms – those that everyone takes an adjustment period to acclimatize to – Schwoz has abstained from using the common nickname everyone else uses to refer to her and has taken to using his own. Frankly, Cheyanne finds this personalized nickname endearing. A sign of their intimate friendship. She responds in kind.

"Good morning, Schwoz." Her hand passes over the auto-Snacker behind her. She orders him a black coffee with too much honey. Of their friend group, they are exclusively the ones to have adopted the habit of drinking coffee. Yet another thing that brings them together and singles them out as the lone adults on the team. "How is my favorite pint-sized genius this morning?"

"Hey," Charlottle twirls around abruptly to glare daggers at Schwoz. "Isn't that what you used to call me?"

Cheyanne picks up the bland beverage and offers it to her coworker. "You lost that title when you had your growth spurt."

Mollified, Charlotte returns to her computers. Apparently, she's moved on to bigger and better things, no longer relying on her notes which have been tossed to the side of the desk haphazardly.

Schwoz gladly accepts the cup and winces slightly at the temperature. "Thank you. This is just what the doctor, who would have been me if I hadn't been kicked out of medical school, would have ordered had I been the one who ordered it."

Cheyanne asks, "What are you up to today? You seemed in a hurry."

From a pocket in his jumpsuit, he retrieves a slip of paper. "Oh, that's right." Mid-sip he explains his predicament. "Here is a list of the things I need from the hardware store. Someone needs to go right now, so that I can finish building my newest mach-ine."

"What's the new gizmo?" the accountant lobs back.

Schwoz speaks animatedly with his hands. "Basically, I'm converting an outdated rocket launcher into a net catapult. Except mine will shoot twice as fast, over a distance three times as far, and can discharge nets, boomerangs, ziplines, and, whatever else I can fit inside of it."

Charlottle cocks her head in mild curiosity. "What made you come up with that idea?"

"Ray said he wanted to be able to fire a net into the sky and capture a criminal without breaking a sweat."

Cheyanne comments, "There is no limit to that man's creativity, is there?"

"Yeah, I regret asking the question," Charlottle sighs.

"Anyway," Schwoz plows forward, "I have a few more equations that need to be solved for the launcher to function. Someone else will have to pick up those items for me if I am to finish today, so that Ray will stop asking me about it."

"I heard that!" Charlottle agrees.

Cheyanne reassuringly caresses his upper arm. "Don't worry. I'll send Henry after this stuff when he gets here. Go enjoy your coffee and finish those equations. We'll see you at lunch."

Schwoz nods resolutely on his way to the monitors. "Yes, and you enjoy your liquid diabetes." His smile is wiry, keyed into Cheyanne's war against his superior device.

"Thank you, sugar." The short man disappears through the hidden passage.

Cheyanne settles at the circular couch where she plans to peruse her emails and enjoy her molten breakfast. Moments after Schwoz has left, the elevator doors slip open with a resounding bell toll. Out walks Henry who brings nothing with him apart from a charming smile. "What goes on ladies?"

Cheyanne crosses her arms in a display of put-on authority. "Henry why are you late?"

"Charlottle sent me a heads-up text. Told me she'd cover the morning shift."

Without pausing for a beat, Charlottle raises a hand above her head in a dismissive gesture. "Can't make up an excuse for what I did. I'm too busy coding."

Cheyanne giggles despite herself. "Am I really so intimidating that you felt the need to conspire against me? Or is it just that you know I would have found something for you to do around here so your friends wouldn't be the only ones earning their pay checks."

"Oh yeah, like what?" Henry trapses over to the auto-Snacker. He summons an orange and plops down at the table opposite Cheyanne to peel it. "I help out as much as anyone else. Doubt you could find stuff for me to do that I haven't already done."

Cheyanne fidgets with her shiny bracelets. "How about, when was the last time you cleaned the tubes?"

Henry drops the fruit on the table. "Hmm?"

"When was the last time you cleaned the tubes?" Cheyanne points at them for emphasis.

Henry picks up the half-peeled fruit and scratches behind his ear with his free hand. "I don't know. Definitely, like, probably real recently. It's not like you can prove I haven't."

"Mmhmm. When was the last time someone filled the auto-Snacker?"

With the fruit peeled, Henry slides off the bench to pace while he eats. "Technically that's a chore for Schwoz, so, you know."

Cheyanne rotates in her seat to keep a steady eye on her most idle employee. Idle, only when the work doesn't involve changing into his super suit. "Wouldn't it feel nice to help out a friend without being asked or expecting something in return?"

Charlottle scoffs at the notion of Henry being proactive. Henry makes a motion towards her like he's asking for her support.

"Never you mind. I've got something else for you to do."

"I'm on it. Name it."

Henry walks over the Cheyanne and takes the list in hand. "Schwoz needs someone to go to the hardware store uptown. He's building something, and Ray thinks it should be finished by the end of day."

Henry has a difficult time reading some of Schwoz's handwriting. He briefly wonders why the scientist didn't think to type the list or provide pictures of the material. "Why can't Ray go if he needs it so fast?"

Charlottle groans in annoyance recalling the conversation she had with her grossly irresponsible boss. "He said he's going to be busy the rest of the day reorganizing his bathroom with summer care products."

"Smart," the junior hero mocks.

Cheyanne insists, "Besides you know Ray hates going into hardware stores."

Henry gullibly asks, "Why is that?". As if Ray needed to invent any sort of excuse to send other people on errands in his place.

"Because he doesn't know anything about tools or appliances or fixing things. So, when single moms come up to flirt with him by asking dumb questions, since he looks like the type of guy who should know the answers, he feels dumb for not knowing what they are talking about."

"How is that my problem?"

Charlottle tacks on, "And, when single dads come up to flirt with him, since they know he's dumb and doesn't know what he's doing in a hardware store, they try to help him shop which makes him feel dumb for not knowing what they are talking about."

Henry purses his lips. "Yes, we've established Ray is dumb no matter who is flirting with him."

Cheyanne reiterates her initial point. "This is what I'm talking about. It would be considered mean to make Ray go. But, if you go, you would be helping a friend which would be…"

Henry finishes her sentence. "Nice...Fine. I'll do it. Can I take Jasper with me?"

"Sure. Just be sure you boys lock up behind yourselves." Cheyanne outlines precise instructions. "Remember to put whatever items you buy on the company card. And no detours. Come straight back here for lunch. I already told Jasper he could have an extended break."

"Thanks, Chey." Henry reads over the list as he casually jobs back to the elevator. "Hey, promise, I'll fill the auto-Snacker this afternoon."

Cheyanne already knows the answer before she asks one last question. "And what about the tubes?"

"Hmm?" He glances back innocently while waiting for the elevator to arrive.

"What about cleaning the tubes?"

"Can't hear you. Elevator," he gestures all around himself, "loud. Bam, wh-blam. You should get Schwoz to take a look. Boom, crash, blam." He hits the button inside the lift that will aid his escape. He parts with a drawn out, "Bye!"

Cheyanne playfully scorns the absent apprentice. "Whatever am I to do with that kid?"

Charlottle presses one final key and spins her chair around with a dramatic flair. "If I couldn't fix him between pre-k and middle school, I think there's no hope for him."

Cheyanne softly taps at her peaked lips, poorly concealing her prideful grin behind two fingers. "Have you finished the troublesome algorithm already?"

Charlottle smirks triumphantly. "It helps me work faster if I can complain."

/ /

Author's Notes: Likes and comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in whatever I decide to upload next.