1

Death City may be in the middle of the Nevada high desert, but it is still a metropolis. It is large enough to have one and a half million people, an international airport, a major train station for both passenger travel and shipments of goods, and a reliable if a little sketchy public transportation system. The people are an eclectic mix like most cities: genuinely good and kind people are everywhere, but in equal number are the bad eggs, people more interested in getting ahead in life, no matter who they need to step on.

It is people like this that Blake hates the most.

He knows he is no saint, sure, but Blake Barrett only ever wanted to see people get what was coming to them: for good, honest hard-workers to see the fruits of their labor produce success, and for the scum of the earth to see only the interior of a correctional facility. And when he turned 11, he found that he might have more of a say in that than he initially anticipated.

He grew up in the system, passing from foster home to foster home, from lackluster family to loveless guardian, until Sid. Sid Barrett was a police detective in their midtown precinct and one of the best in Death City. When Blake ended up on his doorstep, the man took a single look at him and roughly ruffled his black hair then pulled him inside.

Over the next few months after joining this new home, Blake acts out, pulls pranks, and gets into trouble, knowing that his new foster parent will probably kick him along just like every other. Yet, Sid never does, only quietly molds his chaotic energy into more productive outlets: martial arts, bicycling, basketball, you name it.

His ninth birthday passes and midway to his tenth, Sid places a document in front of Blake without a word. Blake sits and reads it, still for once. As he does, unbidden, his eyes burn and water. Sid moves from his seat across from him to kneel at his side. Large hand familiar in his hair, rubbing his head soothingly, as Blake nods, slowly at first then with vigor. Sid ends up needing a new copy of the adoption form, this one was crumpled and wet with tears, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Blake certainly doesn't mind having a dad. He works harder than ever to make his dad proud of him, though school is still tough and he has to have dinner on his own when Sid is called to work late at the precinct. On his tenth birthday, he promises to become a cop like Sid and the man just smiles and musses his hair.

"Don't grow up too soon, kid," Sid says.

His son only looks up from under his hand, gripping his wrist, with green eyes and a cheeky grin.

It's on the eve of Blake's 11th birthday that things start to change and the small family realizes that he will never be able to be a cop. At midnight, as the clock ticks into the first minutes of his eleventh year, Blake wakes in his bed in a cold sweat with a sharp pain cutting into his right shoulder. He struggles against it, ending up screaming into his pillow. In a flash, Sid is there, untwisting the boy's covers from his body.

"Calm down, Blake, look at me, look at me, son," he directs. The boy sits gripping his shoulder and gritting his teeth, still hyperventilating but no longer screaming. "Breathe. Four in, hold, then four out. Can you do that for me?"

Blake nods violently, fingers digging further into his arm. He complies with the instruction, though not without difficulty. It takes four tries before he actually is able to look up at Sid. The pain is awful still.

Slowly, Sid reaches for his arm, gently plucking the boy's fingers away and rolling up his bloody sleeve. Blake hisses, but doesn't complain and Sid promises himself that after they find out what's wrong and fix it, they'll dig into the ice cream cake he'd secretly gotten to celebrate early. In the light of the moon, streaming in from Blake's bedroom window, Sid sees the blood welled up on his skin and makes Blake take off his shirt, moving his arm gingerly.

Using the now ruined shirt, he dabs at the wound to find the problem. What he finds is a perfectly formed star. The skin is split cleanly along the sides of the shape as though cut by a human cookie cutter. He curses under his breath and picks up Blake, carrying him to the bathroom down the hall. It is a testament to the amount of pain he's in that the boy doesn't complain at the treatment. Quickly, he cleans and wraps the wound and gets his son some painkillers. They spend the first few hours of Blake's birthday slowly eating ice cream cake and icing his shoulder to numb it.

For the next week, Sid takes off work and keeps Blake home from school. The kid seems drained and the star-shape on his shoulder reopens no matter how many times he bandages it. He even calls in his cousin Mira, an EMT, to take a look but she can only confirm that he is doing the right thing in regards to first aid. During the course of the week, Blake seems adrift, listless in a way that is not related to the painkillers he's given him. Sid watches him come into the living area, running his hand over the back of the couch.

That in and of itself is not interesting, but the static visibly clinging to his son's hand without his notice is. The small sparks are bright blue and for a moment, when Blake looks at him, he swears that green eyes are that same electric shade. Sid says nothing, only continues to observe. By the end of the week, he is certain.

Blake Barrett has super powers, or will soon.

The final weekend before Blake goes back to school, they talk about it and Blake stares in wonder at his hands. He'd just roasted their toaster, and they set new rules and guidelines to keep him from electrocuting anything important. The months following lead to new discoveries of Blake's powers and new rules to abide by to keep them secret.

The biggest physical change is that Sid buys some hair dye to turn Blake's black hair blue. They end up only giving him blue tips, but the appearance changes during his 'active' times are jarring. The bright blue eyes were not a trick of the light. Blake's usual green glow blue when his powers are activated, and if he builds up enough charge, the new scar on his arm glows, too, and his hair shifts to blue.

The boy takes it in stride as only a young boy that watches Saturday cartoons can. Sid is more worried, however. Death City has a handful of Supers, ones he dealt with regularly: more like vigilantes than civil servants, and all reckless as hell. So while Blake delights in popping balloons by zapping them from across their garage (closed from prying eyes), Sid makes some calls.

What he gets is a list of contacts that he memorizes and then burns. People to reach out to about relocation, witness protection, damage due to super powers, lawyers, and doctors familiar with Supers' physiology. Interestingly, he gets a few recommendations for tailors as well. For now, his boy is fine and understands to keep his powers to himself, excited just to get to try them out in their garage and out in the desert on weekend camping trips. Sid knows that won't last and wonders when his son will want more.

Patrols are boring most of the time, but Blake knows it is worth it. The handful of city blocks he can cover see fewer crimes than when he started a year ago, and some store owners are at least familiar with him now. He runs a hand through his blue hair, making it stand on end with a touch of static. The clock on the library tower nearby tells him it's nearly 2am and Sid will be home soon. It'll be the kiss of death for him if he isn't home by then.

His dad doesn't approve of him being on patrol all on his own, but he knows that nothing he can say will stop his headstrong 16-year-old. Blake feels a little bad, but is honestly just glad that Sid understands despite it all. Mentally, Blake recounts the hours he'll have left to finish his homework and sleep before school tomorrow. He honestly wouldn't bother with the homework if Sid wasn't such an imposing presence whenever the man found it was undone. Saying his homework was complete is the only real reprieve he is able to get when Sid starts to lecture about the dangers of Super work. Thankfully, tomorrow is Friday and that means he can get ahead on his work- wait, he's got a martial arts tournament this weekend. Ugh.

An alarm sounds from the street below and Blake instantly jumps into action, bouncing level by level down a fire escape in the alley nearby. The corner store is bustling with activity of the armed robber variety. Shots fire and Blake feels a rush to his blood.

"Yo! You guys stupid, or what?" he yells. Blue eyes blazing, he jumps and swings in through the broken door from the awning. Both of his feet connect with the man pointing a gun at the counter, knocking him over harshly. Blake rolls out of the way as an accomplice fires at him.

Pointing a finger at the lights, he fires a bolt of electricity at it. The store falls into darkness, but he already knows where the two robbers are. The first guy is getting up and Blake shoulder checks him, electric energy crackling around him. The man lets out a strangled cry and falls to the ground, unconscious. The scuffle of footsteps in the back of the store stop and Blake moves forward heedlessly.

His steps aren't quiet enough apparently as another shot fires his way. Blake barely moves to the side in time- invulnerability was actually not one of his powers- but gets clipped in the side for his arrogance. Growling, he rushes forward, lighting up his arm and catching enough of a glimpse of the second robber to plant his static filled fist into his face. The man crumples and Blake leans down to drag him over to the front by the foot. The shop owner has his phone flashlight on and is peering cautiously over the counter. In the distance, Blake can hear police sirens.

"Uh, thanks, Sparky," the vendor says, bewildered.

"It's not Sparky, man. It's Black*Star," Blake grumbles. "Black*Star! Why do you all insist on calling me Sparky or Lightbulb or Sparkplug?! I swear, Deathscythe NEVER has this problem..."

The vendor laughs at him. "Can't blame me! I didn't know you were called Black*Star!"

"Well, you didn't bother to find out, didya?" Blake snipes back.

The man shrugs and grabs some zip ties and a bandana to handle the guns, pushing them away from the robber. After they're secured he looks up at Blake. "Hey, aren't you a little young?"

"No, I'm definitely an adult," Blake splutters, caught off guard. He winces as the pain from the bullet graze catches up to him. Inspecting it makes it hurt worse and there's a decent tear in his suit with blood smeared into the fabric. "Aw, man, Dad is gonna kill me."

The store manager raises an eyebrow at him.

"Don't say a word, old man!" Blake shouts. The sirens are getting closer and the digital clock over the counter still blinks red numbers: 2:37 am. Darn it. "Be more careful about late night customers!" he throws over his shoulder, running as fast as he can down the street.

The electricity pumps through his veins and enhances his strides, letting him bound and jump far enough to get over the taller buildings at the front of the block to the slightly shorter residential duplexes and townhouses behind. Trying to keep his glowing and sparks to a minimum, he slips through the roof access door to his home, shucking his homemade 'suit' on the way down the narrow stairs. The stretching makes him wince hard. As he passes the living room to the main bathroom, a light clicks on.

"Oh my God, Mira, you can't do that to me," he exclaims. Mira Nygus does not look amused at all.

"I get to do whatever I want when I show up bearing Mr. Chien's takeout and you, who should be at home studying, are not here," she states. Her eyes shift to the bullet graze on his side. "I see you've been busy tonight."

Blake wants to groan and complain, but Mira gets up and grabs him harshly by the elbow before he can. She drags him to the bathroom. She seats him on the closed toilet and pulls out the extensive medical kit she keeps stashed at Sid's house. He winces at the water then peroxide to wash it out and tries not to move as she does whatever she feels is necessary to close it up. Aside from his dad, Mira is the only one who knows about his powers and his superhero moonlighting.

"You're still blue, kiddo," she says when she moves away. Blake sighs heavily and concentrates, pulling the static back into himself. It isn't easy, most of the time it feels like there's too much to contain. He wishes he could just let it out, expand to the size it really was. Hence his constant need to work it out by going on patrol. "Okay, open up, look at me."

He obeys and she looks in his eyes. Mira turns away to wash up and pack up her kit and Blake assumes he must have successfully pulled the electric blue of his eyes and hair back in. Standing, he takes stock of his injury in the mirror, not seeing much around the bandages she's plastered on. He runs the faucet and splashes his face, looking at his usual reflection in the mirror.

Green eyes, dark hair tipped electric blue. That star-shaped scar on his shoulder.

"How does it feel?"

"Same as always, Aunt Mira," he says, the exhaustion closing in on him reverting his speech to when he was little. She runs a finger over the scar tissue, brow furrowed. He takes her hand and squeezes. "It's okay. Thanks for patching me up."

"I only did it so Sid has a whole boy to whip when he gets home," she scoffs. For good measure, she whacks him in the back of the head. It stings. "Now get to the kitchen and eat something before you go to bed."

"Okay, okay…"

When morning breaks, Blake wakes to his third alarm blaring and shuffles his way to the kitchen. Sid waits for him at the small island, fingering the bullet hole in Blake's makeshift superhero outfit. Blake watches him carefully, reaching blindly for the fridge.

"Sit down," Sid says. Blake can't get a read on him, which somehow makes it worse. He abandons the refrigerator and takes the stool across from his dad. "You got an explanation for this?"

"It's not a big deal. I'm a great-" Sid slams his hand down, cutting him off. The fabric is crushed beneath his palm, the cotton stained with the rusty color of Blake's blood.

"No, Blake, it IS a big deal." Sid locks eyes with Blake and it takes all of his willpower to not look away. Equal parts frustration and guilt war and roil in his stomach. Sid sighs and looks away first. "You got shot. Mira texted me when she left last night, but you were out like a light by the time I got off my shift."

Blake shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "Look, I know- I know it was dangerous, but I handled it! A couple robbers ain't nothing the Black*Star can't-"

"Son, please," Sid cuts him off again. He pushes the fabric across the island and slowly removes his hand from the sliced and bloodied section. "You aren't invulnerable and your suit is made of cotton, not kevlar; you're just a kid."

"But-!"

"You're my kid, so you know what you're gonna do?" The man rises from his seat, his height and stature once again making Blake feel small and childlike. "You're gonna stay home tonight and for the rest of the weekend. Studying." Blake makes a noise in the back of his throat of protest. "No arguments. You'll go to school today, stay out of trouble, and when you get back, we'll discuss this again."

When Blake leaves the kitchen with a handful of granola bars and an apple (at Sid's insistence), his dad stands at the sink, washing the leftover dishes from Mira and Blake's late night Chinese food. He looks back at the island, hands still running under the warm, soapy water. The pile of fabric there could be described as shabby at best, padding stitched into it with the sloppy uneven needlework of a boy who never passed Home Ec. There's dirt and grass stains that had never come out and some of the edges are fraying. Most obvious, the bloodstain from last night and the jagged slice through the cotton glare back at him.

Sid sharply sucks in a breath, now that he's alone and can reconsider how close he came to losing his boy. Nothing will break Blake's will to be a superhero, nothing will slow him down, make him ignore people who need help, keep him from getting stronger and creating new enemies. Perhaps it is time to give a little himself, to trust in his son and widen his world.

He has a few calls to make.

2

Blake peeks out from beneath the hood of his zip-up, green eyes dubiously sweeping over the small shop. It is almost an hour from where he lives with Sid by public transport, taking a bus and two subway transfers then a couple blocks of walking after that. Still, whatever the building holds ought to be interesting and useful, since Sid had lifted his ban on leaving the house or doing anything but study for the weekend in order to send him here. The black paint is peeling off the bricks that make up the storefront, and as he steps closer, the glare from the sun disappears and he can read the painted logo on the window.

'The Thimble.' A few old mannequins line the wide glass, dressed in a variety of fashions. The designs are cleancut and, as far as he can tell, on trend. The sign hanging on the door says 'open', so Blake shrugs to himself and walks in, a bell chiming overhead. No one is in the waiting area or behind the counter. It smells of clean linen and there's a heat and humidity that rises the closer he gets to the counter that speaks of steaming services. He slings his bag off his shoulder and sets it on the countertop. A little annoyed that the staff is nowhere to be seen, he taps the silver bell near the register.

"Be with you in a moment!" A young feminine voice calls from the back. There's some other mumbling, but Blake can't make it out. He looks at his watch, trying to figure out the timing of the buses and trains he needs to take back home.

Just as he finishes estimating the time it'll take, heels click on the tiled floor. Blake glances up to see a stern-looking woman exit the back room, wearing a sharp black pants suit and crisp white shirt. Her black hair is cropped short and asymmetrically and a thin pair of rectangular glasses perch on her nose, doing little to spare him from her penetrating stare.

"Yes, how may I help you today?" she asks, voice darker, with more of an edge than the one he just heard. Blake unzips his bag that sits on the counter between them. He reaches in and grasps the well-known fabric of his suit, hesitating.

"Um, my dad sent me here, but I'm not sure I…" he trails, unsure if he should be doing this. Sid told him to bring his suit here, but didn't tell him anything else. The woman clicks her tongue impatiently.

"Your father sent you here?" She reaches out to push his hood back a bit, eyes tracing over his features. Blake gets the disturbing feeling that she sees right through him. Apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, the woman backs off. "I received a call yesterday morning from who I assume is your father. I have been expecting you."

Blake's hand curls further into the fabric within his bag, still unsure of revealing his identity to this stranger.

"Honestly, boy," the woman gripes. She extends her hand and gestures significantly toward his shoulder where his star-shaped scar is hidden. "I don't have all day to wait around for your floundering to stop."

Reluctantly, he pulls the white, black and blue fabric out, slipping the now empty bag back onto his shoulder. She doesn't even look at it, continuing to maintain her unnerving eye contact. "I am 'A' and I will be taking care of this… suit… for you."

Blake takes her hand and the handshake is firm and short, in a reassuring way. Only once they let go, do A's eyes shift to take in the state of his suit. She tutts and mutters to herself as she inspects it. The stern lines of her face deepen as she twists and turns the fabric in her hands.

"Uh, I guess just a clean and patch job will do-" Blake starts. A just scoffs loudly.

"You cannot be serious, boy," she says, shaking a fistful of his mangled suit at him. "This is an absolute travesty. No amount of needlework or deep steam cleaning will salvage this… thing!"

Just as he's about to snap back at the woman- this is his only suit!- the door to the backroom bursts open and a girl stumbles through it, only identifiable by the knobby black-tight clad knees below her plaid skirt and a flash of a ponytail. There are reams of fabric in every color piled high in her arms and they sway precariously as she tries to keep walking when the door swings back and hits her in the backside.

"Ah! Finally!" A says, turning to the newcomer. "'M', I have your first assignment."

She tosses Blake's suit at 'M' despite his protests and the girl fumbles the swatches of fabric, dropping them to catch the object thrown her way. Blake's eyes widen when they land on the girl's face. Ash blonde hair pulled into two pigtails with bangs sticking to her flushed face, pale green eyes wide with surprise and just a few light freckles on the apples of her cheeks.

She's cute.

"You will take this as... inspiration for your first full ensemble. Ask the boy any questions you need to get the job done right." Direction given, A turns back to Blake, breaking his attention away from gawking at 'M'. "She will get the job done well enough. Then we will see what else the two of you can do. Keep this in mind: a great tailor is like a great personal trainer- they tailor a suit to your natural physique, to showcase your talents and downplay your weaknesses. Come back in a week to pick it up."

"A week?!" M squeaks. Blake knows she was the one to speak when he first came in now.

"Yes, and as this is your first attempt alone, I won't charge the boy," A adds.

"I'm not 'the boy'," he bristles. "My name is-"

"-irrelevant," A cuts him off. A scowl crosses her face. "You'd do well to not throw that sort of information around so easily, even in present company."

With that, she sweeps out of the room as efficiently as she entered and only when the last click of her heels fades away, does Blake breathe again. The seamstress' presence was stifling to say the least.

"Wow, what a scary lady…" he mumbles to himself. A snort of laughter reminds him he isn't alone and Blake makes eye contact with the girl.

M shuffles from foot to foot, clutching his suit in her hands. The many colors of the fabric at her feet catch his eye as the moment drags on and he tries an awkward smile. Her gaze is a bit unnerving, a little unfocused as she stares back at him. It's similar to the feeling he got from A's penetrating gaze.

"Do you… want help with that?" he asks, pointing at the scattered cloth.

"Uh, no! I've got it under control!" she says, green eyes crinkling shut in a polite but fake smile. "And, um, about this," holding up his suit, "I'll get the job done."

"Sure," he replies, as casually as if he hadn't handed a woman and girl he didn't know the key to his biggest secret. While M's thousand-yard stare is bizarre, Blake doesn't get any bad vibes from her. "I'll look forward to it."

For some reason, this makes the girl's eyes widen in surprise, then she grins. It's a little toothy, a little lopsided, but it raises a blush on Blake's ears to see that genuine happiness and confidence on her face. He wants to see it again.

"Thanks… M."

Her grin slips off and her green, green, green eyes widen again with a touch of delight. Her cheeks flush again and Blake feels something warm in his chest, even as she stumbles from the room, his suit still vice gripped in her hands.

That warmth stays with him all the way home as does the image of pale blonde hair and pink cheeks around green eyes.

3

A week later, Blake's stitches no longer pull and Sid's iron fist continues to drive him into the ground, books first. The entire seven day wait had just made Blake antsy. On one hand, he was definitely concerned for his identity and constantly checked forums and social media for any news about him. Yet, as usual, there wasn't more than a passing mention with the wrong name or variant of Black* Star. That indifference to his heroic pursuits grinds his gears, but he knows no matter how much he complains, only action will make him noticeable.

On the other hand, Blake can't get that blonde girl out of his mind. She's cute, even with her crooked grin, and at the moment, knows him only as a superhero. A little anxious at seeing her again, he messes with his hair in the bathroom mirror. Fluffing the blue-tipped fringe, his mouth twists into a pout when it doesn't behave the way he wants.

"You know, when you became a teenager, I thought the only thing I'd have to worry about was your superpowers and inability to stay out of trouble. Is vanity now on that list?" Sid's voice rumbles from the door.

Caught, Blake straightens and tries to play it off. "Nothing wrong with lookin' good, Dad. Gotta make a big impression-" he cuts himself off, flushing as Sid grins slowly.

"Big impression, huh? This wouldn't have to do with a certain intern I spoke to on the phone this morning, would it?"

"M called-?!" Blake winces as his eagerness escapes. Sid just laughs as Blake tenses over the sink, trying to restrain himself from saying anything further.

"So her name is M. She sounds lovely. Very polite."

"Dad!" he whines. Sid enters the room and pulls Blake's hood over his head. He tugs sharply on the strings, cinching it shut around his nose. Blake flails and sputters until Sid's hand falls heavily on his head and twists hard a few times, no doubt ruining any hair fluffing Blake had accomplished.

"It's time to go. Bus is almost here."

Blake stills. Even though Sid's voice is the same even and deep tone he's known most of his life, the hand on his head and the other that comes up to cover the star-shaped scar hidden on his shoulder feel warm.

Despite what Sid had said about M calling and seeing her again, the only one behind the counter when he arrives at 'The Thimble' is A. The severe woman hands him a package wrapped in nondescript brown paper, tied with a neat green and white string. Blake lingers as long as he can, but doesn't last more than a handful of minutes before A's sharp tongue and unnerving eyes make him flee the little shop.

As he leaves, he knocks shoulders with another customer entering. The man is tall, wearing a slick leather jacket and large, dark aviators. A knit cap covers his hair and the door swings shut before Blake can get a better look. Through the glass, he sees the man meet A at the counter. She nods and gestures to the door off to the side of the counter. They disappear and Blake can't help but wonder if the man is another Super.

Sid finally lets him go on patrol (or at least doesn't specifically tell him not to) the next week. Once home from the tailor's shop, Sid had confiscated the brown paper package, so tonight is also the first night he's seen and put on his suit. The thick cotton and poorly stitched padding was no more.

What he wore now was on a whole other level, but still familiar and reminiscent of his first suit. Clearly, M did great work and had a better eye for design than he did. The clean lines were tightly knitted with a silvery thread that Blake had felt compelled to test before donning the suit. The biggest knife in their kitchen couldn't cut it or rip the fabric. It was a little thicker than the cotton, but it was warm, which he appreciated now that it was winter.

A domino mask had also been included with the white, blue and black suit. Blake puts it on without much thought, but when he catches a glimpse of himself in a window while crouching on a rooftop near a tall office building, he's taken aback. The electric blue of his eyes and hair seem brighter against the black of the mask. The lines of the suit that seemed based off his old design are laid out differently, contouring his musculature and making him look more intimidating. The silver stitching lays over his shoulder, the sloppy lines he had used copied exactly, purposefully misaligned with the star-shaped scar on the skin beneath.

Blake actually looks like a superhero now.

Sirens ring out from the street below and Black*Star grins, electricity crackling and flexing over his skin in excitement before he launches himself into action.

It's amazing how something as simple as new threads can change everything from attitude to posture to perception. The store manager from the robbery months ago now remembers his hero name. The press has finally picked up his activity, gaining a few lines in the online blogs and a video clip or two. One off the wall subreddit that talks about obscure superheroes brings him up often, discussing what his powers seem to be and how they think he ranks against others in the city and across the country.

He 'ranks' lower than he thinks he deserves, but Blake is nothing if not motivated by being underestimated. So he works out, he pushes his powers, exceeds his limits, all while Sid presses him on his school work. College applications are coming up.

Which brings Blake to his current mission: heading to the city library.

Honestly, he'd rather do anything but read or spend a whole day surrounded by books. Sid had insisted, however, and once again his suit was confiscated until his applicationsapps were out and the end of term finals were over. So down the stairs to the subway, he goes, music bopping through his earbuds and cap pulled down to protect the tips of his ears from the cold air.

The wait for the next train isn't long. He hops on the 4 line and hooks an elbow around one of the poles. When the doors close and the people around stop moving, he shifts his weight, ready for the train to start. As it jostles him and the other patrons with acceleration, he sees a slip of blonde and green through the mosh of parkas and messenger bags. Craning to see if he can catch it again, Blake's eyes land on a girl in a grey bomber jacket with a dark green knit scarf and beanie flicking through her phone. Ash blonde hair sticks out from under the cap and the eyes that pass rapidly over her screen are that particular shade of green Blake hasn't forgotten yet.

He should say hi. Or maybe not? A had been so insistent to not let him even introduce himself as a civilian. Two stops pass by as he deliberates. When the next rolls around, it's decided for him as the girl who could only be M exits. It's the one closest to the library. Blake pulls out his earbuds, hoping to catch up to her fast pace. Her pigtails whip in the wind as she jogs up the big stairs to the library and pulls the door open. He sneaks in just before the door closes, nearly bowling her over as she shows her ID to the front desk.

Those big green eyes blink up at him in surprise and annoyance, then recognition. Blake can't help the grin that slips on his face, blindly digging for his own ID. When he slaps it on the counter, M looks at it instinctively then flicks her gaze elsewhere, pointedly trying to ignore him.

"Oh, you're good to go ahead in, Maka," the receptionist says warmly. "That table you like is probably still free this time of day. The cold is keeping most people away." M nods and smiles politely at the receptionist, slipping the ID card back into her bag. "And Mr… Barrett? You're clear as well. Please let me know if you need assistance."

"Sure thing!" he says. In the moment that he turns to thank the woman, M gets nearly to the staircase on the opposite side of the large lobby. "Hey, wait!"

"Don't!" she snaps.

"But-!"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you or- or even see you!" She continues quickly up the stairs and onto the fourth floor, boots echoing on the polished stone floor and walls of the old library. She weaves through the bookcases and tugs books off the shelves while barely even looking at the titles, like she knows the dewey decimal classification system like most people know their home phone number.

"Look, Maka- it is Maka, right? I just-" he nearly runs into her when she spins on her heel to face him. The look on her cute face is thunderous and some of her faint freckles are lost in the creases of annoyance on her brow.

"You shouldn't know my name and I shouldn't know yours," she hisses. "That's how this whole thing works."

"Listen, I just wanted to say… thanks," Blake huffs. "The su- uh, it looks, feels, and performs great. And I haven't gotten shot since. Just some bruises."

Maka's mouth screws up in great concentration, as though trying to withhold questions even as her eyes light up at the small measure of praise. What comes out is a small wrenched 'you're welcome' before she has to turn away. She steps past the end of the bookshelves and it opens up to a small nook with a big window that overlooks the library's courtyard. The table there is a two seater, with a vertical panel so that the two seats have privacy for studying. She sits and spreads out her materials and Blake stands there for an awkward beat, wondering if that was all she was going to say to him.

Determined, he starts back down the lanes lined with books floor to ceiling, eyes flicking over the titles. He has to go back down to the first floor to find the books he needs for his finals and for the majors he may want to pursue in college. Sid had told him to write his essays with that goal in mind, so he needs the right verbiage and context. Once the books are in hand, he treks back up to the fourth floor.

The books make a loud sound as they land on the table and Maka jumps at the sound. She narrows her eyes at him. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not. This seat isn't taken, is it?" Blake responds cheekily, already sitting. Maka rolls her eyes and disappears behind the divider.

Blake fidgets in his seat a little, trying to see if he can see her, but the library's furniture is well-designed. Giving up, he opens the first book and pulls out his laptop. Earbuds pop back in and pump chillhop music over his reading.

"Have a good night," Maka says, snapping him out of his focus. Surprised, he stares at her, one earbud hanging from his fingers, the other still playing. Quickly checking his watch shows its been hours since they sat down. Late afternoon's dim winter sky filters into the window now and he's gotten through a couple books of reference material. He's never been able to zone out so well while studying. "You okay there?"

"Uh, yeah," he mutters. Her face softens a touch and a small smile graces her lips. Blake feels a flush of embarrassment hit his cheeks. "Have a good one."

Maka nods and starts to walk away. Blake watches her for a moment then starts to pack up his own stuff, checking his silenced phone to see a few texts from Sid and Mira about dinner.

"I'm glad, you know," Maka's voice calls back down the aisle, just loud enough to get his attention. "That the suit works for you. It was my first one. ...see you next time."

When he looks up, she's gone, but Blake grins harder than he thought possible.

4

The next few months see a marked improvement in Blake's studying skills. If Sid notices a change in his motivations, he doesn't say anything. Not saying anything, though, doesn't mean that Blake doesn't get a specific knowing look each time he grabs his bookbag and throws a 'headed to the library!' over his shoulder on his way out the door. Still, good grades means more time for patrols and with each time he crashes Maka's study sessions, he breaks down another piece of the walls built around her.

"You made the news again," she says, not looking up from her reading. "Hiro's Hero Corner."

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed," he responds, feet kicked up on his side of the little desk.

"Sure, because 'TehGr8ME' is a really knowledgeable fanboy and not you." The look she gives him is withering.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he deflects, but the grin on his face gives him away. Maka leans back out of view. The wind is taken out of his sails, however, with her next words.

"They really focused on how that new construction site got leveled, huh?"

Point Maka.

"Why are you even studying this science stuff? What even is polymer synthesization?" he complains, plopping the heavy book back down into her hands.

"Polymerization is the process by which monomers are covalently bonded to form a long polymer chain or network," she recites. Those green eyes narrow in on him and he backs away a little with his hands up. "And this science stuff probably saved your life."

He slumps back in his chair and flicks his gaze back and forth between her and the books a few times. Still curious, he leans forward to peek at the text again, but without any context or vocabulary definitions, it's just gibberish to him.

"So why are you even doing this?" she asks.

"Studying? I mean I'm barely doing that right now, but-"

"No. Why are you… wearing the suit?"

There are a hundred things he could say. That he wants to save people, to be strong. That he wants to protect the city like his father, but this is the only way for him to do so. Those responses are too raw, though, and even if he likes Maka and they've become closer, he can't show that kind of vulnerability.

"I wear it because sometimes, even I want to look beautiful," he says instead. Maka knows he's lying, has to, since she's got that all-knowing penetrating gaze fixed on him. "You don't put on a nice suit like that everyday, you know?"

Maka sniffs a little, looking annoyed and a little disappointed in his answer.

She nearly kills him when he brings his suit in with him one time. Despite her hissed admonishments and promises to never patch another tear ever again, her hands still reach for the emergency sewing kit he knew was in her bag. She grumbles and whines even as she lets out the seams on the torso and arms after making him sweep the whole floor of the library for other people that might see.

"This is not a permanent fix, you know. The fabric is designed to stretch and breathe for goodness sake! It's like Egyptian cotton and spandex had a baby, but somehow Kevlar was the father! So why do you even need these areas opened up?"

"Look, you said it was machine-washable and I maybe threw it in the dryer and it shrank!"

Blake is surprised that the warmth of the sunny spring day shining through the window at their library nook isn't completely sucked out of the air when she pauses from her work.

"Okay, so it wasn't the dryer, it was the fridge!" he confesses. "Still, gotta eat more if I'm gonna put on more muscle. Also, not my fault that it was my aunt's birthday AND my dad's the past few weeks."

Maka snorts, still focused on her needlework partially obscured by the desk and half inside his bag.

"I need to put on some muscle mass now that I'm actually up against other Supers on the reg. Gotta put in the required gym time."

"You're going to have to set up an actual appointment with A," she says, even as she finishes up the first hem and starts opening up the second. "You're due for it anyway."

"Fine, fine…" he relents. Her needlework is so tight and neat and of course the thread exactly matches the fabric. They sit in silence as she finishes her work.

"Did you really throw a refrigerator at him?" Maka asks, looking up from the fabric swatches in front of her.

"Well, super strength isn't really a thing for me," Blake says. "I kinda… magnetized the fridge."

"You repulsed it at him?"

"Yeah, I mean I go to the gym, but it isn't like I'm out there bench pressing pandas or rhinos or something. I may be brute force a lot of the time, but the impact is definitely more electric than mechanical, you feel?"

"Whatever you say… Test these fabrics for me. Which one is the least conductive but still feels soft?"

"How long are you gonna intern at A's anyway?" he asks, leaning on folded arms to stare out the window.

"Long as she'll let me. It's been invaluable even if…"

"...she's a little intense?"

Maka lets out a huff of laughter. "Yeah, something like that. I owe her a lot."

"She still won't budge on the cape thing, though."

"I won't either. It's bad enough you won't let us get rid of those long belts," she groans. This is a well-worn conversation, ever since he brought up adding a cape to his outfit like he'd seen on a few of the newer Supers and Villains lately. "You may think it's 'in', but it's really just a liability. Just think about all the people who lost their lives over such a superfluous piece of fabric! There's…"

Maka's tirade is just getting going and Blake smiles as he watches the clouds pass to the sound of her voice.

"Blake, about that story-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Maka."

"No, but-"

"I'm nothing like that Shiro Seiza character. Nothing. I don't destroy buildings for the hell of it. I sure as HELL don't murder people-"

"-I know, Blake, but I also know-"

Her hand covers his and squeezes. There's something off about her expression. Her contact is only partially for his comfort; it's also for hers and he has to wonder what she has to be concerned about. It's his name that's been in the papers. He is the one that's being compared to the new SuperVillain on the scene. Just when he finally gets some good press, it all comes crashing down and it is killing his civilian life having this much stress. Sid constantly checking on him, his first semester at community college's GPA is dropping, not even being able to enjoy the time with Maka…

She removes her hand and busies them with resorting her term paper notes. She's clearly bothered just as much as he is by this new turn of events. So Blake grabs her hands, prying them away from their idle work.

"What is it?"

Maka doesn't look at him. "I can't-"

"You can."

She takes a sharp breath in and exhales out slowly. When Maka turns and locks eyes with him, they are shuttered, a perfect poker face. "I really can't. Even if I wanted to."

Blake releases her and slumps back in his chair. "Something with A, then."

"Please, Blake…"

"Yeah, okay, I get it, I get it."

Even if he understands that she probably knows more, has some vital piece of information that will put his mind at ease, she won't tell him. He gathers his stuff quickly and gets up to leave, needing desperately to blow off some steam. Her grip on his shirt pauses him.

"You're not like him," she whispers.

As much as that should have bolstered him, he finds that in this moment, it is not enough.

5

Of all the nights to have to deal with this bozo, Blake wished it wasn't the night before his final. He is so close to getting that associate's, so close to that criminal justice degree. He had always wanted to put that towards becoming a cop, but, as he tucks and rolls from the latest explosion, he knows it won't ever happen, not that way. A bright light temporarily blinds him, and he groans and stumbles back into a desk on this level of the office building. His opponent is Dynomighty and just about the stupidest and most annoying villain.

Blake charges up some electricity, crackling along his shoulders down to his fingertips. They're a bad match, explosions and electricity. Still, the arsonist needs to be dealt with and somehow he is always the only one around to deal with him.

"C'mon, man, don't you have anything better to do tonight?" Blake groans. Dynomighty just laughs deep from his belly as if fighting with another Super is akin to going out with a drinking buddy.

"Aw, but we have such a good love-heat relationship!" the man says, grinning beneath his flame shaped bedazzled mask. Blake still doesn't know how he hasn't ever caught it on actual fire. "You've been getting the press' love… so I'm bringing the heat!"

Before Blake can make a snappy retort, Dynomighty slams his big hands together and a boom and flash of light follow. The electricity along his arms reacts badly with the explosion, instantly starting a fire. Despite all the work Maka has done on engineering the fabric he wears to be electrically conductive yet flame retardant, it doesn't stop the burn he feels from the villain's attack. He isn't invulnerable.

"Hot! Hot!" he yelps. A shoulder rams into him as he pats himself down.

"Knew you were holding a torch for me!" The belly laughs take a manic edge as Blake is knocked back. He skids and stumbles a few feet before pivoting and throwing the larger man over his shoulder roughly. "Oof!"

WithWIth the wind knocked out of him, Blake easily pins down Dynomighty's hands with his knees and jolts him into unconsciousness. It isn't the most heroic thing he's ever done and he certainly gets no style points for it if anyone from the press were to have seen the fight. He blames it on the final he has in… eight? Nine hours? It's been a long night and it isn't getting any shorter.

He keeps the villain contained until the police arrive and thankfully, it isn't Sid's squad. They ask fewer questions as he hands the still unconscious perp over. By the time he debriefs the officers and he's free to go, it's 1 AM.

"Uh, Black*Star?" one of the younger officers starts, waving him back over. "You're uh… smoking."

"...what?"

"You're still a little… on fire."

Lo and behold, he is. When he pats it out, the charring on his suit is evident even in the dark of night on the black parts of his suit. Blake grimaces at the damage, but a grin slowly overtakes the expression. If he needs a new suit or repairs, there's only one person to see.

The studio is a little drafty, so Blake only lets his hood drop instead of taking the hoodie off. The entirety of the one and a half rooms is visible: papers stacked in color coded folders on the desk shoved under the lofted bed, little string lights and a desk lamp illuminating them and the laptop that sits there. The duvet on the bed is neatly made, but the pillows are stacked as though someone had been reading up there in the dark. The overhead light is small, but turned off, so the only light in the room comes from the desk, the city lights outside the window and the tiny bathroom, which is just big enough for a toilet, sink with a cabinet beneath, and a narrow shower stall.

Most of the space left in the bathroom is taken up by Maka, who is inspecting his suit closely in the fluorescent lighting. She mutters to herself as Blake continues to look around. There is no closet, just a set of drawers next to the desk under the bed and a single rolling rack filled with hangars of clothes. There's another rolling cart in the corner near the window, with a small portable stove, electric kettle and some non-perishables in the bottom shelf.

All over the studio apartment, there are little tips and insights into Maka, what she values, what she does. The books stacked in the corner and at the foot of the lofted bed are filled with textile engineering topics, material properties, anatomy and kinetics modeling techniques. Popular superhero periodicals stick out between them and he pulls the one on top to peruse until she emerges. Blake brings it over to the desk and sits, angling the lamp.

As he pulls his hand away, his eyes catch on a battered black notebook. It's haphazardly shoved in between some other books and notes, but the markings on it tell him it is often used and old. Blake reaches for it, curiosity getting the better of him when Maka's voice jolts him out of the chair. He nearly trips over it to see her walk the few steps out of the bathroom with the fabric still stretched between her hands.

"Dynomighty again, huh?" she mutters, more to herself than to him. "He's such a pain."

"Tell me about it…" Blake says, scratching his head where he had to shear his hair down after the confrontation last week. Somehow, burnt hair or a patchy clip job just didn't seem appealing. With it this short, his roots show, the dark hair making him almost not recognize himself in the mirror after so long of having the blue.

"They're charging him with arson again, right? Isn't there a longer sentence than four months?"

"The minimum is five years," he states, regurgitating the fact while toying with one of the fairy lights. "Federal crime, but he wasn't convicted last time."

Maka sighs and hip checks him out of the way to set the suit on the desk and sit. "What's his deal anyway? Is he a pyro?"

Blake grins down at her. "He just really likes dessert." Her mouth sets in the way that he knows she knows a bad joke is coming. "You know, a big ol' slice of crime brulee."

As predicted, she groans while he laughs. "I'm not fixing this, you heathen."

"Don't call me a heathen! Can't fix it or won't?" he asks as he leans on the chest next to the desk.

Maka's eye twitches and she lifts his suit and drops it into the trash bin on the other side of the desk without looking. "Won't." He gives her a mock gasp of shock and she swats him out of the way, pulling a key out of seemingly nowhere to unlock the bottom drawer.

"Lucky for you," she says, rummaging through the drawer. "I figured something like this might happen, especially after I saw the clip of his capture on the news with 'Black*Star' plastered all over it."

It's too dark for him to see what else might be in the drawer, but he doesn't mind so much when she withdraws a new suit, clearly created with him in mind. It's in his color pallet and the lines are similar to the previous iterations. Just touching the fabric, he can tell that Maka has outdone herself this time. The light and soft feel of the material belies what he knows it is probably capable of.

"What are you waiting for? Go put it on so I can stick some pins in you."

Pushed into the bathroom with the suit, Blake blushes at the thought of changing essentially in her apartment. He's had to model unfinished suits for her before, but by and large, those situations occured in the well-lit Thimble, with A almost always nearby or at least in the building. This felt a fair bit more intimate, even if it should be business as usual.

Still, he tries to push past it and pulls the suit on quickly after disrobing. Unsurprisingly, it already fits well and he turns much as he can in the narrow room to see what it looks like in the short oval mirror over the sink. All he gets for that effort is a weird feeling to see himself suited up with dark hair and no mask.

Maka is reorganizing papers and straightening books when he emerges. The black notebook is nowhere to be seen.

"You know that this would be so much better with pockets or something."

"What, and have you get injured because you spent so much time walking around with your hands shoved in your pockets?" she quips. "No pockets."

He leans down towards her grinning broadly. "Oh? You care if I get injured?"

She scoffs, but throwing her head to the side only ruffles her pigtails and highlights the light redness high on her cheeks. "Clients are the lifeblood of my business." Maka turns back with a wicked smile. "Besides, nothing ruins the line of a suit or makes you look like more of a doofus that having pockets packed full of stuff."

"What do you think I'm gonna put in there?! Doofus!?" he whines, straightening up as she advances with a handful of pins and some chalk.

"Oh, this and that… keys, cell phone, the latest copy of SuperNewsweek…" she goes on listing increasingly unlikely things as he groans and lets her do her work. WithWIth all her experience, he knows that there's no reason she should still be sticking him with the pins and he feels like a big baby when he flinches. She blames it on the dark and he asks why she never turned on the overhead light.

"Well, I don't have blinds in here yet, or at least ones I can trust," she replies. Her fingers deftly form a crease in the fabric near his neck and he stares down at the top of her head, her nose visible through her fringe.

"You need to trust blinds?"

She looks up at him, the green of her eyes dulled by the darkness in the room. Her hands are still warm near his neck and he is suddenly incredibly aware of how close they are. "For my work, I need some amount of privacy." She smooths out the newly pinned line of the suit, then lifts her hand. Her fingers lightly touch his face, right where the edge of his domino mask would go. "And what if someone saw Black*Star unmasked in my apartment?"

Blake bites his lip and hesitates. Maka steps away and he can feel his face burning anew. He's thankful for the shadows even as he feels some of his expansive electrical power trying to squeeze through. There's brief flash of blue in the room and he catches a glance of Maka's face, full of surprise.

"That's all you needed to mark for the job, right?" he stutters, clumsily shutting himself back in the bathroom. He's never been more embarrassed. All she did was touch his face! And he lost control of his powers!

"Um, yes, that was it," she says, voice muted through the door. He struggles to get out of the suit for a moment, mindful of the pins and chalk. "Listen, uh, Blake? What I said..." Stuffing his legs through his jeans and hastily putting his shirt and hoodie back on, he slips back out, nearly running into Maka.

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Just… you… the… the suit!" she fumbles, leading him to the door. "It'll be done in a bit, I'll text you so don't- well, I'll tell you when, where- it'll be fine!"

The hall light illuminates her face and it's just as red as he thought it wass earlier. He feels a bit bolstered by it even if he is still embarrassed by his Super outburst. Maka pulls the door almost shut as one of her neighbors exits the stairwell onto her floor.

"Um, your shirt is… um… inside out," she whispers the last part, but the neighbor clearly hears her and raises an eyebrow all the way to her graying hairline, eyes comically enlarged by thick glasses. If possible, the tutting noise the old lady makes deepens both of their blushes. "Good night, Blake."

"G'night, Mak." Blake zips up his hoodie to hide the tag of his shirt sticking out and flips the hood up over his short hair. The little old lady sizes him up as he walks past her and all he can do is sheepishly wish her a good night.

She looks him over with a critical eye once more, then winks saucily.

6 (interlude)

Maka slips the lock shut and listens as Blake's footsteps quickly shuffle down the hall. Her held breath slips out in a rush and her face is still warm thinking about what her neighbor had thought they'd seen. Her and Blake, like that?

She couldn't deny he was a good-looking man. From the awkward-looking weirdo that first walked into the Thimble, he'd grown up into an annoying, but fit man with a grin as dashing as it was mischievous. Its combination with the intensity of his eyes was enough to make a girl weak in the knees. Not that Maka knew anything about that, obviously; it was all some of the forums and comment threads talked about online, when those commentors were high school girls. She couldn't blame them either, when Black*Star appeared to be one of the only young male Supers on the scene and in the news lately.

Still, Maka knows better than to judge on looks alone. Blake is determined and beneath the rough exterior, is kind-hearted. He wants to help people and she knows, were it not for his powers, he would have pursued police work, being a public servant. He still would be, still was, but now, no one would know. Except her. And whoever else he'd told. Maka had a feeling that his father knew as did Azusa.

She climbs up onto the lofted bed, lamp turned off and fairy lights casting the smallest of glows from below. From underneath the pile of pillows, she withdraws a well-worn black notebook. It is too dark to read at this time of night, but she doesn't have to. The contents of the little black book are already memorized, as they have been in the two and a half months since Azusa had given it to her. Maka had been reviewing it before Blake showed up, but with how close it had come to being found by a client, she needs to rethink its placement in her apartment.

It'd be better to dispose of it.

She is usually so careful, so stone-faced with clients, emulating Azusa as much as possible to make the sale and satisfy the customer without letting her personal feelings get in the way. She slips the most when Blake is around her, though, and the idea of a person getting past her steel defense is terrifying. She has too many cracks already, too many things that have broken her trust and if a weak point is exploited even once more, the whole thing may crumble down.

Yet, when they hang out, when they meet at their table in the library- and truly when had it become theirs instead of hers- she forgets. Maka forgets that they're supposed to just be in a business relationship. Their banter feels like a well-used couch, comfortable and easy. He acts like they grew up together, know all of each other's little idiosyncrasies. They talk too freely and she knows more than he realizes.

The book creaks a little with how tight her grip has become. It's a burden to keep secrets from him as it is an equal burden to allow their friendship to continue. Evidence had to go.

She's selfish, she thinks, as she gathers up other paper from her garbage into a paper grocery bag to bring down to the incinerator in the morning. Maka would keep both her secrets and her suspicions, just as she'd keep her friend.

7

Blake scrambles into the kitchen from the garage, hastily dumping his bookbag onto the tiny island. He is late, despite his best efforts. He'd caught the first bus and ran through the station to get the subway without waiting. Stil, he should have been here by 6. It is Mira's birthday dinner and they are grilling out on their small patio out back. It explains the lack of people in the kitchen and living room, though.

Bursting through the back door, he lifts his baseball cap to ruffle his hair. It's sticking a little to his scalp with the heat and the running he was doing. The chitchat and clatter of tongs on the grill pause as his presence is noticed.

"Ah, Blake!" Sid calls. "We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it."

He grins. "I wouldn't miss Aunt Mira's birth… day…" he trails. Mira walks towards him, but his focus is on the woman behind her.

"Sure, sure, Blake," Mira says, drawing him into a hug. Her squeeze breaks him out of his stupor and Blake hugs her hard back. "Welcome home."

"And happy birthday, auntie." He pulls back to look at her warmly and she smiles softly in return.

"Thank you. There's someone I'd like you to meet…" Mira steps back and the woman behind her is in view again. "This is my girlfriend, Azusa."

Blake waves weakly and Azusa's expression still isn't friendly, though it looks like she might be trying. The owner of the Thimble's real name is Azusa and Blake wonders if it would be possible to have Maka come over just so all the people who knew his secret identity would be in one place. What were the odds that Mira would start dating A?

He does his best to let Mira have fun and not be awkward with her lady friend. Dinner goes well and Blake starts relaxing around Azusa a little more. The seamstress is still tightly wound, but Blake can see that she cares for Mira and that's all he really needs. His aunt laughs softly and threads her fingers with Azusa's and Blake settles back into his lawn chair, soaking in the last rays of a fine spring day. The sigh next to him indicates Sid's taken the chair to his left and he opens his eyes.

"She looks happy, huh?" Sid says. Blake opens his eyes and watches Azusa refill Mira's glass of lemonade.

"Yeah, I'm glad," he responds.

"Me, too. Today was a good day."

"The best," Blake grins. Sid looks over at him fondly and ruffles his hair.

"You're a good kid, Blake. I'm proud of you."

Blake ducks his head a bit at the praise, glad to be acknowledged even after all the years he's spent at Sid's son. He knew Sid loved him, Mira loved him, but it was nice to hear that they were proud of him, too.

"What is it?" Mira's voice lifts across the small yard. Azusa is standing from her seat, Mira with a hand on her arm. There's an old fashioned beeper in Azusa's hand and she clenches it as she makes apologies to her girlfriend.

"I need to go; I'm so sorry," she says even as she drops a chaste kiss on Mira's cheek. "Happy birthday, Mira, I'll see you soon."

Sid starts toward his cousin, motioning for Blake to move. His gaze is serious, focused on the beeper. Blake wonders if he knew what it was. "See Azusa out, son."

Blake opens the patio door as Azusa finishes rounding up her belongings and saying final excuses and goodbyes. The pager is still tightly clenched in her hand, little green screen lit up and blinking.

"Thank you, Black- Blake," she says distractedly. "I'll be on my way, I need to make some calls…"

"You could always use our phone, you know?" he says, leading her back through the small home. Azusa stops and he's surprised to find a shade of worry on her face, lines indicative of her age that he's never seen in all his visits to the Thimble. There's a familiar posture of determination that Blake is used to seeing from Maka as Azusa turns back from the front entryway. He follows her back to the living room where Azusa turns the TV on and flips through the channels until she lands on the local Villain Watchdog Network.

"-are live from the scene in downtown Death City where a hostage situation is brewing. It's unclear the motive for the kidnapping as only one person is reported as being held captive. The unfinished Sky Bell Tower is forty-two stories tall and is now off limits to all but emergency responders. We've received reports, however, that first responders are not to enter the complex until Shiro Seiza's demands are met."

"Wait…" Blake turns to Azusa, who presses the beeper against her mouth, remote falling to the ground. "The hostage… Maka."

Azusa can only nod.

The sounds of the broadcast continue to reach him, even as he rushes up the narrow stairs to grab his suit from the laundry room. It's machine washable AND dryer safe, darling, Maka had teased.

"-last attempt to enter resulted in a cascade of concrete and rebar to fall on-"

He's downstairs in a flash of blue, suited up. Sid is there, his police radio in hand as he stands next to Azusa and Mira.

"I'll go with you."

"No offense, A, but I don't think a civilian-" Blake starts.

Sid cuts him off, cutting the radio for a moment as it trailed out various codes- supervillain alert, multiple car pile up, casualties, all squad cars assemble- "We'll take care of the calls. I think I know who you wanted to reach."

Azusa nods and shares one long look with Mira before snatching Blake's domino mask from his hand and slapping it on his face. She storms to the door and Blake stumbles to follow after her.

"A, you should really stay with my dad," Blake huffs out as they run down the alley. Blake starts charging up for scaling the maze of fire escapes on his way downtown, but Azusa is surprisingly keeping pace while they're on the ground in her heels. "A hostage situation with a Super is no place for a civilian!"

"Good thing I'm no civilian then!" she snaps back. From her sleek belt buckle (no doubt custom designed by the woman herself), she draws out a set of grappling hook guns, tiny and and primed for use. "You're going to need my eyes if you're going to rescue my apprentice. Let's go!"

Blake can only stare for a moment as Azusa flies into the sky, swinging from well-timed wires fired into the buildings. Magnetizing and changing polarity, he propels himself to keep up. He grits his teeth as the construction site comes into view.

8

From a crane on the edge of the construction site, Azusa stares at the maze of I-beams, concrete, and equipment. Her eyes are blown wide, a thousand yard stare in the most literal sense. The tiniest of flickers to take in all of the surroundings, to penetrate through the steel and rebar, fascinates Blake. He waits patiently for her to finish her assessment. For once, he knows he cannot enter the situation blindly. He needs to know as much as possible before launching himself in.

Shiro Seiza is too dangerous and Maka too important.

"The site is clear of everyone but Shiro Seiza and M. The police are holding their barricade on the east and north sides and they've brought in a SWAT division. Firefighters are coming in from the west."

"So where do I go in without him seeing me?"

"There's only one blindspot from his location, with all the open air, but the grating of the construction worker lift is also shielded by some plastic sheeting and drywall where they've hung some warnings and work notices for that floors development." Azusa looks away from the partly constructed building, her eyes boring into him as though he was a dollop of soft serve ice cream that had been left in the sun. Unnerving didn't begin to cover it. "Shiro Seiza has positioned himself as though he knows about the blindspot, though. I don't think you'll have any option for extraction, only direct attack. He's going to see you coming."

Blake nods grimly. Shiro Seiza, the man who had been terrorizing Death City for the past year, from bank heists, to bombing, to murder and assassination, he was a lethal Super. Deathscythe, Mjolnir and the Scientist had all tried to take him down and take him in on various occasions, with little or no success. Black*Star wasn't at their level just yet, or so the press thought.

What Blake would do for a movie-like training montage.

He doesn't have the time to go bench press pandas or trucks. There's no hour of deep reflection that will show him a new power. That extra grit and determination will have to come to him on the fly and his own destructive power will need to be bigger than Shiro Seiza's. He's never faced someone with the same powers as him, can't imagine it going better than with his least favorite arsonist, but he'll have to figure out a way to turn it against the villain.

"A, go to the police, tell them you saw me headed in," he directs, adjusting his gloves. "They know I tend to blow things up so hopefully that'll make them secure the perimeter and keep themselves out of it. It could get messy, but," Blake turns to Azusa, standing tall in the emergency lights and city skyline. "I promise I will get Maka out safely."

"...Don't make promises you aren't sure you can keep. My apprentice will be fine on her own if you get Shiro Seiza away from her."

Blake turns and looks at the construction site, analyzing the places where he can polarize and stick to on his way in. Black*Star disappears in a flash of blue, synced up with the sirens.

Azusa watches the superhero go, clenching the pager tightly one more time before racing down the fire escape to get to the police.

Black*Star slips between the elevator grate he stuck to and the plastic protecting the operator panel from wind and the elements. The flooring is mostly installed on this level, but large portions are still I-beam only, open tot he floor or two below. The wind is high and tight, whistling through the metallic labrinth. Black*Star breathes slowly, attempting to hide his presence for as long as possible.

"Welcome, Black*Star."

It's a soft and cold voice, just on top of the wind. A white glow slowly grows from the area ahead, where Azusa had said Shiro Seiza holed up. Already found out, Black*Star straightens and walks towards the light.

The picture that the supervillain cuts against the night skyline of Death City is impressive. He is a tall lean man, swathed in a white and black suit with compression bandaged wrists and ankles. A dark mask and scarf covers his face, but his hair is a blinding white and when the wind tossles the gravity defying mop, the man's eyes burn an electric blue with unbridled emotion:

Excitement. Ambition. Anticipation. Hate. Insanity.

There's a craze in his eyes that Black*Star feels down to his soul and the power in him surges, as though trying to match Shiro Seiza's. The tingling sensation that accompanies his electricity and the transformation of his hair and eyes almost singes him as his energy tries to expand outward more rapidly than usual. His shoulder too, burns in the lines of his scar.

There is no preamble to Shiro Seiza's attack, no give or tell or twitch that predicates his movement. He is simply in one place one breath and another place before the next breath. Black*Star's hand instinctively blocks the kick to his head and the contact between them crackles with blue and white electricity.

"Good," Shiro Seiza's voice causes a cold roll of fear to drip down Black*Star's back. "We will have fun if you can keep this up." Another kick, paired with two punches, are blocked by the skin of Black*Star's teeth. "But I do wonder what brought you so quickly..? I expected..."

He retreats a few steps and Black*Star tries to subtly stretch his hand where his palm is smarting from the impact of blocking Shiro Seiza's onslaught. He internally thanks Maka for her ingenuity, padding his palms, forearms and shins for the hand to hand combat which he preferred. The villain's head tilts as he thinks and the movement draws Black*Star's attention to a shape behind him.

Maka.

She's wearing clothes like she had been at work, a neat and clean cut suit, and her hair is loose except one mussed half pigtail. Her wide green eyes lock on him and Black*Star gets that funny feeling again that she can look through him, see his unease and tension at facing the unknown.

"Oooh... I see. You are here for the girl," the villain draws his attention again. "I was hoping to catch a bigger haul than you with her. I admit I thought that our similarities had brought you to me."

"I am nothing like you," Black*Star spits. Even though a mask is in place, he can tell that Shiro Seiza grins madly at his words.

"But you are exactly like me."

A loud crack of lightning signals the start of their duel and suddenly Black*Star is fighting for his life. The electricity eagerly races down his limbs, clashing with Shiro Seiza's. He keeps up in the hand to hand better than he expected at the start, but he puts it down to battle focus and adrenaline. He has to believe he can win, will win.

Shiro Seiza lands a solid punch into his face and Black*Star goes flying, crashing harshly into a column of steel. He falls and scrabbles to hold on to the I-beam at its base, still down a floor from where the villain is. The man walks to the edge, white light twisting around him eerily silent. Black*Star coughs and spits the blood out of his mouth.

He needs more. He needs to be stronger now. He needs power now. More.

Black*Star clenches his fists around the metal and magnetizes it, repulsing himself towards his opponent. He bounces between the I-beams, heedless of how he bends them and purposefully breaking some to repulse them at his opponent. He hits with fists, feet, lightning and steel; some is blocked or dodged by Shiro Seiza, but many hit. Nothing exists outside this fight. Nothing will stop him from destroying this man and everything he stands for. He will be stronger, he will be better. He will be-

"-exactly like me-" Shiro Seiza mutters around the blood in his mouth, still grinning. Black*Star roars, electric soul expanding further than ever before, blinding and consuming. The feeble concrete floor and rebar crack and crumble. The beams rip out of the structure and twist around him, polarized. Through it all, Shiro Seiza looks on in mad glee, mask and scarf ripped away.

If not for the white hair and bright blue eyes, Black*Star could have been looking at himself.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he snaps, losing control in the most awful way. The partly built structure heaves, lurches beneath his feet and even as Black*Star skids down the newly made ramp towards the villain, that cold voice whispers across his ear about power and destruction. That he is made for the end of things, he is no savior or helping hand. Shiro Seiza disappears between flashes of light and Black*Star is left punching through a concrete column. The building shudders under his hand and Black*Star has half a mind to bring the whole thing down to relieve his failure.

He didn't win, didn't obtain power, didn't-

"BLAKE!"

9

There's rage and hatred until there's only pain. The blinding agony of broken bones hits Black*Star hard as his arm breaks and electricity not his own rips through him. He's pretty sure he blacks out for a moment and when he wakes, he is half hanging over the edge of the 37th floor and his right arm is useless. The night sky is filled with with helicopters circling and search lights. He squints hard at them, one eye welling with blood from a gash on his brow. He's pretty sure he has a broken nose.

On the floor above him, the glowing figure of Shiro Seiza stands. White lightning crackles out from his feet and towards every piece of metal near him as he walks toward the edge of his unfinished floor. That face so similar to his own stares down at him, grinning maniacally. His own suit is ripped up and on his shoulder is a glow that doesn't make sense to Black*Star.

"I had high hopes for you," Shiro Seiza yells over the wind. The villain turns, exposing the glow on his arm to Blake. "You clearly aren't ready yet."

Blake struggles to sit up, stand, anything, when he sees the clearly defined glowing white star exposed on the man's shoulder. His thoughts race faster than his heart as the implications grow and fester, compound. The sound of rubble skidding on concrete gets both of their attentions. On the same floor as Shiro Seiza, Maka clings to an I-beam, dust-covered and scraped up.

"Blak-Black*Star!"

"I know his name, girl," Shiro Seiza says. "I know plenty thanks to you." His sickly smile threatens to split his face, but Maka's chin tilts up in defiance.

"And I know more," she challenges. "White Star." She holds up a beeper not unlike Azusa's. "Every Super in the city will be on us in minutes. Better make yourself scarce."

"Foolish, just like your parents," he hisses. "But ultimately not worth my time."

Blake can only look on in shock and horror as a white bolt of lightning races from the glowing star down Shiro Seiza's arm and shoots out at Maka. She screams as the pager explodes and the electricity hits her. Blake finds himself screaming as she crumples to the ground and falls, yards away from him, unmoving.

"Let this be a lesson to you. Attachment is for the weak. Power is everything." Shiro Seiza jumps down and plants his feet to crouch near Blake's head. His hand is partially unwrapped from its compression bandages and Blake can see electrical burns and scarring blackening his fingers as he reaches out. They press harshly into Blake's shoulder, into his star-shaped scar. "What you have is not a gift. It is a birthright; power for the sake of power. A dark world awaits just the touch of your hand, a glimpse of this energy that expands in you. You cannot stop it."

Shiro Seiza stands over him, white lines of energy connecting him to Blake's blue.

"You will not want to."

There is a final flash and the man is gone. Blake has no idea if he is just setting up for another attack or if the fight is truly over. His eyes burn from his injuries, the lights, the cold wind, his tears. He forces himself to roll over, trying to get a view of Maka, hoping beyond hope that Azusa had seen Shiro Seiza's departure and could get them help.

Only, Maka is not in the spot where she fell. He panics, wondering if she had been taken or fallen another set of floors in the Sky Bell Tower. Warmth seeps into his back and side and a pair of hands guides him into a more comfortable position. Looking up, his view is filled with ash blonde and dirt-smeared freckles.

"M-maka?"

"Yeah, Blake," she whispers. "I'm here, we're gonna get you some help."

"But you got- he thunderbolted-"

"He did, but wouldn't you know it… I've stitched Faraday cages in all my clothes," she laughs weakly, gingerly assessing his wounds. "Not to mention the bullet-proofing and impact padding."

"I don't know what that means," he mumbles, exhaustion quickly overtaking him.

"It's when- oh, hey now, don't go to sleep, you probably have a concussion!"

"I've had an alarming amount of concussions…" he says, eyes closing briefly before she pinches his cheek. Thankfully, she picks the side which doesn't have a gash running from eyebrow to cheek. "Call- call 911, need my dad."

"Your dad- Blake, Shiro Seiza…. White Star is-"

"Nope, my dad's a cop, so we gotta call him at work," he musters. He is fuzzy around the edges but knows where she was going with her statement. How could he not with the physical similarities between himself and Shiro Seiza? But for now, he needs his normalcy. "Get 911 on; s'like callin' my auntie or dad at work basically…"

"Alright, just keep talking to me until they get here then, Blake."

He drifts out of consciousness to warm hands and Maka's voice.

Finally out of what amounted to house arrest, Blake steps outside, arm still in a sling and bruising still present on his face. The hospital's wing for Supers had been more boring than he thought it would be so he'd begged Mira to take him home and let him recover there where Sid would stop running himself ragged between work and hospital visits. She still kept him confined to bed most of the time and limited his visitors. At least he got better food.

Today was the first time he'd see Maka since the Sky Bell Tower. She had agreed to meet closer to his and Sid's house. The park a block and a half away seemed like a perfect getaway.

"So do you come here often?"

He jolts a little at the falsely deepened voice from behind him, then smiles. Maka stands just outside the park gate, looking no worse for wear from her ordeal than the faint bags under her eyes. Instead of responding to her joke, he waves her over and they sit on a bench facing the empty basketball court.

"I'm sorry," she says before he can even say hello. "This is all my fault."

"What?" he splutters. She wrings her hands and stares up at him, face etched with frustration and guilt.

"White Star found what was left of my black book! I incinerated it, or thought I did, and that must've been how he found out-"

Blake grabs her hands with his good arm. "Black book? What are you talking about?"

"You must have seen it, Blake. Don't be coy. That one time you came over to my apartment, it was practically out in the open!" she snaps. Pulling her hands from his, she swipes them heavily down her face, looking tired. "A trusted me with hers and I had been adding notes to it. I have the whole thing memorized; I should have made sure it was properly destroyed and this would never have happened."

"Mak, what is this book you're talking about? I saw some beat up notebook, but it didn't seem that important."

"That beat up notebook is what we call a black book," Maka says quietly. "It contained all information A or I had ever collected on our clients. Including you. Most of the Death City Supers were in that book."

Dread sits in Blake's stomach at her words. All of his secrets, hell- all of every Supers' powers were listed in that book? Were all of them clients of the Thimble? And now, White Star knew everything.

"He knows. White Star knows everything now," she cries softly. "He'll be back and worse than before."

Something strikes Blake in how she says it, in how she calls Shiro Seiza by a different name. "What do you know about Shiro Seiza? About… White Star?"

"I… met him before. Once," she starts. "I think I was pretty little, but one time is enough for me. I saw… I saw what he could do, what he had done and how."

"How could you see that?" he asks, shifting to put an arm around her shoulders and preventing her from curling in on herself.

"Blake… I never told you this, but part of the reason I'm so indebted to A is because she taught me how to control my eyes." Maka looks up at him and he watches as her pale green eyes glaze over, as if looking past him, through him. She'd looked at him that way, many times, and now he was starting to see why. "I can see certain things about a person, especially Supers. Detect powers, see how they're used… but more than that…"

"Tell me," he coaxes when she trails and turns away.

"You may think differently of me, like I've been… invading your privacy or something."

Blake snorts. "And knowing all of my measurements for the past six years doesn't count as invasion of privacy?" He turns her head to look at him again when she lets out a short chuckle. "You know my biggest secret. I know you don't like to share, but I can keep yours, too. Trust me."

"I can see people's souls," she whispers, each word coming out harsher in her frustration. "I can see what is in people's hearts and how they will probably use their powers. I can see when someone has been corrupted by that power, but I can't do anything about it. I can't do anything on my own."

"Yes, you can." Maka blinks angry tears in shock. "You create these amazing suits, support everyone in the best way you can."

"But that's because I can use power detection-"

"No. It's because you care. You want people to be safe. You work so hard to help people be safe, learning all that science mumbo-jumbo and building these great yet stylish supersuits. You're so damn good at it," he says fiercely. "And even if you weren't, you're still special."

Maka demurrs and it is so unlike her he can't stand it. The sound of a ball bouncing towards them distracts him for a moment. Calls of 'pass it over here!' reach them from the court. A big orange basketball rolls to a stop at their feet and Blake reaches down with his one good arm and picks it up, standing.

"C'mon," he says, grinning a little. "I'll show you."

She follows tentatively and Blake lets his smile grow as he sees who has taken over the court. The group of kids he used to babysit when they were in elementary school have always liked to use this court. There's only a few of them here today, after school activities probably taking up more time for the rest of them. They easily welcome him back into the fold and, claiming his injury precludes him from playing (as does Mira's death threat), he pushes Maka into their game.

Maka clearly has never played a round of basketball in her life, but the kids and Blake laugh as she attempts to get the rules straight. Blake shouts out pointers and the kids listen, adjusting their stances and playing harder with his encouragement. As often happens with kids, the game gets a little rough and one boy gets knocked to the ground, scuffing his knee.

"My mom is gonna freak about this," the kid worries over the tear in his jeans.

"I can help with that!" Maka offers quickly, pulling her emergency kit from her bag. Two minutes later, the tear is practically good as new and the boy smiles widely at her in thanks. When the pair leaves the kids to it after that, they all high five or hug Blake and give the same treatment to Maka, extracting promises to return and play again.

As they exit the park, Blake nudges Maka. "See," he says. "Special. And incredible."

Blake only ever wants to see people get what's coming to them: for good people to feel loved and treasured and for bad people to get their just desserts. He has plenty of good people in his life: Sid, Mira, Maka… even Azusa. He would do whatever necessary to protect them and the other decent citizens of Death City from villains and ne'er do wells.

"Maka, you asked me once, why I wear the suit."

"I recall you saying it was because you like to look pretty," she teases. He smiles and grasps her hand, tightening it when she threads their fingers together shyly.

"That's only one reason," he says. "I do it because I can, because if I don't, I'd be someone I hate."

She tugs on his hand, pulling them to a stop. Her eyes gloss over in the way he now recognizes as using her soul sensing sight. "You're bright and loud and brash… but you aren't him. I tried to say it before, but I couldn't, not yet." Maka reaches up and touches the side of his face lightly, eyes clearing. "You're a good person, Blake Barrett. I know it."

He leans into her touch a little, savoring that sense of security, of her trust in him. He straightens and they continue their walk.

"SInce you're walking me home and all, why don't you stay for dinner?"

"Oh, I couldn't impose, I'm supposed to get ready for a design review with A."

"How convenient! My aunt is bringing her girlfriend to dinner tonight."

"What does that- oh my gosh. Wait, really?"

"Really, really."

"That's so exciting! What are the odds?"

"Dunno, was wondering myself. We must just be lucky."

"Lucky, indeed."