So this one, admittedly, got away from me a little. I got a tiny bit deranged. I dont know, I just kept writing and then the word count kept going up and then it turned into the longest thing ive ever written.
also trigger warnings for this chapter: a fair bit of physical violence and kidnapping. also, second disclaimer because people on this site are WEIRD: i do NOT romanticize the kidnappings in anyway. no stockholm syndrome here, but really the fact that i have to specify that is unbelievable.
So Trish isn't like, a hero hero, all right? She doesn't save cats from trees or rescue people from hurricanes. She mostly just…shows off her powers a little, regrows some flowers and gives people autographs. She's what her little brother calls a "corporate sell-out hero." She doesn't really blame him for his harsh words; how the hell is he supposed to know that Flora is actually his lazy big sister in a mask? There's plenty of people with plant-based powers in Miami, and Trish has made sure to keep her civilian life and her hero life very, very separate from each other. The only person who knows about her alter ego is Ally, and that's only because the other woman had walked in on Trish changing into her suit.
So yeah, Trish isn't big on the saving people thing. Honestly, she wasn't even ever trying to be a hero. One day in high school she regrew a couple of trees taken out by a fire and suddenly there's a puff piece in the news about "small acts of heroism." And from there it just keeps…happening. She does something that could be vaguely construed as heroic and it's like she solved world hunger.
And then somewhere along the line she starts getting into it. She orders a custom suit in pink and green, fitted with a voice modulator that will mask her real identity. She picks out Flora for her hero name (might as well lean into the plant shtick, right?) and makes fairly decent money from sponsorships and media appearances. Sure, it is a sell-out-y, but nobody's paying her to be the pinnacle of morality. She's got her best friend, her dog, and a pretty sweet apartment, so she's fine being a corporate hero wannabe
And then this guy gets kidnapped and- and honestly she has no idea why his family goes to her of all people. Making flowers grow doesn't really make her any more qualified to rescue people more than anyone else, and it's been a long time since anybody asked her to be an actual hero. But she's not heartless, okay? What would she even tell them, "sucks for you, good luck finding him"? So, with great reluctance she accepts the job.
When she arrives at the place he's being kept at, she's…fairly surprised. It doesn't scream "place where felonies happen"; it's a tall, corporate-looking building, as bland and plentiful as sand in Miami. Unfortunately, it's her job to sift through this sand. It doesn't take long to find the guy – for a group of people so willing to commit a felony, they have some piss-poor security – but he isn't alone. His captor – a woman in her forties wearing a pantsuit – looks at her, surprise flashing across her face before settling into a sharp grin. It feels absurd; she's handling a hostage situation in a conference room in a goddamm skyrise.
"Flora," the captor purrs as though they're friends. "Demonica Dixon," she introduces herself. She snaps her fingers and one of her assistants offers a handshake to Trish. She doesn't accept. "Listen, I know why you're here, and I'm here to tell you that none of that is necessary. We're simply…having a business deal."
"You kidnapped someone," she growls, gesturing toward Demonica's captive. He's currently gagged, but she can still make out the quiet whimpers coming from him. He might be crying a little.
Demonica's cold little smile doesn't waver. "Desperate times call for desperate measures." Her tone suddenly shifts into something much more brisk and business-like. "Flora, you strike me as sensible person, so let me make you an offer: if you let us continue with our…deal, we can make it worth your while. Sound good?"
She blinks, then glares. "Are you trying bribe me?"
Demonica looks at her like she's the dumb one. "Obviously. Your little powers didn't come with any common sense, did they?"
Her condescending tone only makes Trish angrier. "Seriously? You think you throw enough money around and I'll roll over, let you do whatever you want?"
Demonica shrugs. "I was under the impression you weren't one for heroics. They don't exactly pay the bills, do they?"
Trish glowers. There's a potted plant in the corner of the room. What happens next should be obvious.
"C'mon," she says to the captive, stepping over Demonica Dixon's unconscious body. She wracks her brain for the guy's name – Dez, right? She's like 70% sure it's Dez. She grabs the back of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. "I wanna get out of here."
He backs away from her, eyes wide. Her brows furrow and she reaches for him again. He dodges.
"What the hell, I'm helping you," she snaps. He mumbles something unintelligible through his gag. "Your family sent me! I'm not gonna hurt you."
He looks incredulous. He jerks his head at the unconscious Demonica and her assistants. "They kidnapped you! And- why am I doing this?" she asks, realizing that playing charades with a guy in a gag is ridiculous. She reaches out faster than he can dodge and yanks the gag off.
"Oh my god, why is it so wet?" she cries in disgust, dropping the cloth on the floor.
"It was in my mouth," he counters, voice flat. She glares at him. A guy that she just rescued – a grown man wearing a fucking Nyan Cat t-shirt – does not get to look annoyed with her.
"You have saliva issues," she snaps. She tries to circle around him so she can free his hands from where they're bound behind his back – key word there being tries. He spins in time with her so that they remain face-to-face. "Will you stop that? I need to untie your hands."
"How do I know I can trust you? What if you're some kind of assassin or something." He raises an eyebrow at her and she decides she's done with this ridiculous conversation.
"You know what? I did my job and you can find your own way out. Word of advice, I'd do it before the peanut gallery wakes back up, because I am not rescuing your ass again." With that, she storms out of the room. She's about halfway down the hall when he catches up with her
"I get the feeling you don't like me," he says as they wait for the elevator.
"Where'd you get that idea?"
"Well, mostly from your tone, and the way you stormed off, and the way you're glaring at me right now…" He lists off as he steps into the elevator. He pauses, tilting his head at her. "Was that a rhetorical question?"
She doesn't answer and they lapse into silence. She wishes that this damn building wasn't so tall, or that they weren't at the top floor; this elevator ride was long.
"Hey," Dez says abruptly, breaking their unspoken pact to not acknowledge each other. "While we're here, do you think you could…" he turns around, offering his still bound hands to her. She peels the duct tape around his wrists off, faintly amused by his theatrical shrieks.
"Ow," he adds, emphasizing the word with an annoyed look after she's done. It quickly melts as he takes a deep breath and then turns to her with a bright grin. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot, so let's try again. Hi, I'm Dez, thank you for rescuing me."
He offers her a handshake. She ignores it. "Flora. And you're welcome."
They make stilted conversation for the rest of the ride. She indulges him a little because yeah, maybe she was a little mean and he's the one that just went through a traumatizing experience. But she's tired and a little short-tempered after using her powers to actually attack someone – something she hasn't done since middle school – so the best he's getting is one-word answers.
"I've seen you on the news before," he says apropos of nothing. He looks at her and suddenly the look in his eyes is a little too sharp for someone who was just rambling about how he thinks zebras are a conspiracy. "Demonica was right; you don't seem like the saving people type."
She huffs. "I'm not. This-" she gestures between them as she steps out of the elevator. "was a one time thing."
As it turns out, neither of those things ends up being true. Irony really is a son of a bitch.
Clearly, it is not a one time thing
After Dez gets kidnapped two more times (once by an overzealous wannabe villain and then by some sad tech startup, no she doesn't understand why these two radically different parties are interested in the same guy) that she decides to do a little more research on the guy. And by "research" she means "Googling his name and then clicking on the first link that came up." As it turns out, it's not Dez that's a big deal, but rather his dad; some big shot inventor by the name of Dennis Wade. He makes mostly mobility devices and shit like that, with a few more frivolous items such as robot guard dogs. The only notable thing about this guy is that he never patents his inventions, and rarely profits off the ones he sold; they're priced to cover the materials used, but that's it.
Which begs the question, why the fuck is everyone and their cat so interested in kidnapping his son? (It's always only Dez; according to him his sister is going to school in Maine and his mom is rarely alone, so he's the easiest target) It's not like they're getting any ransom money out of the Wades, or at least, not enough to warrant committing a felony.
She wonders about it, but not enough to launch a full-scale investigation or anything. Whatever the fuck people's rationalizations are for this kinda shit is none of her business. She's here to do her job, not play detective. But, despite her resolve to not get involved, she starts noticing patterns. These people aren't subtle, okay? They always fall into one of two categories: they either want Dennis to build them some kind of tech, or they want they exclusive rights to sell his inventions. Either way, kidnapping his son seems a bit extreme, but whatever. She's got bigger fish to fry.
One of these fish is the public's opinion of her. She's always been an all-flash-no-substance kind of hero, but now that she's saving Dez's ass every time she turns around, people are starting to see her as an actual hero. They're depending on her to help them and she- she doesn't know what she's supposed to do with that. It's so much responsibility- too much for her, for the woman who could never hold a job down for more than a week, for the woman you could never, ever count on.
But there's something…satisfying, almost about actually helping people and there's a voice that sounds like Ally's constantly whispering about not being afraid of change and letting people see her as more than a spectacle and other corny shit like that. The fact that the real Ally is saying the same things, however, still doesn't convince Trish that being a real hero is worth it. To hell with satisfaction, she can't afford for people to start relying on her.
(They can't afford it either.)
But nobody else is doing it right. Some idiot with wind powers nearly burns down half the city trying to put out a fire. Another one gets so caught up in giving reporters good photos they're barely able to save the survivors of a car crash they were supposed to rescuing in the first place. And when Dez is kidnapped for the umpteenth time, the responding hero suggests his family give into the kidnapper's demands, like that won't pin a flashing neon sign on Dez that screams "If you take me hostage, my family will immediately give you what you want!"
"I didn't even fucking want this," Trish vents as she tugs angrily at the zip ties keeping Dez restrained. If she's going to be constantly around the guy, she might as well use him as an outlet for her frustrations. It's not like he'll ever be able to connect her to her civilian identity. And it feels like payback for all the inane ramblings about his life she's had to sit through. "But every other "hero" in this town couldn't rescue a dog from a wet paper bag, so now it's like I don't have any other choice."
"You do, though," Dez says, considerably calmer than most people are when they're kidnapped. She thinks it's become routine for him. "If being a hero makes you unhappy, you have no obligation to keep doing it."
"And leave the town to these bozos in masks?" she scoffs. "Leave you to them? You'd be dead within a week."
"There's a pair of scissors in my bag," Dez says, jerking his head toward a bag lying in the corner and she glowers at him because that would've been useful information to have twenty minutes ago. "And Miami would be fine," Dez shrugs, continuing their conversation. "And so would I. I'm more resourceful than you think. I did go to med school, y'know."
She almost drops the scissors in surprise. "You went to med school?!"
"Yeah, I was going to be a brain surgeon," Dez says nonchalantly, as though there's no doubt in his mind that he's capable of being a doctor. "But I ended up dropping out. It just…wasn't what made me happy. And if you – and by you I mean me – aren't happy being a superhero – just like, as an example – then nobody can force you to keep doing it – again, 'you' meaning 'me'-"
"I get it," she interrupts before he gets lost trying to keep his paper-thin analogy straight. "And being a hero doesn't make me unhappy, it's just…" she trails off because yeah, she had lied earlier about satisfaction not being enough, but her real reasons aren't things she wants to think about.
"But…?" Dez wheedles, eyes shining with curiosity.
She silently cuts through the zip ties, refusing to meet Dez's eyes. "But…I, of all people, shouldn't be a hero. I'm just- I'm not good enough for this, and people are going to get hurt if they start relying on me." Her hands have the urge to run through her hair, but she resists it because that would mean taking off her mask.
"Hey," he nudges her arm. "There's no better hero than you. People trust you because you've proved you can be trusted. If this is what you want, then do it."
Her fingers curled around the hard edges of the broken zip tie, the jagged pieces digging into her palms. "Thanks."
Dez is quiet for a moment. It doesn't suit him. "Will you hit me if I say you're my hero?"
She rolls her eyes at his cheesy words, though the mask prevents him from seeing it. "I'll allow it."
He beams at her and that somehow forces the annoyance inside her to make way for something fonder.
An important aspect of being a superhero: PO boxes. She likes to keep her civilian life and her hero life as separate as possible, which meant making sure anyone who wanted to contact Flora could do so without contacting Trish De la Rosa. In the past, any kind of mail sent to her superhero persona was usually strictly business; companies that wanted to pay her to show up at a grand opening or use her powers for a press spectacle. But now that she's doing more actual hero-y stuff, the contents of her mail changed; she's getting things like thank you notes and letters. Some little girl named Sadie sends her a letter telling Trish that she wants to grow up and be a hero "just like her."
(That one she ends up stuffing into the bottom of her sock drawer. She can't bear to throw it away, but she isn't sure she wants to look at it either.)
And then one day she gets a package.
She heaves it onto her kitchen table, staring at it with a critical eye. Whatever it is, it's heavy and she's got a few worst-case scenarios bubbling in her mind. With her visibility as a real hero now, the idea of somebody trying to take her out remotely isn't that big of a stretch. Her PO box is public knowledge after all. So it's with great trepidation that she opens the box only to find boots. High-tech, metal boots, but still boots nonetheless. They match her color scheme, even.
She picks one up cautiously and a piece of paper flutters down onto the table. It reads "Thought you could use these!" and is signed with Dez's name. The only other thing in the box is an instruction booklet. She flicks through it quickly and discovers that they're some kind of rocket boots with a propulsion system that'll let her fly for upwards of ten hours at a time. People would give an arm and a leg for this kind of technology, and she's just been given it for free.
"What the hell?" she says to her dog, Prince. He doesn't respond for obvious reasons.
She still doesn't entirely trust them – it would be child's play to send her a pair of malfunctioning boots or a bomb and then just say they were from Dez – so she sends them off to Dallas, a former flame of Ally's. He works at some tech company and can easily figure out whether or not they're fakes while she plots revenge on whoever had the audacity to send her this bullshit. She's so caught up in her revenge fantasies, in fact, that it catches her off-guard when Dallas tells her they're real.
"They're good too; it must have cost you a ton of money," he says, voice slightly awed. "Where'd you even get them?"
She doesn't answer him, but the boots become a part of her hero ensemble. Whatever reasons that whackadoodle has for sending her thousands of dollars of tech, she doesn't care. And she's not about to pass up free shit because she doesn't understand why someone's giving it to her.
"You wore them!" Dez exclaims cheerfully the next time she rescues him.
"Yeah, whatever." She shrugs his enthusiasm off. "They're useful sometimes."
"That's good." He wiggles in his restraints a little, knocking his knees together. "I wasn't sure if you'd use them 'cause they don't really fit your vibe. Is it because they match your suit? That was my idea." She doesn't bother responding, but he doesn't take that as a cue to shut up. "I can probably get you some other stuff too, if you want." The expression on his face is hopeful and so so fucking earnest, like his very existence hinges on her agreeing to his idea.
"I'll think about it," she says shortly.
And thus begins their pseudo-business relationship. Grappling hooks, stun guns, utility belts, Dez provides them all. And though she doesn't want to admit it, all this tech is more helpful than she thought it would. Not constantly pushing herself to exhaustion by overusing her powers is kind of nice.
And when Dez notices that one of the rocket boosters in her boots is malfunctioning, he offers to fix it up for her. It adds another level to their relationship, where he repairs any and all her tech at no cost. When she questions where he learned all this mechanical shit, he simply grins at her and tells her it's "in his genes" while fishing an instruction manual out of his pants. She resolves to not ask any more questions. And to never let him near Ally; she thinks the combined strength of their bad jokes would kill her.
But she still doesn't understand why. Plenty of people have thanked her in some capacity for saving them; Dez is the only one to shower her in tech worth thousands of dollars. And yeah, having an inventor for a dad helps, but he wasn't asked to do this. So why?
"Maybe he just wanted to help you out?" Ally suggests with a shrug when Trish brings it up.
"But what does he gain from it? This stuff is worth a lot of money. He can't be doing this for no reason," Trish argues.
"I think his 'reason' is just that he's a nice person," Ally says.
Nice, Trish contemplates later, staring at her ceiling. Fucking nice. What is she supposed to do with that?
Sometimes fights go bad. She knows this, every person with brain cells know this. You can't win them all, despite the perfectionist in her demanding it. So when a fight with some kind of weather-themed villain goes awry, it shouldn't be a big deal. Except for the fact that she's on the other side of town from her apartment and her boots had taken a fair amount of damage from the fight, so flying is completely out of the question.
She leans back against a building, trying to ignore her pounding headache as she goes over her options. Ally is out of town, so she can't ask her to pick her up. Her family doesn't know about her identity, and she plans on keeping it that way. So…what now?
She glares at nothing in particular, only for the apartment building across the street to catch her eye. She knows that building, knows it well. It's where she's dropped off Dez every single time after she's rescued him. If she can convince him to patch her up, or at least give her a rise home…
She stumbles into the lobby of the building and realizes too late that she doesn't actually know which apartment is his. Thankfully, it's a problem that resolves itself.
"Flora?" A voice behind her asks. She turns around sure enough, Dez is standing right behind her, arms full of groceries and face full of concern. "Shit, are you okay?"
"Obviously not," she says, but most of the sarcasm is lost to the pain in her voice. He raises her hand to her hairline and- wow, that's a lot of blood. "Just-" and the words sting like she's swallowed hot coals- "I need your help."
"Me?" he asks, dumbfounded. She doesn't dignify that with a response and he takes that as his cue to lead her to his apartment. He does a fantastic job of fishing out his keys and only dropping about half his groceries on the ground with each worried look he sends her. He kicks a fallen bag of Crunchkins past the threshold before ushering her inside.
She takes a seat on the couch as Dez starts rummaging around in his kitchen cabinets and she has to admit that his apartment is more…normal than she was expecting. If you told her to imagine Dez's apartment, she'd imagine some messy bachelor pad, papered floor to ceiling with Zaliens posters. Or like, a well-kept ditch. Instead his apartment is just…a nice, small-ish studio apartment. Like yeah, there is a Zaliens poster hanging above the bed and none of the furniture really seems to match, but there aren't any red flags that scream "this guy doesn't believe in zebras."
Something slams down beside her, jostling her from her thoughts. Dez has pulled up a chair directly in front of and is digging through the almost comically large gray first-aid kit sitting beside her on the couch.
"Why the fuck do you need an industrial sized first-aid kit?" she asks.
Dez shoots her a half-annoyed look that doesn't entirely mask his concern. "It's not a first-aid kit, it's my zombie survival kit." He pulls out a smaller white box. "This is a first-aid kit."
She mouths "this is a first-aid kit" sarcastically, but he either doesn't see it or chooses not to acknowledge it. He carefully tends to the wounds in her hands, face screwing up into an expression more serious than she's ever seen on him. However, when he moves on to her head wound, that expression melts into something far more nervous.
"I need to take your mask off to deal with the one on your head," he says, anxiously spooling and unspooling a roll of gauze.
She hesitates. For small-time heroes like her, secret identities are everything. They're your only protection, your civilian life's only safeguard against your hero life. So it's with great reluctance that she tells him "Fine."
Dez's fingers find the seam between her mask and the rest of her body suit and – Jesus, his hands are cold – quickly tugs upward, pulling the mask off her head entirely. Her curls tumble loose and Dez brushes them back with a brusqueness that speaks more about how focused he is than any kind of genuine callousness. She winces when the antiseptic hits her open wound, but quickly brushes off Dez's look of concern. She's already tread over the unspoken boundary declaring that their relationship is purely professional; she's not going to show any more vulnerability than she already has.
After a few minutes, his hands drop from her forehead, but instead of backing out of her personal space completely, they take ahold of her chin, turning her face this way and that. She bats at his hands, making annoyed noises, but he doesn't release her until he's satisfied with his inspection.
"All done!" he proclaims after a minute, brushing off his hands. Then his face grows serious again. "But you really should go to a hospital or something."
She waves him off, flopping back against his couch. "I'll be fine. You went to med school, didn't you?"
Dez startles and she remembers that this is the first time he's heard her speak without a modulator. "I dropped out," he deadpans after a moment. "Also, this is not at all what they teach you at med school."
"Doesn't matter, you did good." The compliment slips out of Trish's mouth before she can help it. Thankfully, Dez doesn't seem to register it.
Instead, he starts packing up a zombie survival kit. "But still, what if you have brain damage, or I used the wrong kind of band-aids or-"
"Oh my god," she groans. "If I agree to go to a doctor at some point later today, will you shut up?"
He pauses, seemingly contemplating her offer. "Fine," he agrees, taking a seat on the couch beside her.
"You know I'm a grown woman, right?" She asks rhetorically. "You don't need to worry about me."
"Yeah, well." He looks away. "Someone should."
She doesn't know what to say to that, so they just sit there quietly for a little bit. Trish studies Dez's ceiling; there's a weird stain and a sticky hand directly above her. And then, once it becomes clear her distraction isn't distracting enough, she breaks the silence building between them. "Trish."
She still isn't looking directly at him, so she can't see the confused look on his face, but she can imagine it well enough.
"My civilian name. My…real name. It's Trish," she explains. At this she does turn to actually look at him and sees that his eyes have gone very, very wide and shit, she needs to nip this in the bud before it becomes a Thing. "Figured if you've seen my face, you might as well know my name too," she says, nonchalant.
Unfortunately, her bud nipping could use some work. Dez grows all teary-eyed and says something incomprehensible about them "bonding" before pulling her into a tight hug.
And even though she complains loudly about it, she returns the embrace.
So the whole "keeping their relationship strictly professional" thing doesn't really work. She wants to blame him, but she really can't; she's the one who asked for his help, is the one they pushed their relationship into something more than equipment repairs and rescues.
They start hanging out sometimes. Just casual meet-ups at a diner or a movie theater. It's nothing big, but it still happens and even though she'd take this secret to the grave, she starts looking forward to seeing Dez in non-life threatening circumstances. Sure, he's annoying as hell, but it's been awhile since she's had any friends outside of Ally and the guy's seen her injured and knows her alter ego so really, going to see a movie with him every once in a while isn't that big a deal.
Or, at least, it shouldn't be. Because while 90% of what comes out of Dez's mouth is pure nonsense, that remaining 10% starts to paint a rather familiar picture. He just…says shit sometimes, about how she's the only person to have seen his short films, or how he's never had someone to go to the premier of the new Zaliens movie with him since his buddy Austin moved to LA, and she gets the distinct impression that he's been as lonely as she has. Every invitation to hang out is met with boundless enthusiasm, like being in her presence is on par with winning the lottery.
It's equal parts weird and flattering.
The first time she agrees to go to the movies with him, it's only because Ally won't see the latest horror movie with her and she doesn't feel like paying for her own popcorn. She shows up fifteen minutes after they're supposed to meet and five minutes before the movie starts; being punctual isn't exactly her thing.
"Trish!" Dez cries, racing over to her. He sweeps her into a brief hug and then pulls back, hands still around her shoulders. "I thought you weren't going to show up!"
"Hands off," she says, brushing him off her. He lets go without complaint. He tilts his head, eyes darting across her outfit. "What?" she snaps.
"Nothing," he shrugs. "I've just never seen you out of uniform before. Your outfit's very…loud." Her eyes narrow at him. "And pretty!" he adds hurriedly. "Loud and pretty! Fashionable. Stylish. Cool. Uh, did I already say fashionable?"
She rolls her eyes at his attempts to placate her. "Let's go, Mr. Thesaurus."
She grabs his arm and pulls him into the theater, ignoring his question of "Did you just call me a dinosaur?"
And from there it just keeps happening. He has got to be the weirdest, most obnoxious person she's ever met, but once you got past that, he's actually kind of…fun. He isn't boring, at least, and if there's something Trish can't stand, it's boring. The kind of things be drags her to and tells her are not things she would've thought of in a thousand years and half the time she doesn't understand what the hell is going through his mind, but there's no doubt that they're interesting.
There's also the fact that he doesn't have completely terrible taste. Obviously they agree the Zaliens franchise is a cinematic masterpiece, but that's not all. He's an avid watcher of Crime and Judgement and even owns the collector's edition box set (something she is privately kind of jealous of.) They have the same favorite restaurant and the same favorite number, though she does briefly consider cutting him out of her life when she discovers what his favorite pizza topping is. What kind of madman willingly puts mushrooms on pizza?
So yeah, they're friends, kind of. She makes sure to tack on that kind of even though Dez has started referring to them as BFFs because…well, she doesn't entirely know why, it just feels important to keep that degree of separation.
(It maybe, possibly, has something to do with the stab of fear the she feels after he's kidnapped for the first time since the start of…whatever this was.)
She almost laughs when he tells her about his job one day at Melody's Diner.
"What?" he asks, eyebrows quirking.
"It's so cliché," she says, stealing one of his fries. He swipes her drink from her in response. "You know, you work at for a newspaper, I'm a superhero."
His eyes widen in realization. "Like Lois Lane and Superman!"
"Yeah." A smirk slips onto her face. "Though I'd hardly count writing a relationship advice column as hard-hitting journalism."
His face twists into an annoyed pout. "Hey! I'll have you know that Dr. Cupid has helped hundreds of people."
"Yeah, help them know which advice columnists are full of shit."
They make fun of each other for a while longer, break into a brief argument over who has to pay (Dez ends up forking over the cash) and then wander off to a nearby park. Dez gets distracted by a herd of geese and immediately abandons her. He tries to coax one closer by offering it a saltine that was in his pocket for some reason, only to trip and fall forward into the pond. He stands up, soaking wet and laughing. He goes to walk out, but trips again when she wills some of the seaweed to wrap around his ankle.
"Cheater!" he shouts, sputtering water. He scoops a handful of pondweeds and throws it at her, but it goes wide and lands about three feet to her right.
"Dick!" she shouts back. A vine rises up and smacks the back of his head.
And then she gets a weird feeling, one of those 'somebody walking on your grave' feelings where the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your brain is screaming something's wrong! But the can't quite place what's causing it. She looks around and while they certainly aren't the only ones in the park, nobody around them looks suspicious. The only thing off-putting isn't even a thing, it's just…a faint movement in the trees, black fabric against shadows. But when she looks closer, there's nothing there.
"Trish?" Dez calls out, concerned. "What's up?"
She shakes it off. "Nothing."
The feeling still doesn't go away.
The partner thing is…new. Some upcoming hero by the name of T-Fame offers to become a duo and since she's becoming more serious about the hero thing, she accepts. She needs back-up and he's not bad in a fight, considering he has the power of flight and a bit of super strength. But that's it, that's the only reason she agrees to partner with him despite what Ally's teasing comments suggest. However, she has to admit that the whole "he's only my back-up" thing is becoming harder to remember the more time they spend together. He's sweet and seems in genuine awe of her powers. He's nice and flirty in a way that a lot of guys aren't, not to her, at least.
And apparently, Ally isn't the only one that notices her and T-Fame's budding…something.
"So are you and T-Fame like, together?" Dez asks around the pins in his mouth. He's repairing her suit since, in addition to having the tech skills to maintain all her equipment, he also makes a pretty mean tailor, and works for way cheaper than her usual guy.
"What are you talking about?" she asks, idly flipping through one of the pulpy romance novels strewn throughout Dez's apartment. This one seems to have a lot of swooning and dripping in it.
"I dunno, you guys always look super friendly on the news." He pauses, and a goofy grin creeps over his face. "You get it? Super friendly? 'Cause you guys are superheroes."
"I get it." She rolls her eyes. "And I look friendly with everyone on camera."
Dez looks unconvinced, probably because he's never fully grasped the concept of putting on a nice persona for the public, no matter how many times she's explained it to him. "That doesn't mean you don't like him."
Her face heats up and it's not because of the raunchy scene she had flipped to in the book. Dez always has a way of unerringly honing in on the things she's trying to keep hidden, even when he isn't trying. "It doesn't mean anything, you doof."
"I'm just saying, you guys would make a cute couple." His voice comes out as an annoying sing-song and she chucks the novel at him. It misses, probably because she wasn't aiming that well, and it doesn't deter Dez in the slightest as he goes all starry-eyed. "Two heroes, saving everyone with the power of love…"
"You're so weird," she informs him. He beams at her in response.
However, despite her protests that they're just partners, when T-Fame asks her out, she accepts. She hasn't really dated anyone since she became Flora; a few dates here and there, but nothing serious, and certainly never with anyone who met her as Flora. Neither of them are keen on sharing their civilian identities quite yet, so they go on dates in their supersonas. And it's weirdly…freeing, going out with a guy that already knows she's a hero. With someone who gets how stressful this sort of life is. Ally and Dez are great, but neither of them have actually ever been heroes. So sure, they can't go out to restaurants or the movies, but he can take her flying throughout Miami and that almost makes up for it.
But then she starts noticing something…off about T-Fame.
It starts when Dez is kidnapped for the umpteenth time. It's some low-level villain this time who claims he wants Dez's dad to build him some new weapons, but she figures he just wants the attention and glory. After all, all press is good press. He has telekinesis and is using it to dangle Dez off the side of the building they're on. Trish isn't a fan of rooftop battles since, unless the owner of the building is really into rooftop gardens, her powers are virtually useless and she has to rely on her physical weapons far more than she likes. Thankfully, with T-Fame here, it's not as much of an uphill battle.
The clashing sounds wash over her; Dez's repetitive cries of "no, no, no", the traffic on the street below, the whirr of a drone, probably from a news station trying to get a good look at the hottest news. She tries to tune it all out, shifting her weight and considering her options. She needs to somehow trick this clown into bringing Dez back to the rooftop so she can incapacitate him without risking Dez falling. That or she can just have T-Fame fly out and grab Dez while she deals with this wannabe-villain. She fingers the stun-gun on her holster and just as she comes to a decision-
T-Fame lunges. The villain crumples in the face of his supernatural strength, but Trish doesn't have time to celebrate their victory. With the telekinetic powers keeping him afloat now out of the picture, Dez plummets and Trish's heart follows suit. She runs to the edge of the roof, reaching out for the mental third arm of her powers and yanking. An enormous vine – a beanstalk, almost – shoots out of the ground, sending cracks through the asphalt and overturning any debris in the road. It snags Dez out of the air and Trish falls to her knees, drained by exerting her powers so much. With her last bit of strength, she wills the vine to set Dez gently down on the street below.
"Flora?" She hears from behind her. She turns around to find T-Fame staring at her. His domino mask only covers his eyes, so she has a clear view of the guilt written across his face. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking-"
"No shit," she snaps. He winces at her tone and looks down at his feet.
"Is he okay?" he asks, still not looking up.
"Yeah." She struggles to her feet. "No thanks to you."
He doesn't respond and they make their way to the ground floor of the building. The second they step onto the street, they're crowded by reporters and T-Fame's guilty demeanor seems to melt off him. Normally she would join him in soaking up the reporters' praise and questions, but right now she isn't in the mood and slinks off when T-Fame starts recounting their "daring" rescue of Dez.
She finds Dez in the shadow of her beanstalk, also probably hiding from reporters. Being asked to relive your most recent trauma on live TV so some news network can get higher ratings isn't exactly fun. She summons a patch of dandelions to sit on and drops down heavily, closing her eyes and leaning back against the plant. After a moment, Dez sits down next to her, crossing his legs neatly.
"Are you…okay?" he asks cautiously. "Because the whole giant plant was cool- like really, really cool. Have you ever wanted to be in a movie? Because I have this idea for a plant-themed alien race-"
"Is there a point to this?" she asks without opening her eyes.
"Right, sorry." Dez coughs and the enthusiasm drains from his voice. "But I bet it was also really exhausting. So, I'm just…wondering if you're okay."
She cracks her eyes open and looks at him. "You're the one who was just dropped off a twenty-story building. I think I should be asking if you're okay.
He narrows his eyes at her. "You're avoiding the question. But yes, I'm fine."
"I can see the tear-tracks, Dez."
He stiffens, then quickly scrubs at his face with his sleeve. "Allergies. I'm probably allergic to…whatever kind of plant this is."
"Allergies that make you cry and nothing else," she asks dryly.
"Yep," he responds, unflinching. "Super rare. I'm like, one in seventeen billion."
She chuckles. "You dork."
He grins at her but doesn't respond. She can hear the reporters still clamoring over T-Fame and it annoys her, like a swarm of buzzing gnats that never go away.
"You wanna get out of here?" she asks. "Get some food?"
Dez looks surprised, and then a radiant smile crosses over his face. "Absolutely! Let's go."
"Alright. You're paying," she informs him.
He seems to contemplate that for a second. "Deal!" He bounces to his feet and then pales, one hand going to rub his back.
"Old man back?" she jokes. Dez doesn't respond, not even with a glare or a crack about her attitude. "Dez?" Concern slips into her voice.
"I'm fine," he says, voice slightly strained. "I think the vine was just a little rough catching me."
"Oh." She kicks a piece of rubble. "Sorry."
His brows quirk and he looks genuinely surprised at her apology. "Why are you sorry? You literally saved my life. And besides, T-Fame is the one that attacked as soon as he saw that news drone."
His words shake something loose inside her, make her start connecting pieces she hadn't even realized made up a bigger puzzle. "What was that?"
"Remember, he tackled Mr. Telekinetic what's-his-face and that's why I fell?" He crosses his arm, impatience evident. "You were there, Trish."
"I was talking," she starts through gritted teeth, "about the drone, you idiot."
"Oh." He blinks. "You didn't notice? He only made his move because he saw the drone." He turns toward T-Fame and his gaggle of reporters. "Gotta look good for the cameras, right?"
"Yeah," she agrees hesitantly, even though hearing her words in this context makes her feel a little sick.
Because she gets putting on a show for the cameras, hyping up her powers to get a little publicity. She understand that; hell, that's what the majority of her job is! It's the whole…'interfering with the mission and risking people's lives' that makes her uncomfortable. She may not have asked to be a hero, but she is one now and nobody is getting hurt because of her. And the idea that her kind of-boyfriend is willing to gamble in dangerous situations so he looks better on screen is…unsettling. But she'll talk to him about it.
(And maybe deal with any Dez situations by herself.)
It'll be fine.
It hasn't been a very good day so far.
She hadn't slept well the night before because of…personal reasons. So she was already feeling pretty shitty when she found out about…other personal stuff. Basically, there was just a whole of personal shit going on in Trish's life that she 100% did not want to deal with, so being called because some stupid tech rival of Dennis Wade decided to take Dez hostage is really just the cherry on top of the shit cake.
She takes down the guards outside the warehouse where Dez is being kept with ease, using thin saplings to bind their legs and disarm them. Once inside, she systematically moves from room to room, knocking out anyone she sees with a combination of her powers and Dez's equipment until she finally finds Dez and the Head Idiot. She gives Dez a quick once-over: gagged, handcuffed to a pipe, but no worse for the wear.
"Ah, Ms. Flora," Head Idiot purrs. "We were expecting you."
Unfortunately for him, she isn't in the mood for banter.
He raises a gun at her, but a sunflower slaps it out of his hand before he has a chance to fire. She clenches her fist and a garden's worth of thorny vines erupt from the floor. They wind around his body and close around his throat, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.
"Flora!" a voice shouts. She whips around, fire in her eyes, only to find Dez looking back at her. He's somehow managed to get his gag off and the expression on his face teeters between concern and fear. "You're killing him."
He's right; Head Idiot is currently turning blue, his breathing becoming labored. She relaxes the vines and he drops like a stone.
"He's alive," she calls to Dez. "I think," she adds under her breath. She checks his pulse and heaves a sigh of relief when she finds one.
Dez eyes her warily as she starts searching the unconscious body for the key to his cuffs. It's as she's freeing his hands that he hesitantly asks her if she's okay.
"I'm fine," she snaps. She jabs angrily at the keyhole, missing it several times.
His gaze drifts to the prone form she left in the middle of the room. "I can see that."
She huffs, frustrated. "It's just some…personal shit. I'm not getting into it."
"Aw." He pouts at her. "Does someone need a hug?"
"Not from you," she says, finally managing to unlock the cuffs. He rubs his sore wrists, but his eyes don't leave her.
"Does someone need to talk about her problems with her BFF?" Dez asks, fluttering his eyelashes in a way she thinks he thinks is charming.
"No," she says flatly. "I just want to go home."
The flight back is a little awkward. Her rocket boots had really only been designed with one person in mind, so having to carry someone else made things needlessly difficult. She'd tried a couple different ways, and most of them turned out poorly. Carrying Dez under the armpits lead to too much dangling and control issues; carrying him with his legs around her waist had been uncomfortable for both of them and she hadn't been able to see well around his head. So, even though it isn't the first choice for either one of them, bridal style works the best.
She touches down outside her apartment building and Dez clumsily removes himself from her arms. She turns to him, feeling tired in just about every way possible. "You can catch a bus back to your apartment, right?"
"Yeah, orrr…" He scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Maybe we could hang out here for a little bit?"
She blinks. "Why?" she demands, voice sharp.
"Because…we're friends?" His voice rises a little. She crosses her arms; she knows Dez well and knows that he wouldn't be this nervous about just asking her to hang out. His weak façade quickly crumbles. "Okay, so you were kind of…scary back there. And whatever it is you're dealing with, I don't want you to be dealing with it alone."
He folds his hands into a pleading gesture. She rolls her eyes and waves him inside, making sure to stay far enough ahead of him that he won't be able to see the confused, slightly fond look on her face. He was just kidnapped, and he's still more concerned for her. What a doof.
She changes into her civilian clothes as soon as she gets to her apartment, flinging her suit into the hamper with more force than strictly necessary. When she goes back into the living room, she finds Dez holding Prince in his lap, cooing to him in that very distinct talking-to-an-animal-voice. She drops onto the couch next to him, which is when Dez seems to notice her presence.
"You didn't tell me you had a dog." And he sounds outright offended, as though not telling him about her pets is some terrible betrayal.
"Must've slipped my mind," she grumbles sarcastically. She closes her eyes and lifts a hand to her forehead, already regretting letting Dez in.
"You're forgiven." He shrugs, immediately bouncing back to his usual cheerful demeanor. "I wish I had a dog. I haven't had one since Rufus died in the…third grade? No, wait, it was the same year as Austin's Umbrella Incident, so it must've been the fourth grade. I mean, there was the robot guard dog prototype, but that wasn't really the same, y'know?"
There's far too many questionable things in that rambling tangent for Trish to focus on, so she settles on simply asking, "Robot guard dog?"
"Yeah! My dad built it, but then it got stuck on 'attack' mode. Tore the hell out of my leg; I had to get like, eight stitches." This only leads to more questions, especially considering the fond tone Dez tells the story with, as though he's recalling a nostalgic childhood memory. But his energetic demeanor is already starting to get on her nerves and she isn't in the mood for more of his ramblings.
Thankfully, Dez also seems dissuaded from their conversation, mostly out of distraction rather than an active attempt to end it. He finds one of Prince's chew toys and starts playing with the dog, throwing it halfway across her apartment for Prince to catch. Unfortunately, Prince tires out before Dez does and the redhead bounces back to her, dropping onto the couch with all the elegance of an elephant with a broken leg. A thorny wave of irritation washes over her, especially when he starts to speak.
"We should do something. Do you want to do something? Go somewhere?" he asks eagerly. She groans because this was the annoying part of being friends with Dez; the guy was like an unceasing fount of energy and it was just exhausting sometimes. "…is that a yes?"
"No! God, what is wrong with you? Do you constantly think to yourself "how can I be the most annoying person on earth and piss off anyone who has the displeasure of meeting me?" She snarls, her frustrations bubbling over and spilling over to the nearest target.
"Someone's prickly today," Dez says. She'd been expecting for him to argue back or start crying, so his cheery tone just makes her even angrier.
"Fuck you. Get out." The words come out with steel and finality that makes Dez flinch. She revels in that fact, and then hates herself for it.
He tilts his head, concern overtaking his features. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, you bozo," she snaps. He remains undeterred.
"Yeah, right. You don't get this mad for no reason unless something is seriously wrong." She glowers at him. He doesn't notice, bouncing a little in his seat. "Ooh, if I guess, will you tell me?"
"No."
Despite that, Dez starts guessing every probable reason for her problems, and then every improbable reason. She scowls at him, ignoring every word that comes out of his mouth. However, after twenty or so guesses, he finally cries "T-Fame" and she can't help it; she flinches.
"A-ha! It's about T-Fame!" he cries victoriously, jabbing a finger at her. There's a moment of silence, and then he slowly begins to deflate as he realizes that he shouldn't be celebrating. "Oh." Another pause. "What happened?"
She picks at her fingernails, Ally's phone call to her this morning playing through her mind on a loop. The fact that it had come right after a particular brutal nightmare just twists the knife in a little deeper. Trish's next words come out feeling like they've been dipped in poison. "It turns out he was cheating on me. He didn't even care about me, he just wanted to use me to boost his own hero cred."
She hates everything about this, hates the tears brimming in her eyes and hates the way her voice is constantly threatening to break. She hates the fact that this happened at all, that she spent an hour crying about it to Ally this morning. Hates that she was so naive, that she'd actually trusted him enough to get on a civilian-name basis; no last names, no masks off, just first names, but still. She hates that she feels so weak, that she's breaking down in front of Dez of all people and that he's looking her with that soft, concerned look he rarely donned.
"That's terrible," he whispers, wrapping an arm around her. She doesn't even protest and the arm turns into two, pulling her close to his chest. She remains still as a stone, but that doesn't stop Dez from slowly combing his fingers through her hair. "He doesn't deserve you. Anyone who would treat you like that doesn't even deserve to know your name."
She sighs, having heard the exact same sentiments from Ally earlier. "Thanks, Dez. And honestly, I'm fine now."
"No, you're not." His voice abruptly blunt. He pulls back, holding her at arm's length by the shoulders so he can look her in the eyes. The concern on his face melts into something more sharp and serious; no less caring, but surprisingly more fierce. More than she would expect from him. "And you don't have to act like you are. I meant what I said; you're amazing. You're a kick-ass superhero and even if your taste in pizza toppings sucks, you're basically the best person I've ever met. You're always saving people – saving me – and never asking for anything in return and anyone who doesn't see how awesome you are isn't worth it."
Neither his eyes nor his voice waver, locking on to her completely like she's a black hole, sucking in all his attention. It's…strangely intense and she's somehow both relieved and disappointed when he breaks eye contact to pull her into another hug.
And even though she refuses to wallow in her hurt feelings, Dez's words stick with her. You're amazing he'd said, with all the conviction in the world, like it was a fact of the universe.
(She thinks she believes him, almost.)
The first time Dez is kidnapped as bait for her is…disconcerting.
He just disappears one day. Not entirely unusual, but then there's no ransom. No threats to his family, no list of demands, nothing. After a few days of radio silence Trish starts to worry because it's not like Dez would disappear without telling her anyone, but usually the kidnapper makes their motive known by now. It takes a week for the kidnapper to make contact in the form of a single, unmarked manila envelope in Trish's mail. She opens it despite her better judgment and what she finds makes her heart drop.
Photos of Dez, dozens and dozens of them. Dez, waiting in a line at a smoothie shop. Dez, flinging a mass of pondweeds at her. Dez, talking on the phone as he rode a bus. They're all snapshots of random, mundane moments, but compiled all together, they make Trish sick to her stomach. Whoever had taken him had been planning this for months, maybe ever since she first rescued him. The last photo, however, is what makes Trish's nausea turn into cold, unfiltered fury: Dez, bound, gagged, and unconscious in what she assumes is the back of a van.
The only other item is a note that reads What a sweetheart! It'd be such a shame if something happened to him followed by an address. The i's and exclamation point are dotted with little hearts and it enrages her more than it should.
The whole things reeks trap, setting off every warning bell and red flag that Trish knows. But the idea of Dez being in serious danger lights something inside her, an angry, all-consuming fire that she doesn't think will ever go out if she doesn't find him. As she starts packing up her gear, her hands hesitate for a second over the tools Dez made her and her heart twists. He'll be fine. He has to be.
The motel is, admittedly, pretty unexpected. It's always like, abandoned warehouses or office buildings or shit that Dez is taken to. This is the kind of hellhole that she would expect teenagers to check into after prom night, which she supposes it why it was chosen; it was completely inconspicuous in every way. She pounds on the room number given to her and the door immediately swings open.
"Well there you are!" The kidnapper says cheerfully, as though she is simply a relative late for Thanksgiving dinner. She's quickly ushered into the room and Trish begins to assess her enemies.
She recognizes them immediately: Zig and Zag, a pair of twins who present themselves as a cheesy, feel-good superhero duo. They're big enough heroes that their civilian names (Billie and Bobbie) are common knowledge and they're mostly known for their charity projects and flashy demonstrations of their powers. They don't do much actual hero work and honestly their cutesy sibling shtick makes her sick, but as a former fellow corporate hero she can respect the hustle at least; everyone knows they're getting paid big bucks for all their media appearances. So kidnapping is a…confusing change of pace to say the least.
She shifts into a fighting stance, allowing some of her vines to creep into the room, slowly slinking in through the cracks in the windowsill and the doorway. Her eyes dart between the two of them, but their costumes are kind of dizzying. Billie has a black costume with white accents while Bobbie's costume is a inverse of the same color scheme. But, nonetheless, she asks in her most threatening tone, "Where's Dez?"
"Why, right behind you, silly!" Bobbie says, her tone far too sweet and cheery for this situation.
Wary of having her enemies to her back, she waits until they cross the room before turning around. And there, leaning against one of the beds with his knees pulled to his chest is Dez. Like usual, he's tied up, duct tape over his mouth and hands bound behind his back. What's not usual is his complete lack of reaction. Most of the time he at least brightens up at her appearance, or tries to talk to her through his gag. Now, his head simply lolls a little as he looks at with a glazed, blank expression.
"What the hell did you do to him?" she shouts, unable to keep a tinge of fear out of her tone.
Billie smiles, all teeth and condescension. "Well, he was getting awfully out of sorts while we waiting for you, screaming and carrying on."
"So we just gave him a little something to calm him down," Bobbie continues for her brother. "But he'll be right as rain, providing you don't do anything stupid."
She has feeling punching Bobbie through the wall would count as "something stupid." She unclenches her fists, trying to look an unintimidating as possible even as she slowly, carefully begins to let her powers go wild beneath the ground they were standing on. "So why am I here? You bozos know I don't have any connections to Dez's family, right? You're better off giving your ultimatum to them directly." The words come out smoothly – don't let them see you're scared.
"We're not here for them, you silly goose " Bobbie says and seriously if Trish is called 'silly' again, she's going to rip this motel off its foundations. "We wanted to talk to you."
"Cool. You know I have a phone, right?" she says, the banter coming easy to her as she tries to subtly edge towards Dez.
"We thought this had a better chance of getting your attention," Billie says, anticipating her plan and drawing closer to Dez as well.
"Well, I'm here now. What do you want to talk about?" She pauses in her movements toward Dez, but continues to build up roots and vines under the floorboards.
"Your job. We were thinking, ain't it so unfair that you're the one always saving the city, always saving people's lives, and yet you don't get a lick of thanks for it?" Billie's voice drips with sympathy. Trish feels a bit of righteous indignation rise up inside her. She was the one always the one putting her life on the line, and she wasn't even paid for it!
"It must be so tiring," Bobbie continues. "All that work with no reward." Trish's eyelids feel heavy- being a hero is kind of exhausting.
"That's why we were thinking," Billie says. "Maybe it's time for someone else to take over. Someone who could keep the city in good hands."
Trish nods slowly. It makes sense, doesn't it? She's unhappy being a hero, but someone else would love to take her job. Someone who cares about keeping people safe, someone with powers…someone like Billie and Bobbie. They're perfect fits, and it'll be an enormous weight off her shoulders. She opens her mouth-
-only for a low groan to interrupt her. It's Dez, the sound barely audible through his gag. His heads tips forward like its suddenly too heavy for his neck and ends up landing on his knees. He suddenly, forcefully reminds Trish of why she's here and who exactly she's dealing with. The fog clears from her mind as she eyes the twins in front of her. Emotional manipulation powers, of course.
"Was that your big plan?" she asks. Their faces drop in surprise. "Lure me here to manipulate me into giving you my job as a hero?"
Bobbie's voice is cloying as she tries to explain, "Oh honey, it's nothing like that-"
"Bullshit!" Trish interrupts, voice as sharp and unrelenting as a knife. "If you two clowns want to be heroes so bad, then fucking save people instead of kidnapping them!"
"Now, now, I think you're blowing things out of proportion here," Billie says reproachfully, like he's scolding a child.
Trish clenches her fists, feeling her vines bubble ever closer to the surface – she just need to stall a little longer. "Really? Because I'm sure everyone would love to hear how Miami's favorite wholesome twin heroes kidnapped an innocent bystander just to blackmail me."
Bobbie smiles, thin and brittle, "I'd think twice before trying to sell that story. Why, as far as Billie and I know, we were just saving your little friend from another kidnapping when you jumped in and made everything so much more complicated."
"Yeah, and I don't think Dez here is going to be much help as a witness," Billie says, petting the top of Dez's head like he's a dog. Trish growls.
"Don't touch him," she snarls.
"Of course, we'd never hurt a hair on his head," Bobbie says, offended, as though she is genuinely distressed by the idea.
"Of course," Billie shrugs. "You know how quickly these things can go south."
Bobbie nods in faux-somber agreement and it's another subtle-as-a-brick-wall message: if Trish doesn't let them take over as the main heroes of Miami, they'll kill Dez.
Thankfully, Trish has a message of her own: I'll fucking destroy you.
Her plants burst through the threadbare carpet like a volcano of foliage, coiling around Billie and Bobbie's bodies. Their limbs are bound together and their heads are slammed into the ground, just hard enough to knock them out. Trish breaths out, letting all the tension in her body dissipate. She's exhausted from using so much of her powers, but she still rushes over to Dez as fast as her feet will allow. She yanks the tape off his mouth and he blinks at her blearily, like he's having trouble focusing on her.
"Ow," he mumbles after a minute, like the pain has just registered for him. She quickly unties the ropes around his wrists.
"C'mon, let's go, Dez," she says, pulling him to his feet. He sways and then stumbles into her shoulder. It's clear that he's not going be standing on his own for a while, so she shoulders most of his weight. She wraps an arm around his waist and he still lists like a sinking ship, tripping over his own feet and nearly dragging her down with him.
Somehow, despite how suspicious the two of them look, they're able to stumble out of the motel without any interference from the staff. Trish carefully lowers Dez to the ground, becoming increasingly concerned about the way his eyes keep rolling to the back of his head as she whips out her phone to call an ambulance. After being absolutely useless when it comes to the EMT's questions (yes, she thinks he's been drugged; no, she doesn't know what kind, or how much he's consumed, or how long they've been in his system, or if he has any allergies, will they please just take him to a doctor?), Dez is hurried off to the closest hospital. And Trish stays where she is, staring at a dandelion growing in a crack in the sidewalk and counting backwards from twenty over and over again until she doesn't feel like crying.
She doesn't go to the hospital after that. Instead, she calls Dez's family, still staring at the dandelion, and tells them where their son has been for the past week. There's choked up gasp from Mrs. Wade and then a quiet "Oh, God" before thanking Trish and then hanging up, presumably to go visit Dez at the hospital. Trish, on the other hand, heads home, changes into her civilian clothes, and watches trashy TV to distract herself from everything that had happened today.
When she finally does visit Dez, it is long after visiting hours are over. She finds out from his mom which room he's in and uses her vines to scale the building. From there it's a bit of simple lockpicking on the window and she's in. The darkness of the room obscures her form and Dez startles when he sees her, holding up his pillow as a shield.
"Please don't hurt me!" he shrieks. "I just got done being kidnapped for a week and I need to water my plants!"
"Relax, you doof," she says, dropping into one of the chairs scattered around the room. "It's just me."
He peeks out from behind the pillow and immediately his defensive demeanor drops. "Oh thank God," He places the pillow back behind him and leans against it. His voice brightens like nothing out of the ordinary is happening. "Hi, Trish."
"Your plants, seriously?" Trish asks with a raised brow. "That's what you're worried about?"
"Spider plants need to be watered regularly," Dez counters defensively. She laughs at seriousness in his voice and Dez joins in and everything feels a little less awful.
She wipes the tears from her eyes and Dez does the same and honestly it wasn't even that funny but after this total trainwreck, shitstorm of a week, she'll take anything she can get. They finally manage to calm down and Dez sends her look that she can't entirely read in the dark.
"So, uh, you know visiting hours are over right?" He asks and there's the slightest tinge of high-pitched fear in his voice, like he's worried about crossing her.
"I know," she says with a roll of her eyes. "I figured you'd want some time with your family first, and I didn't want to reveal my identity to them."
"Or you just wanted me alone, in the dark," Dez suggests with his features twisted into a joking smirk.
"Shut up," she laughs, swatting at his shoulder. She misses. "Damn it, it's too dark in here."
"Here, I'll turn the lights on," Dez offers and before she can tell him that's a bad idea, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He stills, the sudden movement proving to be too much for his still-weak body. One hand grips the bed to steady himself while the other drifts upward to clutch at the side of his head. His breathing stutters for a moment before becoming very slow and deliberate.
"…I'll get it," Trish says quietly after Dez doesn't move from his position. She crosses the room to flick the lights switch on and during that time, Dez slowly crawls back into the bed.
"Sorry," Dez mumbles once she returns to her chair. "I don't think the drugs have completely left my system yet."
Trish nods, staying mute for a couple minute before…"Do you…remember anything?"
His eyebrows furrow in concentration and a crease appears in the skin between them. "Not really. I remember that you were there at the end." Her heart lifts a bit; if Dez actually remembers what happened… "And then I think there was a zebra…" And her heart crashes back into the floor.
"Figured as much," she says, leaning back in her chair.
"I was drugged!" Dez says defensively. Like, way too defensively.
"I wasn't blaming you," she says. Blotchy patches of pink appear on his cheeks, like they always do when he misunderstands her.
His fingers fiddle with his IV tube and Trish wants to tell him to quit it before he ends up ripping it out. "So, what did they want from my dad this time?"
It's an expected question, but not one she wants to answer. She can easily lie to him, but considering he just lost a week of his life playing bait for two idiots' trap, she really can't justify telling him anything but the truth. "It wasn't for your dad. They took you…to get to me."
His eyes widen. "Oh." He yanks a little harder at his IV. "They thought they could use me as bait for you?"
"Yeah." And it feels like this conversation is hurtling towards something too heavy, too important and serious, so she follows up with, "Ridiculous right?"
She knows immediately that it's the wrong thing to say and hurt flashes over Dez's face before his eyes drop to his lap. "Yeah, ridiculous," he agrees, his voice coming out as a ragged whisper.
And- and she can fix this. She can take her words back, tell Dez that he matters to her so much that it hurts, that she would walk into a thousand traps if it meant he would be safe. She can apologize, she can stop pretending that he's just some guy that she keeps rescuing, can admit that she cares about him.
But.
But he was just kidnapped because people thought the two of them were close, were more than just acquaintances. He'll never have a moment of peace if she admits that what they have is more than just smoke and mirrors. He could die just because someone wants to get even with her.
So she doesn't fix it, doesn't tell him all the things she wants to say and he wants to hear. Instead she just tells him he probably wants his rest and walks out, trying to ignore his eyes on her back.
That's right! This isnt even the full fic! I told you it got long. I've already written the majority of part 2, so I hopefully I'll be able to upload that by the end of next week. Also if you liked this fic, or if you noticed any glaring errors, feel free to drop a review - they really make my day!
