Yeah, I know, I said I was going to update by the end of last week. Consistent update schedules aren't my thing, okay?

Anyway, trigger warnings for this chapter: more kidnappings, nightmares/panic attacks, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to smoking weed, and one character getting seriously injured after an attempt at self-sacrifice

There's a happy ending, I swear


She wakes up crying.

She wakes up, tears streaming down her face and unable to catch her breath. Images flash through her mind – Ally, teary-eyed and furious as she gestures toward someone's prone form, "Look at what you've done" – and she fumbles for her phone, barely able to see her contacts. Her shaky fingers press one and – Bobbie, with a simpering smile on her face, hissing "You could've stopped this, you know" through clenched teeth – she waits through the customary three rings – Dez, hands tied and utterly helpless. Dez, slumped against a wall, not moving. Dez, not breathing – "Hello?"

The scratchy, tired voice cuts through the hurricane in Trish's mind and she lets out a shaky, relieved sob. She sniffs, feeling slightly calmer even though the tears don't stop. "Sorry, I just- are you okay?"

"Yeah." A confused pause as Dez waits for her to explain and all she does is exhale shaky, tear-laden breaths. "Are you…crying?" He asks cautiously.

It's then that Trish realized how utterly deranged she's acting. The two of them haven't talked much recently, and it's mostly her fault. She's been the one ignoring his texts and rejecting his offers to hang out, what she'd told him at the hospital running through her head every time she sees his face. The last time they talked, she'd basically told him he doesn't matter to her and now she's calling him at three in the morning just to ask if he's okay. "I'm fine," she says, unconvincing as tears still trickle down her face and catch in her voice. "Sorry for waking you up."

"You don't sound-" he breaks off his sentence and grows silent, contemplating. She knows he's debating whether or not to push her, to risk her lashing out over his concern for her well-being, and since when does she know him this well? "I was up anyway," Dez says after a minute, which explains why he sounds far more alert than he should at this hour. "The home improvement channel gets really weird at 3 AM."

She doesn't say anything and instead tries to even out her shaky breaths. Dez rambles on a little longer and she has the feeling that he's just trying to fill up the silence, providing a distraction for her to latch onto. His voice is more soothing than she thought it would be and by his fourth tangent, her tears have stopped and she's only shuddering on every third exhale. He grows silent again and for a moment she wonders if he fell asleep but then…

"Are you okay?" Dez asks timidly.

"I'm fine," she says, and it's no more convincing this time than it was last time.

There's some faint rustling from the other end of the line and she can practically see Dez's nervous, fidgety movements as he gathers the courage to ask her another question. "Do you want me to come over?"

She presses the back of her hand into her eyes. Ally's offered the same thing before, to come over when Trish has a bad night, but that's different because Ally's used to her and used to her bullshit. Dez is just- he doesn't deserve that. "It's like, the middle of the night and you've probably got stuff to do tomorrow-"

"Trish," Dez cuts in, voice firm but not unkind. "That's not what I asked. Do you want me to come over?"

She exhales deeply one more time. "Yes."

She expects him to hang up, but he keeps her on the line as he gets ready and starts to drive over. They talk about nothing and the empty pleasantries and small talk make something inside her start to wither. They didn't use to be like this.

The first thing Dez does when he arrives is pull her into a hug. It's the sort of tight, all-encompassing hug that she needed and she melts into it immediately. Her head is tucked under his chin, his arms laced tightly across her back. She tells herself it only feels so good because she's tired and still a little distressed from her dream, but there's the distinct possibility that Dez just gives really good hugs. His fingers card through her hair and he holds her for a long, long time.

"Thanks," she mumbles into his chest, not entirely sure what she's thanking him for.

"It's nothing," he says and she can feel his frame shake as he shrugs. "You sounded like you could really use a hug."

After what is possibly the longest hug of Trish's life, they break apart and drift over to the couch. Prince appears, evidently woken up by the commotion, and curls up on the floor by their feet. Dez starts playing with the drawstring of the hoodie he'd hastily thrown over his star-patterned pajamas and she can tell he's gearing up to ask her something. He turns toward her, eyes far too bright and intense for how late it is. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," she says with forced nonchalance. The unimpressed look on Dez's face tells her she isn't convincing. "It was just this…dumb dream I had."

"About me," Dez says, like he's just put two pieces of a puzzle together

"About you," she confirms. And then, because she knows what question he'll ask next, "It- you got hurt and I-I couldn't save you." Her voice wavers a bit and she decides she needs to change topics before she starts crying again. "I know, it's stupid."

"So stupid," Dez agrees and is it just her or is there a tinge of bitterness in his voice? But she doesn't have time to question it because he abruptly asks her "Do you want some hot chocolate?"

She blinks. "What?"

"Hot chocolate," he shrugs, already standing up. "It always makes me feel better."

She agrees, mostly because he's already digging through her cabinets and she's not one to pass up free beverages. He clucks disapprovingly at her packets of instant hot chocolate mix and pulls out her cocoa powder because of course Dez is the kind of person who makes homemade hot chocolate. He starts rambling again, mostly to himself than to her, but she still provides a few half-insulting comments.

He finally places a mug in front of her and she takes a long, slow sip. She wants to make fun of him for making hot chocolate in the middle of a Miami summer, but, unfortunately, it's the best hot chocolate she's ever had. She savors the taste, but is brought out of her chocolate-shaped bliss when she looks at Dez. His hands are tightly clasped around his own mug, but he hasn't taken a sip. He seems taut and tense, limbs drawn in and shoulders hunched, like the puffed feathers of a stressed bird.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," he mumbles and wow, neither of them are very convincing tonight, are they? "I'm- are we still friends?"

"What?"

"It's just…you've been acting weird lately and…after what you said at the hospital, I…wasn't sure." He seems to shrink even more into himself the more he speaks and his eyes grow a little wet.

A litany of responses come to her before she settles on, "Of course we're friends, Dez."

His eyes glimmer with something that might be hope. "Really?" She nods. The hope flickers as he looks back down at his mug. "So…why did you say that stuff at the hospital? And right now? About it being dumb for people to think you cared about me."

She hesitates and it feels like her lungs are full of sand. "Dez-"

"Sorry," he interrupts, shoulders tensing again. "You don't have to answer that. You- you're having a bad night and I'm making it all about me."

"No, that's not- I want to answer," she says.

His brows quirk. "Really?"

"Really. And all that-" She shuts her eyes, hoping that not having to look Dez in the face will make this conversation easier. She's already starting to regret her conviction. "I shouldn't have said that, any of it. You- you're so so important to me. And when you disappeared like that, and then the way I found you…I don't know, I just couldn't deal with it and-"

"Hey," Dez interrupts and a warmth envelops her hand as he takes ahold of it. Her eyes crack open. "I get it. The idea of emotional proximity made you nervous and claustrophobic, so you lashed out."

She can never make sense of Dez's psychobabble, so she responds the same way she always does: an unimpressed look and a flat "What?"

He rolls his eyes and returns in an equally flat tone. "We got close and then I got hurt, so you freaked out and pushed me away."

She swallows around the ashamed lump in her throat. "Sounds about right." She drops her eyes again. "But it wasn't…just because you got hurt." Dez's brows knit in confusion. "You were taken just because you knew me. If people knew we were actually friends, you would always be in danger." Her hands clench as she thinks about how selfish she's being. "You- you shouldn't even be here, you can't-"

Her next words are muffled by Dez's torso as he stands up and pulls her into another hug. She knows she should push him away, but instead she grows lax in his arms as he hugs her with every bit of strength he's got. "I'd never give you up, not for anything. I'd rather be kidnapped every single day than not be your friend."

She knows that kind of thinking is reckless and stupid, but she can't quite find it within herself to argue with him, so she simply returns the hug, clutching at his body like she'll die if she lets go.

Dez starts getting ready to leave after they finish their drinks, but Trish takes one look at the dark circles beneath his eyes and the way he's yawning every other word and decides that there's no way in hell he's driving anywhere tonight. She glances at her couch, with its thin cushions and hard armrests and decides she's not going to subject him to that either. Her bed is big enough that the two of them and Prince can all pile in without even touching each other.

"Hey," Dez whispers after a while. "Are you awake?"

She doesn't turn away from the ceiling, which she's been intently studying for the past twenty minutes. The memories of her nightmare are causing sleep to evade her, but she doesn't know why Dez is still awake. "No," she deadpans.

"Then why are you talking?"

"I'm sleep-talking."

"That's not how it works." He sounds smug, like he's won one over on her. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that it doesn't matter if I'm asleep, or in the middle of watching a movie, or trying to beat a world record. If you need me, I'll be there."

The seriousness of his tone surprises her and she rolls over to find his face much closer to hers than she expected. "You doof," she says, breaking eye contact with him and instead focusing on a cluster of freckles on his cheek that move up and down whenever he spoke. "I was just…having a bad night. You don't need to worry about me."

He sighs. "You don't have to pretend to be so strong all the time, you know."

She glowers at him. "Pretend? I'm sorry, which one of us has saved the other's ass countless times?"

At one point the anger in her voice would have caused Dez to quake and back down immediately. Now, he simply rolls his eyes at her – amused, and slightly exasperated, but not really annoyed. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I'm just saying, it's not the worst thing in the world to admit you're hurt and to let other people take care of you."

His words ignite a weird, squirmy feeling in her, so she doesn't respond. Instead, she rolls over again, her back facing him. "Goodnight, Dez."

A pause. And then a quiet, tired, "Goodnight, Trish."

And even though she doesn't want to even think about what he said, it keeps replaying in her mind on a loop until she's tired enough to let her eyes close and stay closed.

Even from their positions on the opposite sides of the bed, they sort of end up drifting towards each other in their sleep anyway and when she wakes up curled up in Dez's arms, she spends an hour carefully extricating herself so as not to wake him up and embarrass herself even more, sure that her face is fire engine red the whole time.


"What do you wear to a first date at Olive Garden?" Dez asks, panicked. She blinks, immediately regretting picking up the phone.

"It's 6 AM. I'm not doing this," she tells him, and then promptly hangs up. He calls her back right away. "What?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Oh my god, Dez, I don't know! Don't you have other friends to bother about this?" she asks, exasperated. He's been harping on about this date all week – apparently, the first one he's been on since he broke up with his model girlfriend a few years ago. Honestly, she's starting to get tired of his obsession, especially when he starts hounding her for advice.

"No. When I called Austin, all he said was something about "being yourself."" A faint whumph as he collapses backward on his bed. "What kind of bullshit advice is that?"

She groans. "Just wear something nice. Don't overthink it."

"Okay, but what do you mean by 'nice' like a tuxedo or like my puffy suit-"

She cuts him off before he starts listing every item in his wardrobe. "Don't wear the tux. What time is this date again?"

"Uh…" A bit of scuffling. "Seven tonight."

"Great. I'm going back to sleep and then I'll be over at four to help you get ready." Her voice leaves no room for questions, but he starts to ask one anyway.

"Bu-"

She hangs up in the middle of his protests and thankfully, he doesn't call her back this time. He does send her multiple frantic texts regarding his attire and how he should act on the date, but she ignores all of them. By the time 4 o'clock rolls around, he's calmed considerably, but is still firmly under the category "nervous wreck."

"What's the big deal, anyway?" She rifles through his clothes, discarding anything she deems as obnoxiously colorful or clown-like. "It's one date. If it doesn't go well, it's her- uh, their loss."

"It's a her," Dez confirms, nervously tugging at a thread on his jeans. "It's just- I haven't been on a date in a while. What if I mess it up? What if I'm banned from Olive Garden and she hates and me and starts a smear campaign against me and I have to move to Nebraska-"

"Dez," she interrupts. "You're spiraling." It's the same thing she tells Ally whenever she starts getting worked up over a worst case scenario tangent. He responds the same way Ally does; freezing for a second, then relaxing and mumbling an apology.

He remains twitchy though, fingers tapping against his leg. One hand keeps drifting up to scratch the back of his neck. She sighs heavily.

"Listen, what I'm about to say is to never, ever leave this room, okay?" she says. He looks up at her, eyes wide and curious. "You're kind of a catch, okay? Emphasis on "kind of." If it doesn't work out with this girl, it'll work out with someone. So just chill, okay?"

His face remains frozen and unsure for a minute, and then a small, warm smile breaks out. "Thanks, Trish."

"I know, I'm amazing," she deadpans. "Now let's get your hair looking less like…that."

The date goes well. She knows this because Dez calls her from the bathroom while still on his date to tell her he thought it was going well. Which, she supposes, was some kind of sick foreshadowing about how the next month and a half of her life will look like.

Because holy shit, Dez will not shut up about this girl. Catherine, Trish learns, is basically perfection personified. She's funny and nice and has all kinds of other adjectives. And while some very, very small part of Trish is happy her friend is in a relationship now, most of her is annoyed. Would it kill him to spend twenty seconds talking about anything besides her?

(The most confusing part is the flare-up of another emotion besides irritation whenever Dez starts waxing poetic about his girlfriend again. The two feel very similar, but this second emotion echoes a little differently, weaves itself through her veins in a way that burns a little hotter.

If she didn't know any better, she'd say it's jealousy.)

Thankfully, Dez seems to eventually come out of his honeymoon phase and the two of them settle back into their old dynamic. Well, an altered version of their old dynamic. Dez keeps canceling plans to be with Catherine and sometimes it feels like he forgets she exists unless she's standing right in front of him. But like, whatever. It's fine.

(Actually it's annoying as hell and she doesn't know what to make of the fact that he never suggests introducing her to the girl that is apparently all that's good in the world.

But you know. It's fine.)

And then one day she gets a phone call that kind of ruins everything.

"Hi, Flora," Dez greets her. His tone is casual, but also exhausted, like he's been running a marathon. "So, things have gotten kind of bad…"

Everything about this sets off warning bells inside Trish as she pauses the movie she was watching. "Dez, what's going on?"

"I might be in the middle of being kidnapped," he says. A thread of fear pierces his tone.

"Dez!" Her shout is drowned out as someone on the other line raises their voice as well.

"You didn't take his phone from him?" A female voice shrieks. There's a bit of scuffling on his end and Trish knows she's running our of time.

"Dez, where are you?" she asks, hating the desperation in her tone.

"Um, you know that building downtown with the cat sign? Kind of short, made of brick, I wanna say…early art deco kind of architecture-" His voice grows fainter as someone succeeds in taking his phone from him and then finally, silence.

She stares at his contact for a moment before turning her phone off. "You doof," she says to the black screen. "Can't go one day without trouble, can you?"

She finds the building with the cat sign and stares up at it for a second. A faint memory itches at her until she's able to scratch it; it was the headquarters for the Stray Kitties. A cat-themed superhero duo named Glamour Kitty and Country Kitty with the power to conjure illusions and control animals respectively. While it doesn't surprise her that they'd stoop to kidnapping, she doesn't really understand what they want with Dez.

Nonetheless, she slinks along the back of the building until she finds a window. She wills a vine to slowly wiggle between the pane of glass and the frame until it's inside the building. It unlocks the window and she pops it open. She slips inside, trying to remember the layout of the building. She knows there's a stage where the Kitties perform shows with their powers, but that part is open to public and thus probably not where Dez is being kept. If she had to guess, she'd say she's in some kind of 'employees only' backroom where they keep their weapons and tech.

And also, presumably, their hostages.

Thankfully, Dez isn't hard to find. The Kitties are engaged in screaming match that carries and echoes throughout the building and Trish is able to follow the sound with ease.

She slams the door open with a resounding crash! Every eye is drawn to her; Glamour Kitty, Country Kitty, and Dez, all with identical expressions of surprise. Dez is, like usual, restrained, this time tied to a chair. The surprise on the Kitties' faces quickly transforms into displeasure

"See?" Country Kitty shrieks at Glamour Kitty. "I told you she would come!"

"This isn't my fault!" Glamour Kitty shouts back. "I went along with this stupid plan and did everything right!"

"If you did it right, we wouldn't be in this mess," Country Kitty snarls. Trish almost understand the cat theme now, because it looks like Country Kitty is about to claw her partner's eyes out.

But, as entertaining as this cat fight is (oh God, Ally's rubbing off on her), Trish has more pressing matters to attend to. She slices her arm through the air and a potted plant in the corner of the room shoots forward. It wraps around their ankles, pulling both Kitties to the floor. Country Kitty hisses, tearing at the plants like they're made of paper. She lunges and Trish narrowly dodges, shoving her to the ground. Unfortunately, Glamour Kitty takes advantage of Trish's distraction to launch her own attack. She grabs Trish from behind, her arms locking around Trish's throat. Trish breaks her weak grip easily, throwing a punch at the other woman that sends her reeling.

"Kitties!" A voice calls out, halting all action. Val Crawford stalks into the room, leveling disappointed looks to the two cat-themed heroes. Trish remembers her; she's the manager of the Stray Kitties. She handles their budget, their tech, their everything. It was a career that Trish had briefly considered before becoming Flora. "What is this? I said talk to him, not kidnap him! We are heroes, not common criminals."

Her tone is so reminiscent of the one her mom uses when her cat tears up the curtains, Trish half-expects Val to pull out a spray bottle. However, it seems to have the desired effect because both Kitties look contrite. "Sorry, Val," Country Kitty says.

"Uh-huh. Now shoo, both of you. We'll discuss this later." Val waves them away and both Kitties move toward the door, though Glamour Kitty lingers for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Dez," she says before disappearing.

Val shakes her head in disappointment. "So hard to find good heroes nowadays." She gives Trish a sidelong look. "Would you be interested-"

"I'm good," she interrupts. Val huffs.

"You've got him, right?" she asks, jerking her head towards Dez. Trish nods. "Great, I've got some Kitties to talk to."

She exits, leaving Trish with only Dez and a vague sense of bewilderment. She shrugs it off and walks over to Dez, tugging at the ropes securing him to the chair. "Man, if only rescuing you was always this easy."

Dez doesn't respond. She looks at him, surprised at the heartbroken look on his face. Kidnappings were usually met with fear, or sometimes annoyance, but never sadness.

"Dez?" she inquires softly. His head jerks, like he hadn't been aware of her presence until this very moment.

He shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it. "Sorry." It comes out a little watery and he clears his throat. "Thank you."

He uses his now free hands to swipe at his eyes and Trish watches, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. "Uh…you're welcome. Let's…get out of here."

He complies and follows her out of the building. She makes a few attempts at conversation and Dez tries to return them, but she can tell his heart isn't in it. And it's just…it's weird and he's being so quiet and she doesn't know how to deal with it.

"What's wrong with you?" she ask bluntly.

His eyes narrow. "Is this one of those trick questions you use to insult me?"

"No." She pauses. "Well, not this time. You're acting…weird. And sad. What's up?"

His fingers twitch nervously. "Uh, it's just um…me and Catherine kind of…broke up."

"Oh," she says, struggling to find good words of comfort. "That sucks. What happened?"

"Uh." He swallows and ducks his head, mumbling something too fast for her to hear.

"What?"

"It turns out Catherine was Glamour Kitty," he repeats, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"Oh." A pause as what he's said registers. "Wait, WHAT? You're telling me your girlfriend just kidnapped you? What the hell?!"

"Ex-girlfriend," he corrects weakly.

"Not the point," she snaps.

He continues his staring contest with the ground. "Yeah, it turns out she was only dating me 'cause she wanted to get some tech from my dad for the Stray Kitties. And when that didn't work…" He gestures vaguely.

Trish fumes. "I should've hit her a lot harder."

Dez sniffs, pulling her back from her thoughts of revenge. She realizes that he's crying a little bit now and wow, she's not prepared for this in the slightest.

"Uh." She pats his arm awkwardly. "There, there."

He chuckles through his tears. "You're so bad at this."

"Shut up." She scowls at him. "I'm not used to this. Ally is always the one who ends things."

"Uh-huh." The brief moment of mirth quickly fades. "And it's…whatever. It's fine."

"No, it's not," she says, voice firm. He doesn't argue with her. He doesn't say anything at all, actually. They walk in silence and Trish finds that it's her job to break it somehow; usually that duty fell to Dez and she feels out of her depth. It's an unsettling feeling. "Do you want to do something? Get smashed and forget your troubles?"

The second part is made (mostly) in jest, but Dez doesn't even crack a smile. "I think I just want to go home."

Everything about this situation is unpleasant and she remembers her brief relationship with T-Fame. Remembers how it ended similarly to this, remembers Dez saying "I don't think you should be alone right now." She wonders if he's feeling the same things she had, that pressing feeling of you're not good enough, you're never good enough for people to care about without an ulterior motive.

She never quite gets an answers because as days and weeks pass, Dez still won't fucking talk to her. She'd never pegged him as the kind of person who wallowed over the ghosts of past relationships, but in hindsight, she shouldn't be surprised. He's always been…sensitive, in a way, wearing his heart on his sleeve and taking everything personally. And while she does get being upset over a failed relationship it's the whole 'moping for weeks on end' thing that's starting to get to her. Between the two of them, she's not used to being the cheerful one.

"Okay, I've got to ask," she says after two and half weeks of Dez's never-ending pity party. "What is with this girl? I get that everything she did was super shitty, but I've never seen you this bent out of shape over anything."

Dez doesn't move from his position of lying face-down on the floor. He's been like that since she got here. It's a slight improvement from yesterday, when she found him crying in his closet, but not by much. "I dunno, I just…really wanted for us to work out." The carpet muffles his words and she has to strain to hear him.

"I think everyone wants their relationships to work out." The snark slips out easily and thankfully, Dez doesn't seem offended by it.

For the first time in an hour, there's movement as he rolls over onto his back. "I guess," he says, voice still sulky.

"C'mon." She nudges him with the side of her foot. "What would Dr. Cupid say about all this?"

He's silent for a minute, contemplating her words. "Cut your losses and accept that love is a big waste of time."

"God, you are being difficult," she groans.

Dez is quiet as he slowly sits up. He crosses his legs and starts picking at his sleeve. "Sorry."

She looks at him, guilt and annoyance colliding in her stomach. "Don't apologize."

"No, really, I…" He inhales deeply. "I know I've been really annoying lately, so…sorry." He looks down. "And um, if you want I can just keep all this to myself from now on."

"That was an option?" she jokes. Dez doesn't return her levity. "Wait, are you being serious?"

He looks at her with that almost-condescending expression she can't stand. "Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"Because we're friends? Do you really think I'd ask you to bottle everything up because you're down after a really fucking bad break-up?" A heat creeps into her voice and it makes Dez look away again.

"I wasn't trying to say anything about you, it's just…I'd get it if you only wanted to hang out when I'm easier to deal with."

She shakes her head. "That girl really did a number on you, huh?" She slides off the couch, taking a seat beside him on the floor. "Look, I know I might not act like it, but I still want to be your friend even when you're not "easy to deal with."" She catches his eye, pinning him in place with her stare. "And if anyone – even me – acts like you're only worth being around when it's convenient for them, then they deserve a kick in the balls."

She doesn't seem to convince him. He smiles at her, small and soft in a way that's more oh, you're so sweet than oh, you're totally right. His words only confirm her suspicions. "That's a nice sentiment but…" He sighs. "When only two people outside of your family actually want to stick around, it's pretty obvious that the problem is you. And-"

"Yeah, there's a problem," she interrupts, cutting off whatever self-deprecating point he was trying to make. "The problem is that you keep picking the wrong people. Find people that don't fucking suck."

He tilts his head and his eyes glitter with mirth. It's an expression she's missed seeing. "And I guess you count as a person who doesn't fucking suck?"

She flicks her hair out of her face. "Obviously."

It looks like she's temporarily warded off his negative demeanor as he wraps her into a tight hug for reasons she can't quite fathom. It'll take another two weeks for him to stop tearing up whenever he sees the Stray Kitties on the news, but right now she made him smile and that feels good enough.


She doesn't enjoy hospitals. She imagines most people don't, but knowing she's just one of many does nothing to the spark of annoyance that erupts within her whenever she's forced to go to one.

Ever since she became more serious about this whole 'hero' thing, about actually helping people instead of just showing off, she's gotten into quite a few scrapes. Mild injuries that heal in no time and don't really impact her life. This time, however, she bit off more than she could chew and it ended up backfiring on her spectacularly. Turns out plants aren't a great match for pyrokinesis. Who knew?

(It'd been kind of a weird fight, actually. Towards the end, she'd been filled with this insane rage, this burning need to prove herself and she's never felt anything that like that before. She always knew how to pick her battles, knew when it was time to back down from a fight.

So why hadn't she this time?)

She wakes up to find a nurse checking her IV and is briefly surprised to find Dez sitting in a chair next to her bed. This hospital (along with most others) has some pretty strict policies about the medical treatment of superheroes. No visitors are allowed in unless they're on a specific list that the hero provided to the hospital, and only staff directly attending the hero know their identity; as far as the rest of the hospital is concerned, she's just some Jane Doe. She'd added Dez to her list a few months ago, but she hadn't really expected for him to wait vigil at her bedside.

She doesn't have time to dwell on it though because just then, a doctor walks into the room. "Ah, Miss Flora, you're awake," he greets her cordially. "I'm Dr. Grant and I'm here to discuss your injuries. We-"

"Go ahead," Dez interrupts, grabbing Trish's hand. "We can take it."

Dr. Grant shoots him an annoyed glare before leveling her with a look that seems to question her choice in companions. She shrugs in return. She can't really blame him; the cartoon-y dog t-shirt Dez is wearing doesn't exactly give off "ready for potentially serious medical news" vibes. Dr. Grant flips through the papers on his clipboard before beginning to speak again, "Well, like I was saying, we've run some tests-"

"No!" Dez shouts, like they've just been delivered horrible news. "She has so much to live for!"

"Shut up, you doof!" she snaps, smacking his arm. "He hasn't even told us the results!"

"Oh." Dez immediately calms, looking back towards the doctor with a cheerful smile. "Go on then."

Dr. Grant sends him an unamused look, and then fixes his gaze on her. "Does he need to be here?"

"Welcome to my life." She rolls her eyes. The doctor continues to look unimpressed. "He stays," she says firmly. Both of them look at her, slightly surprised. She huffs and gestures for Dr. Grant to continue.

He gives another wary look to Dez before rattling off everything on her chart. In short: the worst of it was a fractured wrist and some mild burns, both of which would heal up fine if she doesn't do anything to exacerbate them. That part is said with a particular emphasis and a raised eyebrow that tells her that Dr. Grant doesn't trust her in the slightest. But, he eventually goes off to attend to his other patients, leaving her alone with Dez and her own dwindling patience.

(Oh God, that joke was so lame. Ally's a worse influence than she thought.)

He looks at her, eyes bright and shiny and- are those tears? He's been crying over her? "Hey," she greets weakly, hoping her nonchalance will drive away his concern.

"'Hey'?" he repeats, incredulous, as though he's never heard the word before. "Wh-what was that? Why didn't you back down?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Dez," she says, because she doesn't, because she has a growing suspicion in the back of her mind that she doesn't want to think about, doesn't want to feed and water the seed of fear by acknowledging it.

Unfortunately, Dez has other plans. "Talk about what? The fight?"

"Obviously, moron. Keep up," she snaps.

Dez returns with his own sharpness. "Why not? That- that was so insanely dangerous. You could've gotten seriously hurt. I don't-"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" she shouts, her anger reaching a boiling point. "If you actually gave a shit about me, you'd respect that!"

Dez doesn't look mad or scared like she expected and she realizes too late that she's shown her hand. You don't get this mad for no reason unless something is seriously wrong, he'd told her. Concern wells up in his eyes and she knows she's lost whatever weird standoff this was.

"Are you…keeping something from me?" he asks, voice soft as thought she'll break if he talks any louder.

She huffs out a long, tired breath, her eyes darting to the ceiling. This conversation will be easier if she doesn't have to look at his oh-so-expressive face. "Do you remember when you disappeared for like, a week?"

"Yeah?" His voice is slightly fearful; she doesn't blame him. As bad as that week was for her, knowing that you spent an entire week of your life drugged and held hostage and then not being able to remember any of it must be much worse.

"I never told you what happened, but you were taken by Zig and Zag."

There's a sharp intake of breath. "B-but what about their belief in nonviolence and wholesome sibling love?"

She turns to him, glare hardening. "Sometimes people lie, Dez." The words drip with condescension and irritation and Dez scowls; she knows that he's never liked being talked down to, that he hates feeling like he's being judged for being one step behind. "They're full of shit. They took you because they wanted to convince me to give up being a hero."

His face draws up in confusion. "Wait, so their plan was to hold me hostage so they could…talk you out of your job?"

"Yeah, they've got some kind of…fucky mind powers. They made me feel like it was the best option, like it was the only thing that made sense."

The confusion doesn't clear from Dez's expression. "But what does that have to do with-"

"I'm getting there," she snaps, annoyance coloring her tone. "I'm bringing this up because I think that they've still got it out for me. Today I- there was a point where I was just so pissed off I couldn't think straight. I wanted to kill that guy, and I think Zig and Zag are the reason why."

"They make you look bad, and they can take your place," Dez realizes. There's an unsteady, awkward silence that Dez timidly breaks with, "So are you gonna…you know? Give them want they want?"

She snorts. "Hell no. Nobody pushes Trish De la Rosa around."

And then something kind of weird happens. Dez just…looks at her, an incredibly soft expression overtaking his features. He shakes his head, like he's trying to clear his thoughts and responds with his ever-chipper, "Yep! And besides, you can't give in to those no-good hacks; people need Flora."

She waves him off; even after all these months, she's still not quite used to the idea of people needing her. It still awakens a dormant flight-or-fight response, with every instinct in her screaming at her to run. But she's getting better at ignoring it. Mostly.

What she can't ignore is Dez. She'd never pegged him as a worrier, but suddenly its like he's scared she'll shatter into a million pieces if she's left alone for more than ten minutes. He's just always…there, hovering over her like a anxious mother hen. At first she reveled in it, enjoyed being pampered for a little bit as he showered her in concern and home-cooked meals – once you got past some of his more bizarre combinations, he was a pretty decent cook. But the novelty soon wore off and she was starting to feel smothered. Even Ally had backed off the worrying after two weeks, and she was the most anxious person Trish knew!

"Oh my god, will you chill?" she says, exasperated as Dez tries to fluff her pillows for the umpteenth time. He's apparently interpreted her doctor's command of "bed rest" to mean "never lifting a finger to do anything, even basic tasks." He'd offered to chew her food for her this morning.

"Sorry. He jolts back from her bed like he's been electrocuted. But even without anything to do, his nervous, frantic energy remains. His fingers twitch and tap together, weaving and unweaving in a relentless dance.

She rolls her eyes and gestures for him to take a seat, which he reluctantly does. His leg starts to bounce as his eyes fixate on her. She settles back against her pillows, preparing to take a nap. Her own bed is leagues better than the ones at the hospital and she's been making good use of it every day since she was released. Sleep is just starting to creep up on her when…

"Do you want me to turn the lights off?"

"Dez," she groans, now fully awake again. "If I wanted the lights off, I could turn them off myself. Why don't you just go home?"

His eyes widen, like she's just suggested he swallow a cactus whole. "No, no I'm good. I'll stop bothering you, I swear." He crosses his heart. She rolls her eyes at the childish gesture, even though something inside her basks in his sincerity. "And…I'm sorry for hovering. I just- I care about you, and I want you to get better."

"And I appreciate that, but I'm a grown woman. You don't have to do everything for me."

"I know I don't have to, but I want to." His nose crinkles. "Well, not everything. I don't think I could like, shower for you or-"

"Dez," she says, interrupting his tangent before he could get too lost in it.

He shakes his head, "Sorry." Silence reigns and he starts fiddling with his fingers again. He looks around the room for a new topic of conversation and his gaze falls on his bag, eyes lighting up. "Do you want to see what my dad's been working on?"

She shrugs. "Whatever."

"Awesome!" he responds with ten times her enthusiasm as he bounds over to his bag and pulls something out. He starts to prattle on about his dad's "hard light holograms" and how they can project tangible forms around whoever wears them. She starts tuning him about after a little bit – this kind of techno jargon isn't really her thing and she doubts she'll ever even use them. She's not one for subtlety or deception. She lets his words wash over her, becoming nothing more than white noise as she starts to drift off.

"Hey." A hand and a voice gently shake her awake. "I should probably head home, are you good?"

She groans, still half-asleep and annoyed that he's disrupting her rest yet again. "I'm fine, Dez."

"Okay," he says, sounding unsure. "But you'll call if you need anything, right?"

"Oh my god, yes. Will you go now?" Exasperation bleeds into her tone and Dez raises his hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry for being annoying, but you always try to hold everything inside unless I badger you about it." And then, quick as lightning, Dez leans in and presses a kiss to the top of her head. He looks at her as though nothing unusual has occurred, distress still clouding his features. "I meant what I said about not having to be strong all the time."

She feels her cheeks heat up and prays he can't see it. They've never really talked about that night, never discussed how she'd broken down so completely and the intimate moments afterward. "Goodnight, Dez," she says, shutting down any further conversations.

He sighs that same tired sigh, like her stubbornness is physically exhausting him. "Goodnight, Trish."

And even though she tries to ignore it, his words echo for the next few weeks until her cast comes off and she's able to look him in the eyes with seeing that concern there.


She wakes up to low groaning sound.

She realizes immediately that she isn't in her own bed and it takes a few moments of panic and confusion to remember whose bed it is. It hadn't been a...particularly great day for her. She'd been dealing with one crisis after another, so when her rocket boots started malfunctioning, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. She'd stormed into Dez's apartment so he could fix them and it was only after several rounds of zombie killing games that she was able to calm down. He'd offered to let her stay the night and then insisted on her taking his bed, which explains why she's currently wrapped in his striped comforter. What she doesn't understand is where that noise is coming from.

She sits up slowly, scrubbing the crust from her eyes. A digital clock flashes at her, informing her that it's 2:34 AM and therefore way too early for this. She squints, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. She can just barely make out Dez curled up on the couch, clutching a throw pillow like it's a teddy bear. There's another soft groan from his general direction, followed by a string of unintelligible words. "Dez?" she calls out cautiously as she flicks on a lamp and makes her way over to the couch.

Dez's face twitches, contorting into something resembling pain. The quiet moans grow louder, accompanied by his breathing becoming rapid, erratic pants. A nightmare. It takes her a moment too long to jump into action, grabbing Dez's shoulder and shaking him roughly, shouting his name in hopes of rousing him. He shoots up like a rocket and it's only her quick reflexes that prevent her from being headbutted. His breathing doesn't slow any and tears start to trickle down his face, dripping off his chin and onto his shirt.

Her mind keeps drawing blanks when she tries to remember any kind of grounding techniques, so she simply wraps a gentle hand around his arm and says his name. His head whips toward her like he just realized her presence, eyes wide and bright and utterly terrified. She fumbles for something to say, memories of Ally calming her on her own bad nights flickering through her mind. "Dez, it's okay. Whatever you dreamed isn't real. You're okay."

Her words seem to have little effect, so she moves closer, fitting herself next to him on the couch and pulling him close to her. Her arms wrap around his torso and he stays tense in her arms, like he's made out of glass and will shatter if she holds him too tight. And then all at once he breaks, hugging her back with full force as he starts to cry into her shoulder, body shaking with the force of his tears. And not the small, hysterical ones from earlier, either; these are quaking, full-body sobs that left him breathless and gasping. Her hand rubs his back, occasionally moving upward to card through his hair before drifting back down, but other than that she doesn't know what else to do. After a while, he seems to tire himself out, though he does continue to sniffle and his breathing remains shaky. His arms never loosen from around her.

"Bad night?" she asks sympathetically after it seems the worst of his crying has passed. Lord knows Dez has seen enough of her own bad nights.

He moves his head so instead of being buried in her shoulder, it's simply resting on top of it. The movement is presumably so his voice isn't muffled by her shirt, but it still comes out thick with tears and snot. "Yeah." His grip on her tightens. "Thank you."

His gratitude makes her uncomfortable – this is just basic human decency, really – so she settles on just saying, "Yeah, well, you sounded like you could really use a hug."

He doesn't reply, but also doesn't seem very inclined to disentangle himself from her, so she just holds him a little longer. He's still shaking a little, which is somehow just as bad as when he was crying, and she, of all people, should not be comforting him, should not be the one doing this. "So…what happened?" she asks, wishing her voice didn't sound so awkward.

"N-Nothing." He winces as he seems to realize what a stupid answer that is. "Well, not nothing, but…just the usual."

"The usual," Trish says and there's a hardness in her voice now.

"Yeah, but-" He pulls away from her. "-I-I'm fine." He scoots further away from her, as if to prove that he is, in fact, fine, even though his arms immediately curl around his midsection like he's trying to hold himself together.

"I can see that." Sarcasm drips off her voice. Dez doesn't react in the slightest and Trish remembers that he only picks up on sarcasm about 20% of the time. She quickly changes tactics. "I'm about to sound incredibly cheesy and cliché, but…it's okay to not be okay."

He tenses even further and looks away from her. "I know. And I…I thought I was fine, b-but I keep having these dreams and I f-feel like I c-can't trust anyone and…" His voice breaks a little and he might be crying again. His next words come out hollow, like he's just made a grave realization. "And it's never going to stop."

The hands wrapped around his sides tighten their grip, fingernails digging into the flesh in a way that looks almost painful. She wouldn't be surprised if there are already bruises forming underneath his shirt. She pries the one closest to her free and interlaces their fingers so he can't do any more damage. He squeezes her hand like it's the only thing tethering him to reality and it makes something inside her twist; how long, exactly, have these bad nights been happening? She knows he's been worrying himself sick over her and the whole Zig and Zag situation, but she wasn't expecting this. But, in hindsight, she should've seen it coming; of fucking course he isn't dealing with the fact that his best friend is always in danger and that his life is constantly being used as a gambling chip well. Who would? He just hid it…well, she wouldn't say better than her, but in ways she wasn't used to looking for. Brittle smiles and compulsive jokes rather than burning anger and guarded walls.

"You can always trust me," she says, and it doesn't feel like enough, but it's all she's got.

"I know," Dez says, and it comes out like a weak, ragged whisper.

"And…" she hesitates because she doesn't want to say the wrong thing, not when he's like this, but she's the only one here and dammit he needs to hear this. "And you remember that shit you told me about not needing to be strong all the time? The same goes for you."

He shudders and lets out something that might be a laugh. "I'm not exactly the strong type."

She exhales out her frustration. "I mean, you don't have to pretend to be fine just for me. I'm- I get what it's like, okay? If you need someone to be there for you, you've got my number."

"I know, but…" He trails off. The hand not entwined with hers is still digging its fingernails into his side. "It's just…embarrassing. And you've got enough to worry about."

"And you don't? I seem to remember you making this exact same promise to me not that long ago." She raises an eyebrow. Dez wilts under her stare.

"That's- that's different," he argues weakly.

"How? I deserve it and you don't?" she asks rhetorically. Dez shrinks down into himself even further and that's all the answer she needs. "Dez…"

"Can we just-" His voice breaks and he squeezes his eyes shut. "Can we agree that both of us are bad at self-esteem sometimes and just leave it at that?"

She huffs, unhappy but unwilling to push it any more. "Fine. But just so you know, I don't care about what you think you deserve. I'm here for you whether you want me or not."

He opens his eyes and even though they remain a little teary, something incredibly soft crosses over his face. "Thank you." His other hand finally removes itself from his side as he wraps her in a hug. "And for the record, I'll always want you."

Something inside her flips at his words. She opts to ignore it.


The bad nights never really stop for either of them. The can I come over my house is too big, too quiet, too empty and all I can hear is echoing scream nights, the can you please come over I feel like the walls are watching me and if I blink the world will shatter into a thousand pieces nights. And it's kind of…weird, she thinks turning to him when the weight of the world threatens to press her into dust, when her mind won't shut up about gory what-if's. But he never judges, is always so calm and understanding. And she also has to admit that hearing his voice tell her that he's okay is a lot more reassuring than Ally's.

It's equally weird when he starts reaching out to her.

The first time he calls her after a nightmare, she answers with a single, tired "What?" that verges on annoyance.

A quiet choked-off sob is all it takes to turn that annoyance into dread as Dez starts speaking. "I'm sorry, this was stupid-"

"Shit, Dez, no-" She suddenly feels much more awake, as though she's injected pure caffeine into her veins. "Stay on the line."

And he does.

And he never stops apologizing every time he wakes her up and she can rarely bring herself to divulge the kinds of things that happen in her dreams, even when they're about him. Especially when they're about him. But it becomes…routine, almost, to go seeking comfort and find him there. And then it starts being about all bad nights, not just nightmare nights. Nights where Dez feels restless, like a tiger constantly pacing its enclosure, one second from snapping. Nights where Trish's apartment looms too large and too dark and too quiet. And when she vents once about needing to get out of here or she's going to fucking lose it, Dez surprises her by saying, "Okay."

She blinks at him. "What?"

He shrugs. "Let's get out of here."

"Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he says with that same bright smile he always has as he fishes out his keys.

She stares at him for a moment. "You're crazy," she informs him, a smile of her own tugging at the corners of her mouth. But she gets in his car anyway.

And that becomes part of their routine too, nights where they just drive around to clear their heads. Sometimes with a specific destination, sometimes just idly drifting around the city. And it's on one of these nights that everything changes.

They're at a car wash, like they often were on these nights. It's not the only thing they do; one time they smoked some shitty weed Dez had and watched Crime and Judgement episodes on her phone, and another time they'd driven out to a park and hung out until the sun rose. But they go to the car wash a lot simply because it's a fully-automated kind, meaning they don't have to deal with any other human beings and Dez always claims there's something soothing about watching the soap cascade down the windows. She's starting to agree with him.

Dez sits in the passenger seat, seat belt off and knees pulled to his chest. It's his car they're in, but she barely trusts his driving during the day when he's fully-rested, much less at two in the morning. They're here for one of her nightmares and it actually wasn't that bad this time. No tears, just a lot of panic. She'd called Dez immediately because her apartment was just too damn dark and creepy, but now she's almost, kind of, starting to regret it; the shadows under Dez's eyes make her think he's had quite a few sleepless nights of his own recently. She wonders if it's because he's trying to avoid sleep to starve off nightmares, or if he's simply caught up in a project again and has decided to skip sleeping in order to finish it. Either option is something a good friend would confront him about, but it's not like she can judge, considering how fucked her sleep schedule has been lately.

"You're staring again," she informs him, the first thing either of them have said to each other in ten minutes, both content with letting Dez's shitty synthpop wash over them in silence. It seems like she's caught him staring at her a lot recently. Normally she'd write it off as him staring off into space where her head happens to be, but it's happened far too many times for that explanation to really be believable. And it's kind of…strange, the way he looks at her, like he can't believe she's real, but she hasn't decided if it's a good strange or a bad strange.

Dez flushes, dropping his eyes. "Sorry."

"You've been doing that a lot lately." Dez doesn't say anything. "Why?" she presses.

"I dunno." He shifts uncomfortably, reaching out to fiddle with the radio. "You're pretty."

Oh. The music shuts off. She swallows. Of all the answers he could have given, she wasn't expecting that. They sit in silence long enough for the heat in Trish's cheeks to die down, but, as anyone who's been in a room with him for more than ten minutes knows, Dez and silence aren't exactly friends.

He turns toward her, sharp and sudden. Even after knowing him for months, it still throws her sometimes, how jerky and abrupt his movements are. "Can I say something that'll ruin our friendship and make you hate me forever?"

Her brows quirk because what the hell, but still responds, "Shoot."

His eyes dart away from hers, instead focusing on a spot two inches away from her ear. "I think I'm in love with you."

She blinks and is filled with a sudden, inexplicable urge to push him out of the car because what the fuck. "That's not funny, Dez."

"I'm not joking!" he cries, agitatedly throwing out his arms as much as the confines of the car allow. "You- you're kind of awesome, and you're my best friend, so I might be…a little bit in love with you." His arms tuck themselves in again, clasping his knees tightly. His fingers tap on them in a steady, repetitive pattern and she wonders if it's Morse code, if he's sending an SOS to whatever higher being there is.

"Dez…" His name feels like acid on her tongue and she wishes it could actually burn her because then she wouldn't have to respond to him.

"I get it." He smiles, soft and warm. "You don't like me back. It's cool." He unfolds himself into a normal sitting position, fingers twining in his lap.

He surprises her by not saying anything else. "That's it? No big, long speech about love or how we're meant to be or some shit?"

He tilts his head. "Do you want a big, long speech about love?" She shakes her head. "Exactly. You can't force love; you either want to be with someone, or you don't. You don't want to be with me, and that's fine. I still get to be friends with you, and that's enough for me."

She doesn't know what to say to that and thankfully she doesn't have to figure it out because twenty seconds into their awkward silence, Dez starts fidgeting again. She sighs. "Yes, Dez?"

"You don't- you don't hate me, right? For making things uncomfortable and weird?" He asks, voice uncertain.

"Not anymore than I usually do." She shrugs with a casualness she doesn't feel as she shifts the car into drive.

He pouts at her, exaggerated, and she laughs at him. The return to normalcy almost eases the ache in her chest.

Almost.


So. Her second best friend has a crush on her. And that's…fine. Everything about this is fine.

(Except for when it's not, except for when she looks at him and thinks why now, why me-)

Things don't change much. There are, perhaps, a few comments that could be interpreted as flirting, a few gestures that could be mistaken for romantic. But he respects her feelings and boundaries, respects that she doesn't like him back. And they never really stop being the two of them; the movies, the video games, the trips to the beach.

(The bad days, the worse nights, the crying phone calls-)

And she doesn't want things to change, she wants things to be the same, steady rhythm they've always been. Doesn't want the two of them to be anything else than what they already are. And it sounds kind of…ridiculous laid out like that; she's Trish De la Rosa, professional superhero. She's not afraid of something as dumb as her relationships changing. But then again, she's not the one facilitating this change, isn't the one who started developing new feelings because the relationship they had was perfectly fine-

That's not his fault, she chides herself as she stares up at the ceiling and ignores her texts from Dez. He didn't ask to fall in love with you.

But he did. He went and fell in love with her and now she's the one dealing with it. She's the one who has to deal with his stupid, cheery face and his stupid, too-big heart. His stupid array of talents and the stupid way he looks at her like she hung all the stars in the sky. She's the one who has to save his ass over and over again, knowing intimately the drop in her stomach every time he's almost hurt.

(She's the one who has to look at Zig and Zag in the news and think you are never fucking touching him again.)

But him telling her is making her thinking about her own feelings, about that annoying flare of green whenever she thinks about him and Catherine. About the warm feeling she gets whenever he smiles at her and the fact that he's maybe, possibly, just a little cute. And then it all kind of just snowballs and…

And she realizes it in such a stupid way.

He's at her apartment again, like he almost always is. Her doorman knows him by name now. It's 7 AM and far too fucking early for anything, so the fact that Dez is bouncing around her kitchen with this much energy is proof that he's made some kind of questionable pact with the devil. No mortal can be so cheery before noon.

He slides a mug to her and it takes a moment for her groggy brain to register that it's coffee. She takes a tentative sip; Dez likes to 'experiment' with food in ways that almost always end in disaster. Thankfully for her taste buds, it's normal coffee, just the way she likes it. She takes another sip, savoring the taste before glancing at Dez for the briefest of moments. She's not used to these little domestic habits, to him just knowing all these mundane things about her and constantly taking them into consideration. He sends her links to clothes he thinks she'll like and takes care of Prince whenever she's gone for more than a few hours hero-ing and he sends her cute little "good morning!" texts and she- she doesn't know what to do with all that. That night at the car wash, he promised to not make any big speeches about love and somehow this feels so much more intimate, like he's saying I love you with every endearing, doting action. And it's not even because he's trying to force their relationship into something more romantic; that, she thinks, she could deal with, she could fight with him over it and then it'd be done. But she can't, because that's not what's happening. He's not trying to flirt with her, he's just like this. Constantly, infuriatingly kind and thoughtful.

(What's worse is that she kind of likes it.)

He plops down beside her at her breakfast bar, reminding her of where she actually is. He has his own cup of coffee, though he's added so much sugar it's more of a grainy slurry than a liquid. She's pretty sure he put orange juice in there too and she can hear him literally chewing his coffee, grains crunching between his teeth. It's objectively disgusting and when she informs him as such, he responds by insulting her own choices in caffeine. And it's that sort of light, easy banter that bolsters her heart, makes her feel like she's somehow internalized some of Dez's (almost) perpetual brightness.

He smiles at her over his coffee as he launches into a work story about how he thinks his long-term enemy has started writing to Dr. Cupid for advice on his on-again, off-again relationship. It's not his full, blinding smile that makes his dimples come out and takes over his whole face. It's smaller, and slightly lopsided, but no less warm. It ignites a similar warmth inside her, turning her insides to mush. And then she catches herself and tries to stamp out that warmth.

But, try as she might, she can't quell it entirely. And as she watches him drink his disgusting coffee at way too early in the morning the only thought running through her mind is I love you.

She tries to push it off as a fluke, as a brief moment of poor judgement when she was tired. But then it keeps happening. He says or does something completely innocuous and her ridiculous traitor of a heart wants to confess her love and then kiss him senseless. Not that she ever says the word 'love' out loud. Even when she's staring up at her ceiling, wide awake for reasons unrelated to her nightmares, thinking about how insane it is that Dez fucking Wade is somehow one of the most important people in her life, she still can't bring herself to dwell on that simple four lettered word because…

Because she can't be in love with him, she can't. She's accepted the fact that they're friends, that he's seen her at her absolute worst and still found something there worth loving. But still, that's only when she's decided he can be there, that he's allowed to witness the complete and utter trainwreck that is Trish De la Rosa. If they start dating, there's only two options: they either break up or they stay together until one of them dies. If they go with option two, that's it, that's commitment and vulnerability and everything else she hates. And if they end up moving in together – heaven forbid, if they ever end up getting married – then he'll have to deal with her and all her messiness all the time. There'll be no way to pretend she's fine if he's there in all the places that she falls apart.

And that's not even getting into the hero thing. He told her that he doesn't care if being around her is dangerous, if people use him just to get to her and she doesn't doubt him. She knows, down to her roots, that he will never, ever resent her for anything her hero life does to him. And that- that's worse than him resenting her, worse than him stockpiling grudges until they bury their relationship completely. Because he doesn't deserve that, no one deserves that, but especially not Dez. Dez, who still looks at the world with an optimistic shine, who believes in people, believes in her. Dez, who's had enough bad nights to rival her own and still manages to exude sunshine every waking moment. He doesn't deserve for that light to be snuffed out and no amount of love makes up for the fact that befriending her is tantamount to soaking yourself in gasoline and walking into a forest fire.

"You don't get it," she says to Ally as she vents about her problems to the other woman. "He- God he's in so much danger just from knowing me. If people found out we were dating…"

"I know," Ally says carefully, as though she's navigating a minefield. That's about how Trish feels right now anyway. "But don't you think he deserves the truth?"

"He deserves to be safe," she says, and it carries the most conviction she's ever felt.

And that's that.


There's also one other, tiny thing she's been lying to Dez about. She knows that he's been worrying over her, worrying over the whole Zig and Zag thing more than he should. So when they start getting more…ballsy with their threats, she decides to not tell him or Ally or anyone. Thankfully, he falls for every lie she feeds him, even if each one causes her stomach to knot even further with guilt.

(But at least it justifies her keeping her feelings secret; the fact that that can lie to him so easily has got to be some kind of red flag, right?)

With each passing week, Billie and Bobbie get bolder with their attacks on other heroes. The Stray Kitties get in a screaming match on live TV and even though Trish doesn't have much sympathy for them, she has a pretty damn good idea about the real cause of their spat. But Billie and Bobbie seem to be ignoring her for the most part, possibly remembering the last time they tried to confront her. They also seem wary of making any moves towards Dez too, for which Trish is relieved; she really can't stand the idea of him being in danger because of her.

So yeah, it might be a little morally questionable to lie to her friend about the people who literally held him hostage for a week, but the ends justify the means, right?

Right?

But in the end, all her efforts turn out to be for naught because Dez goes poking through her kitchen looking for a can opener and all her secrets come tumbling out.

"What is all this stuff?" he asks, pulling out a sheaf of papers that make her blood run cold.

"Nothing. Stop messing with my stuff, you doof." She snatches the papers out of his hands and his eyebrows knit at her suddenly aggressive tone.

"It's obviously not nothing." He reaches out for either the papers or her hands. It's hard to tell and she doesn't want him near either.

She dodges. "Just drop it, Dez!"

Another swipe from Dez, this time slightly more successful; the papers spill out of her hands and scatter across her linoleum tiles. There's a pause as though the act of papers falling is a momentous, earth-shattering event and both of them need silence to process it. And then Dez drops to his knees to gather up the papers and Trish's powers react before she does. Her potted plant whips out and ensnares his wrist, roughly yanking it away from the damning pile of evidence scattered between them. He blinks, looking at the foliage like it's some kind of alien creature and not a simple philodendron. Then he looks at her, eyes wide and scared – not of her, but for her and somehow that is so much worse.

The plant unwinds around him. "Sorry," she mutters.

He eyes her warily. "Trish, what is this stuff?"

She sighs, knowing that the jig is up. She reluctantly, haltingly explains everything that's been going on, about how Billie and Bobbie are still out for her and how she's still been getting threats from them, mostly in the form of unmarked letters in her mailbox. She doesn't actually look at Dez until the end and she's met with his patented look of exasperation and concern; it's his why-are-you-doing-this-to-yourself look and she's seen it more times than she wants to admit.

"And you weren't going to tell anyone about this?" he asks, his worry bleeding into his tone. "Not me or Ally or...anyone?"

"I'm dealing with it, Dez." She starts to gather up the papers and after a moment of contemplation, Dez joins her. "They want to meet at this old warehouse-"

"You're not going to go, are you?" he bursts out, clutching the papers he's holding to his chest.

She looks at him, at the dark circles under his eyes and the concern permeating every fiber of his being. "Of course not," she scoffs. "I'm not an idiot."

Another lie to add to the list; it barely even catches against her conscience anymore.


She goes to the warehouse, of course. She's prepared to take these bozos out no matter what, especially since they don't have anyone to hold over her this time. When she gets there she's expecting Billie and Bobbie, maybe with some of that fancy new tech they've been flashing recently. What she isn't expecting to see is herself.

She blinks. Her double blinks back, their entire body tense. She wonders if she's seeing things, but then Billie murmurs in a daze, "There's two of them…"

"One of them must be a fake," Bobbie says, eyes narrowing. "We've been tricked."

Both of them start forward and Trish waves her hands. Vines sprout from the floor and wrap around all three of them. She stalks over to the impostor, fury burning through her.

"Who the hell are you?" She crosses her arms.

"A friend." Her double smiles. Their voice is odd, robotic; the work of a subpar modulator. Trish's scowl deepens at the cliché, vague phrase and the vines lift her double up, preparing to slam them into the ground. "Whoa, hey, hey, hey, I'm on your side, I swear!" They cry.

Trish clenches her fists and stops the vines seconds before the not-Trish's head hits the floor, keeping them suspended upside down "Sorry, I don't trust people who steal my face."

"It's for a good reason!" They implore. They visibly swallow. "Just trust me."

"Trust you?" she shouts and the vines constrict even further. "I don't even know you!"

"Okay, so don't trust me! Just…I want to help you with Zig and Zag. You can't hate me all you want later, but right now we should work together." Trish has a distinct feeling her double is trying to give her puppy-dog eyes from beneath their mask.

She narrows her eyes and reluctantly allows her plants to drop her double onto the ground. She doesn't know who going what the hell they are, but they're right about needing her needing allies; Billie and Bobbie have already made their way out of her plants and are racing toward the two of them. Her double thanks her and is immediately distracted Bobbie shooting some kind of projectile over their head.

And even though she can't afford to be distracted during a fight, Trish can't help but notice something…familiar about her double. The way they move, their inflection when they speak. It almost reminds her of…well, it doesn't matter. Not even he's that stupid.

She pauses.

Oh God, he's totally that stupid.

Unfortunately, her little show when she came in had immediately clued Billie and Bobbie into which one of them was the real Flora. Both of them seem to focus on her rather than her double and she welcomes the challenge. Like she suspected, they've brought their shiny new tech and she finds that her plants are bordering on useless as a result. Every time she manages to snag one twin, they're immediately able to burn or cut through the foliage like it's nothing.

Her double proves to actually be able to hold their own in a fight. They pulls a bolas out and hurl it, sending Billie crashing to the floor as it entangles his legs. The gauntlet on his wrist extends into a blade and he uses it to cut through the ropes as though they're nothing more than dental floss. He shoots a venomous glare at her double and they crumple to the floor, a high-pitched whine of pain erupting from their throat. It makes something in Trish twist; she hadn't known you could use emotional manipulation powers to torture people by forcing them to feel nonexistent pain.

"Stop that!" she shouts and plants well up beneath Billie, breaking his concentration and sending him to the ground once more.

It's at this moment that Trish is forcefully reminded of her other opponent as Bobbie throws herself at Trish, her mechanical gloves sparking with electricity. Trish dodges the attack and Bobbie swipes mere inches above her head. A pair of sunflowers wrap around Bobbie's arms and throw her a good ten feet away from Trish. But she doesn't stay down long and lunges once more, this time managing to get in a lucky hit. A vine shoots out of the ground, snagging Bobbie's ankle and-

"Flora!" The awkward, robotic voice of her double calls out. She risks a glance over and her vines falter in shock. Billie somehow got ahold of her double, his arms wrapped around them. The look on his face is downright predatory as her double struggles in his grasp.

She lifts her hands, preparing to send a wave of vines at him. But, quick as lightning, the gauntlet on Billie's wrist extends into a blade and presses into her double's neck. Trish stops in her tracks and her double freezes as though they've been turned into a statue. The anger in her stomach turns to cold, hard fear.

"Now, that's enough out of both of you," Billie says, voice as hard and unflinching as his blade. "Drop the plants, Flora." With great reluctance, Trish allows her plants to burrow back into the ground. Billie's tone quickly shifts into a syrupy sweet one that gives Trish whiplash as he calls out, "Sister, be a dear and help me figure out who this is."

"Of course!" Bobbie chirps as she picks herself up off the ground. She approaches the not-Trish, ignoring their snarls. Trish hopes she doesn't actually makes faces like that; they're a little embarrassing. Bobbie lets out an "Aha!" when she finds what she's looking for. She pulls something familiar off the back of the double's neck and their entire form flickers, confirming Trish's worst fears. Standing there, battered and bruised with a blade at his neck, is Dez. He's shaking and his wide, terrified eyes lock onto hers, sending her heart careening into the floor.

"Aw, well wasn't that a clever trick?" Bobbie coos, dropping the hard light hologram projector on the ground. Billie's grip around Dez tightens and so does the knot of fear in Trish's chest. "Sending your little friend here to fight us for you."

"I didn't ask him to do this," Trish explains almost desperately, hoping against everything that they'll believe her. "Just let him go."

"We could do that or…" Billie pulls Dez closer, the blade pressing dangerously hard against his skin. "We could prove that you should've listened to us."

And suddenly its like she's back at that motel, although the threat is much more pressing now; she doubts she'll be able to take both of them out before Billie can make his move. She forces herself to look away from the abject terror in Dez's eyes and the shaky way he's breathing. "You won't."

"Really?" Bobbie's tone remains sickly sweet, like rotting pastries. "And how do you know that?"

"Because then you won't have anything to hold over me," Trish says confidently, sure that, despite the fear pounding through her veins, she's won. That confidence slowly melts into confusion as Billie and Bobbie's grins don't waver.

"Oh, Flora," Billie says, voice dripping in false sympathy. "Do you really think we need him? There are others."

"Your songwriter friend, your parents, your brother," Bobbie lists off. "You'd do anything for them too, right? Give it all up for them?"

Dread washes over Trish, wiping out the embers of her rage. "You wouldn't dare."

As if to spite her, Billie presses the blade even closer and a thin line of blood appears, stark against Dez's pale skin. "You should've listened when you had the chance. We tried to do this the easy way." His arm shifts and in her mind's eye Trish can see it, can see the flash of the blade against Dez's throat, can see Dez dea-

"Stop!" she shouts, desperation crawling out of her chest and making itself known to everyone in the room. "I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt him."

Bobbie's smile remains cold. "You know what we want."

She shuts her eyes. "Fine. I-"

"Tr-Trish." A trembling voice interrupts. Dez is shaking like a leaf but his eyes don't leave hers. His voice is hoarse but considering how he's been made mute by his terror up until now, he sounds much stronger than she thought he would. "Don't do it."

"Are you kidding me?" Tears well up and she doesn't even bother to wipe them away. "You're not worth me being a hero."

"But-" His voice cracks and he tries continue on like nothing happened. "But people will get hurt if you stop and let these two t-take over. People need you to protect them."

"Who gives a shit about what they need?" she shouts and the tears start flowing faster. "I need you."

"Aw, how sweet," Bobbie coos, shattering the moment.

Billie's smile turns razor sharp. "Maybe you'll remember this for next time."

And then movement- a flash of metal and Dez drops to the floor, crumpling like a wilted flower. Like a trainwreck, Trish can't look away, can't hear anything except the pounding of her heart. Blood gushes and it's as if every other color has been drowned out; all she can see is red.

And then, all she can see is red.

Something inside of her fractures, jagged pieces shredding every form of rational thought into nothing. In that moment she isn't a hero, isn't even a human, she's simply rage incarnate. She's a star going supernova, destroying everything in her path; she's every cruel, destructive thing she's ever done compounded tenfold. The only tether keeping her grounded to earth has just been cut and she's removed from everything that isn't her fury and grief.

Glass shatters, sending fragments flying across the room as vines slam through the windows with all the force of a thousand suns. Trees thicker than cars burst through the floor, sending the foundation buckling and crumbling, tearing the building apart from below. She can feel the world coming undone with only her thorns holding the pieces together and it's like every plant in Florida has come to do her bidding, to stoke her rage. Billie and Bobbie's faces blanch with terror and she relishes the sight, relishes the power flooding her veins-

And then everything goes white.


She comes to consciousness slowly. The first she becomes aware of is sound, faint beeps and the soft sounds of an air conditioner running. The second is the paper-thin sheets beneath her and an equally thin blanket covering her. Her eyes flutter, struggling to open until she finds herself staring upward at fluorescent lights. Is she dead? Her head rolls to the side to find Dez staring at her with wide eyes. Okay, she's definitely dead then. You'd think heaven would be warmer.

And then angels dressed like nurses bustle into the room, talking around her about vitals and 'finally awake.' There's a flurry of activity as they check the monitors connected to Trish and start performing a litany of tests and she's starting to suspect that she isn't actually dead. But when the bustle finally dies down, she's left alone with Dez, who still hasn't shed his surprised expression.

"I'm alive?" She asks, sitting up slowly. Her voice crackles, coming out weak and uncertain. Dez nods in confirmation. "You're alive."

That one isn't a question, but Dez responds with a quiet "Yeah," anyway, his fingers drifting to his neck. It's swathed in bandages, concealing his injury from view. His eyes remain downcast and then there's a sudden burst of movement as he throws himself at her. He wraps her in a hug, arms tightening around her like she might disappear if he lets go.

"I thought you were dead," he sobs into her neck. She returns the hug, hands rubbing against his back, feeling more than a little confused.

"Dez." She pulls back so she can look him in the eye. "Dez, what happened?"

He's still sort of awkwardly leaning over the side of the bed so he pulls away completely, settling back into his chair. Now that she feels slightly more grounded in reality, it strikes her how bad he looks. His hair is greasy and he still has a bruise on his jaw and a cut on his lip from the fight. The pallor of his face makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more; it looks like he hasn't slept since…huh, she doesn't actually know what day it is.

"Dez, how long have I been in here?" she asks since it seems like he isn't going to answer her first question.

His arms curl around his midsection, avoiding her eyes and something about his posture fills her with déjà vu. "A week."

It feels like she's been doused with cold water as that information knocks any lingering drowsiness out of her. "What? Wh- a week?" Her vocal cords protest her sudden rise in volume, but she ignores them.

"Y-yeah." His eyes dart to hers. "A-after that whole…thing with Zig and Zag, you sort of…slipped into a coma from overexerting your powers."

She runs a hand down her face. "Fuck." She exhales heavily and drops her hand, side-eyeing her companion. "What about you?"

"Me?" Dez asks. An oddly adorable expression of confusion crosses his face.

"Yes, you. After Billie-" The words dry up in her throat as the memory of Dez's prone form fills her mind, red blinding against his deathly pale face. "After…that, how are you fine? Or even like, alive."

"Oh." His fingers ghost over his bandage again. "Yeah, I…was in pretty bad shape for a bit. But, uh, it turned out he missed my esophagus and like, all the other important stuff. So…yeah." He chuckles weakly, a pale imitation of his real laugh. "Guess I'm more durable than I look."

They lapse into silence, and she knows both of them are burning with questions and demands and fears, but neither of them really want to bring them to light. So when Dez offers to turn on the TV, she immediately agrees. A news channel flickers on, showing aerial footage of a familiar building. Or, to be more accurate, what used to be a familiar building. It's now overgrown and torn apart by plants of every kind; the only remaining vestiges of what it used to be are the crumbling pieces of concrete poking through the vines.

"Holy shit," she breathes. "I did that?"

"Yep." Dez's matter-of-fact tone pulls her back to earth. "You can be scary when you need to."

"No kidding." She pauses as a thought occurs to her. "Did they…you know…?"

"No. Or maybe yes." His brows furrow. "I don't actually know what you're asking. But Zig and Zag are alive, if that's what you want to know. They're in really, really bad shape. Like, worse than us. But they're alive."

"Hmm. Can't say I feel bad about that." She shrugs.

Dez smiles with about a tenth of his usual sunniness. "Yeah, they'll think twice about messing with you."

"Or you," she adds. "How'd you survive all that anyway?"

He looks perplexed. "I already told you, Billie missed anything impo-"

"No, I meant that." She rolls her eyes, gesturing to the TV still playing footage of her rage-and-grief fueled destruction.

"Oh." His fingers tap anxiously against his knee. "Um, I think it was because you protected me."

"I didn't protect you." It's supposed to come out strong, but instead her voice is hollow and almost ashamed.

"No, really, you did!" Dez grabs her hand, eyes shining and earnest. "When they found me, I was in this like…cocoon of rose bushes. You made sure nothing you did hurt me."

She sends a silent thank you to her subconscious mind. Dez being injured was bad enough, but if he'd gotten hurt because of something she did…

"What were you even doing there?" she asks after they have enough time to wallow and reflect even more. She doesn't specify where there is, but both of them know what she means.

He blinks. "Dying, mostly." She doesn't know what to make of that; it's too morbid to be a joke, too blunt to be serious.

"I mean, why were you there in the first place? Why were you pretending to be me?" she asks, her voice sharp.

"Oh, right." His fingers splay out. "That."

"Yeah, that," she says, mocking his tone. "What the hell were you thinking?"

His hands twitch, curling and uncurling into fists. "I was thinking-"

"Were you?" The question comes out hot and angry.

He levels her with a flat look. "Do you want me to explain, or do you want to yell at me?"

She glares, but gestures for him to continue.

"Thank you. And I was there because…" He trails off, nervousness now creeping into his demeanor. "I was just trying to help you y'know? You said they almost got to you using their weird emotion manipulating powers, so I figured it wouldn't work on me. I mean, they can't tempt me to give up hero work if I'm not really a hero, right?"

"So what, you were going to fight them and hope you'd win? And that they'd leave me alone and give up their stupid plan?" Her disbelief drips off every word, making Dez sink down further into his chair with each syllable.

"Kind of," he mumbles. A sour look settles across his face and he looks down at the floor. But then something seems to strike him like a lightning bolt and he sits up, fixing her with a sharp, inquisitive look of his own. "But what were you doing there? You said you weren't going to go."

"…yep," she says after a moment. "I…certainly did say that."

"But you went anyway," Dez continues once it's apparent that she isn't going to say anything more.

"Yep."

He once again waits for a follow-up he isn't going to get. "Why?" he bursts out at last.

"Because…" she trails off, incredibly frustrated about everything in her life right now. "Because it was the only way to get them to back off me and you."

His features settle into a look of protective anger. "And you decided not to tell anyone? What if you'd gotten hurt?"

"Then I would've gotten hurt." She shrugs. His hard look doesn't waver and she sighs. "Look, be pissed all you want but I was just doing what needed to be done."

She fixes him with her own unrelenting look of displeasure and from there they're trapped in a silent stare-down in her freezing cold hospital room. It doesn't take long for Dez to crack; he's never held up well under pressure. He lunges at her, wrapping her in another tight hug and burying his face in her shoulder. "You don't have to take care of everything yourself, you know."

Her arms tighten around him. "I know." And, considering how badly things ended with Billie and Bobbie, she actually means it this time.

He pulls out of the hug, but not away from her entirely. He's half-sitting on the bed, one leg is kneeling on her blankets while the other is grounded to the floor. It can't be a comfortable position.

She rolls her eyes. "C'mere, you doof." She grabs the leg still upright on the floor by the thigh and pulls him forward. Unfortunately, she underestimates her strength and ends up pulling him almost on top of her. He reaches out to balance himself and ends up penning her between his arms and there's a moment where her mind goes blank with static as she looks up at him. He hovers over her and she can feel his breath ghosting over her face, could count every freckle on his face if she was so inclined. The moment seems to stretch out into eternity and he looks just as trapped as she is.

And then she comes back to her senses and pushes him away. Thankfully, he seems to understand what she wants and readjusts himself so he's sitting beside her, their legs pressed together. She leans against him and is surprised at how tense he is; it's like leaning against marble. He looks almost…flustered and it occurs to her too late that literally pulling a guy into bed with her (even if it's a hospital bed) might send some mixed signals.

"Sorry," she says. "You, uh, you don't have to stay."

"It's fine," he says. "I want to be here."

It's her turn to blush now. Dez doesn't comment on it – thank God – and their conversation moves to lighter topics. She gloats about the recent news that T-Fame was taken down by some bee-themed vigilante. Dez swears there's a nurse here that's a dead ringer for his Great Aunt Ruthie.

But Trish can't keep her mind entirely on their conversation. Her attention keeps drifting and Dez ends up monopolizing the conversation as she just stares at him. And yes, she knows that's either really creepy or really sappy, but she can't help it. It might be her affection blurring her sensibility, but he's probably one of the most attractive people she's ever known. He smiles at her in the middle of a story, all teeth and deep dimples, and she doesn't understand how everyone isn't just a little bit in love with him.

She thinks about what they talked about. Dez had done all that – had risked his life – for her. It makes the feelings she's spent so much effort burying away bubble to the surface, threatening to spill over. And as she looks at Dez, she finds that every excuse as to why they shouldn't be together pales in comparison to upwelling of pure, unadulterated love inside her. It's clear he doesn't want or need her to protect him from herself, so what's stopping her?

It's during a lapse in conversation, a comfortable silence surrounding them, that Trish makes her move. "Do you remember when you said you were in love with me?"

Her gaze is focused solely on her hands, so she doesn't see the confused expression on Dez's face. However, his tone conveys it well enough. "Yeah?"

"Do you still feel that way?" She lets her eyes dart up long enough to see his head bob in a silent yes. Her next words come out soft, softer than she's used to being. "Good. Because…I think I'm in love with you too."

She waits for his reaction. He too has been steadily avoiding eye contact and his eyes widen as he stares down at the bedspread. He turns toward her sharply, disbelief written across his features. "Really?"

"Yes, really." She grabs his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. The disbelief doesn't fade from his face.

"And-and you're not just saying this because you feel bad about…" he trails off, fingers brushing over the bandages around his throat. His words send something cold through her.

"No!" It comes out loud and sharp and Dez flinches. She sighs and repeats quieter, "No. I…may or may not have started liking you back a few months ago."

"Oh." He blinks. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you just almost died because someone wanted to scare me," she says, frustration bleeding into her voice. He still looks confused, so she tries to explain herself a little better. "I'm…my life is dangerous, and I just wanted to protect you from the worst of it. And I thought the best way to do that was to keep you at arm's length."

His brows furrow and he looks somewhere between incredulous and offended. "I don't need you to protect me."

"I know," she huffs. "That's why I'm telling you now." He doesn't say anything. "Well?" she says, impatience evident as she waits for his response.

"I mean, questionable decisions regarding my autonomy aside, I still really, really like you." He smiles at her, one hand curling around her cheek. He pulls her closer, lips pressing against hers gently. She returns the kiss eagerly, lips moving in tandem with his. Her hands move upward, mindful of his injuries as they wound into his hair. He returns the action, one hand gripping her curls while the other took ahold of her waist.

She breaks the kiss but doesn't entirely pull away, instead resting her forehead against his. "If I'm being honest," she whispers, "the fact that we're in a hospital right now is really killing the mood for me."

"Me too," Dez whispers back. And then, in direct contradiction to his words, he presses another fleeting kiss to her lips. "But also I've wanted to do this for a really, really long time."

They start kissing again, this time getting a little more heated than acceptable for a hospital bed. His tongue swipes hesitantly across her bottom lips as his hand presses against a part of her back that she just now realizes is bruised. Pain tears through the pleasure and she pulls back with a grunt.

"Oh, god." The tenderness on Dez's face makes way for pure fear. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? We- I shouldn't have- you just woke up-"

"Dez," she interrupts. "It's fine, you didn't know and both of us are pretty banged up right now." He looks unconvinced and she kisses him once again. "Stop pouting," she commands settling against him.

His arm slowly curls around her like she's made of glass. One hand starts to card through her curls and her eyes start to flutter close, soothed by his ministrations. "I wanna take you out on a real date after you get out of here."

"Melody's Diner," she murmurs muzzily, already halfway asleep.

"Melody's Diner," he agrees softly. He presses a feather-light kiss to her head. "Get some rest, okay?" He shifts like he's going to leave and her hands latch onto his shirt. He pauses, not necessarily held back by her - she's half-asleep and just woke up from a coma, he could easily break her grip – but rather by his own emotions. "Someone's clingy," he teases.

She doesn't even open her eyes. "Shut it, you doof."

He laughs softly as he carefully reposition himself so she can use his torso as a pillow. "I love you," he whispers like it's a secret, like he almost doesn't want her to hear it.

Right before she succumbs to sleep entirely, Trish finds just enough energy to mumble, "I love you too."