Chapter Ninety Six

...

Note: Detective Alan Fisher is the same character from the short story Phoenix (Chapter 10 in Flames and Flowers). There will be spoilers, so it's best to read that fic, if you haven't already!

...

Cara tightened the glove on her prosthetic hand, wishing the moron at the front of the line would finish his extra-long order for a triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato with extra cream. She felt like throwing a few sugar packets at the idiot and telling him to get out already, but Cara also knew that she hadn't had her own caffeine fix yet and was more annoyed about the delay than the person. Especially since the bloody dogs had kept her up all night with their fucking howling.

Cara waited another thirty seconds for the idiot to finish their order - chocolate sprinkles on top, but not too many! - and told herself it could be worse. She could be out in the car with Greta.

Amused at the idea of Greta teaching her compassion, Cara tugged on her sleeve to make sure her prosthetic was hidden and moved forward in the line. Even though she knew Greta would probably lecture her about the evils of technology if she saw her, Cara was bored of waiting and turned her attention to the TV screen.

"For those just joining us, the Commander and Jetstream have just defeated a villain. What would we do without them?" Brian Anderson asked with a broad smile. "Let's go live to the interview questions, viewers. Remember to send your questions to Channel Five's Twitter page using the #askBrian hashtag."

"Jetstream, did you see the interview with Airborne last night? What were your thoughts?"

"Have you spoken to Airborne about his interview?"

"Has he spoken to you?"

Jetstream's broad smile slipped at the barrage of questions from the gathered journalists. "You... you don't want to know about the fight?"

"Did you fight with Airborne?"

"The fight with the villain," Jetstream added, almost shaking the villain held between herself and the Commander, still waiting for the police to get through the crowd of journalists.

"We've got the cameras for that," one of the journalists replied.

"Hey!" the villain said, then sighed. "I knew I should've rescheduled after that interview last night. Beeping beeper."

"What did you think of the interview, uh... Villain?"

"It's... You know what, I'll take it. It'll screw with Google's search algorithm, at least," the villain muttered. "I thought the interview was great; a very insightful view into the dynamic duo's life. It really came across while they were fighting me, how the Commander follows Jetstream's command. You can tell who's the brain and who's the brawn in this one, right?"

A couple of the journalists chuckled and beside the villain, Jetstream fumed.

"Going over your most recent fights, it looks like you haven't fought against many villains of colour. What's your response to this, Commander?"

"Next order," the barista called, making Cara realise she was up next.

Stepping forward, Cara started the usual order for Greta's black coffee, extra strong, extra hot, three sugars - and stopped. In a box by the tip jar, a phone sat in plastic packaging for sale along with packages of headphones, a portable charger, and a weird USB device that Cara had no idea what it was actually used for.

"Are you okay?" the barista asked, frowning at Cara.

"I... How much is the phone?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Greta hadn't followed her into the coffee shop to see what was taking so long.

The barista took in her long-sleeved jumper in the middle of summer, the nervous glances over her shoulder, and the dark bags under her eyes. "It's fifteen dollars."

"How much if you get a SIM card for me?" Cara asked quickly.

"Do you need help? I can call... someone," the barista said lamely, feeling completely useless and untrained for this situation.

Seeing Greta opening her car door, Cara turned back to the barista and shook her head quickly. "Black coffee, extra hot, extra strong, three sugars mixed in, please."

"Uh. All right. Is that all?" the barista asked.

"Skinny cappuccino, extra strong."

"And... the phone?"

Cara shook her head mutely, her shoulders tense, and not even daring to look behind her to where Greta might be.

"Okay, ten-fifty. Name?"

"Dana Scully," Cara replied.

Smiling at the fake name briefly, uncertain if she should be amused or worried, the barista took the offered cash. "Thanks, they won't be long. Oh, hey, your change."

"Thanks."

The barista watched as she moved to the side, even as her next customer stepped forward and started rattling off their order without her hearing a single word.

"Are you even listening to me?" the customer snapped.

"So sorry, sir. It's a shift change," her friend at the coffee machine said, moving to the register swiftly.

Giving her friend an 'I owe you' look, she hurried to the break room. Making a decision, she left the coffee shop entirely and made her way to the phone store down the road. That woman looked to be in an abusive relationship, and by giving her a phone, she might get free, she mused. It was something to help her feel useful as well. She just needed to get the phone and SIM as fast as possible. Grabbing the cheapest phone and SIM pack, glad they were both small, she paid for them both and practically ran back to the coffee shop.

Hearing Dana Scully's name called out, she hurried past her friend and colleagues. "I've got this," she said, huffing and her cheeks red as she grabbed the tray out of the server's hands.

Cara stepped forward, frowning as she saw the barista from earlier holding the tray with the two coffee cups. The woman had bright red cheeks and looked like she'd completed a marathon. Knowing that Greta was waiting outside - annoyed by the noise inside the coffee shop, she'd left after Cara's explanation about the man with the five-minute order - Cara didn't dare ask what was wrong and delay further. Taking the tray, her eyes widened when she felt the package held beneath it.

"You... why?" Cara asked in surprise, setting the tray down and surreptitiously putting the phone and SIM packet in her baggy sleeve.

The barista smiled and shrugged. "I wanted to help."

Cara nodded. "Thank you so much. The, uh, coffee will help a lot," she added quickly, seeing Greta by the front door again. Grabbing the tray, she left the coffee shop, head lowered and out of sight from the cameras both in store and on the street.

"That took too long. Next time you're stuck behind someone taking five minutes to order one damn sugar-filled drink, just throw some sugar packets at them and come back to the car; we'll go somewhere else," Greta muttered, taking her coffee and slurping. "Barely even hot. I should go back in there," she said with a scowl, still walking towards her car despite her words.

"No. We, uh, need to get back to the dogs. They haven't been fed yet," Cara said, knowing the only time she'd get any peace was when they were eating.

Greta looked at her for a long moment, as if determining her sincerity or waiting for Cara to blurt out the truth, then nodded and unlocked the car. "Hurry up, then. We're going to a coffee shop in Westville starting tomorrow."

Knowing that she'd never see the barista again, and still stunned by a stranger's kindness, Cara looked over to the store to remember the name since she hadn't looked at the barista's name tag.

Kaffeebohne.

Cara rolled her eyes. She'd never remember that. Stupid foreign coffee shops.

"Stupid foreign coffee shops. Can't even get the order right," Greta muttered as Cara sat in the passenger seat and closed the door.

"Do you want to take another ten minutes to argue with them?" Cara asked pointedly.

Greta drank another gulp of her coffee and shook her head, starting the ignition.

"Can we put the radio on?"

"For the news only," Greta agreed.

Cara nodded and turned the radio on, relaxing back as the news relayed Jetstream and the Commander's fight against Villain, and the subsequent journalist interrogation about Airborne's interview the night before.

"The Commander and Jetstream left the interview questions early, once the police had arrived to take Villain into custody."

"Okay, that's enough of that crap," Greta muttered, turning the radio off abruptly. She frowned when Cara didn't voice a complaint as she usually did. "What's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, I need the bathroom. I don't think the coffee agreed with me."

"There's a bathroom at the mall here. Remember to watch out for the cameras," Greta said, Cara practically holding her breath at the stroke of good luck. "I'll come in with you."

Shit, Cara thought, exhaling. She just hoped it would be a quiet phone to set up and she could blame kids using their phones in the bathroom for any noises it would make.

"Hurry up, my bladder is older than yours," Greta said as she got out of the car and headed to the mall.

Cara followed, realising that this was the same place she'd been arrested for verbally abusing Airborne. So much had changed since then, she mused, touching her prosthetic hand.

Making it to the bathroom, Cara chose the stall furthest away from the front, locked the cubicle door, and sat on the toilet seat. She opened the phone's box and pulled it out of the plastic, using her earring to open the SIM slot. Setting the tiny SIM card in the slot took great concentration and Cara almost dropped the damn thing twice. When it was finally in, she closed the slot and turned the phone on. A loud cheery jingle filled the bathroom and Cara winced, sure that Greta would know what she'd done.

Realising that she had no way to charge the phone, Cara knew that she would be limited in how many calls she could make before the phone was a useless brick. Besides, phone calls cost money, so she'd have to save up enough spare change to add credit to the phone without raising Greta's suspicion. She wasn't patient in any way, shape, or form; even if Greta's special brand of pain-in-the-ass had taught her compassion, it seemed that patience was still beyond Cara's capabilities.

Gathering the packaging and other rubbish, Cara went to put it in the sanitary disposal bin, frowning when she saw a dollar sign on the SIM packet. Tugging it out to read it properly, Cara realised that the SIM included twenty dollars of phone call credit.

Who needed patience, anyway? Cara thought to herself with a smirk, shoving the rubbish in the disposal and slipping the phone up her baggy sleeve and holding it against her forearm with her prosthetic. Flushing the toilet for show, she left the cubicle and washed her hands, Greta waiting by the paper towel dispenser.

"You took a long time."

"The coffee upset my stomach. Do you want to go see the evidence? It's probably still stuck to the toilet bowl," Cara said crudely, Greta wrinkling her nose in response.

"Wait for three minutes before leaving. I'll pick you up at the front," Greta said.

Cara nodded and watched as Greta left the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind her. Counting up to sixty - enough time for Greta to wait if she decided to test Cara, as she'd done before, and enough time for her to leave if she finally decided to trust her - Cara peeked out of the bathroom door, not even stopping to sigh in relief as she ran from the bathroom to the mall's concierge desk.

"Hi. I need the number for Maxville Police Station."

"If it's an emergency - "

"It's not. Someone stole my phone last week and the cops still haven't found it. I just need the number to see if they've found it yet. Please," Cara added.

The concierge frowned at her rushed words, but turned to their computer screen to find the direct number for the police station. Writing it on a post-it, they barely had the chance to hand it over before Cara snatched it and ran for the exit.

"You're welcome!" the concierge called after her, then muttered about rude people without basic manners.

"Why are you puffed?" Greta asked.

"Had to use the bathroom again and I didn't want to keep you waiting," Cara lied.

Greta decided not to question her again, nodded shortly, and left the parking lot. "We'll be returning the dogs tomorrow. Mrs. Quinton's served her purpose, and if I have to hear about those goddamn dogs' being scared without her one more time, I'll stab her with a toothpick," she muttered.

She had a phone and those goddamn dogs would be gone, all in the same week?! Cara wondered if Super Jesus was real, because not even regular Jesus could bring about two miracles on that scale.

"I'm so happy, I might just cry."

"Don't be ridiculous," Greta muttered, even though she was more relieved about the idea than she'd care to admit.

...

Layla stroked her fingertips along Warren's bare skin, and considering he was naked on her bed, that was a lot of bare skin. He watched her, completely trusting and adoring. After what felt like months, they finally had a night together alone. Frieda was at Edith's for the night, Mrs. Woo hadn't called Warren on his night off, and the Mayor had given everyone the evening off after receiving a call from one of his mistresses.

Layla and Warren had spent almost two full hours discussing what they were doing tonight, and who knew talking could be such a turn-on? Warren was already hard by the end of the discussion, his imagination going straight down to his dick, and Layla had watched him undress with dark eyes before she'd guided him back onto the bed.

Layla was wearing her green and black corset and had her hair tied up in a vine, though she had yet to kiss Warren, his dick throbbing in anticipation. She caressed his skin again, her fingers sweeping closer to the thick patch of hair and his dick, but moved away at the last inch. Warren writhed on the bed, held there by his own vines to test his power and control. Layla smiled and grabbed his ankle, stilling him for a moment.

"Soon, I promise," she said, Warren hissing through clenched teeth at the heat of her hands against his skin.

Soon wasn't soon enough, Warren thought, but didn't dare voice his protest. Layla had asked him to stay quiet for as long as possible.

Layla smiled, as though she knew what he wanted to say. Her grip around his ankle loosened and Warren forced himself to be patient, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

"Are you okay?" Layla asked, stroking his cheek.

Warren licked his lips, knowing that 'fine' wouldn't be enough of a response, and certainly not one that had Layla continuing. "A little tingly, but it's mostly anticipation. My arms and legs are okay," he said, wiggling his fingers and toes to prove it.

Layla leaned over, as though she was going to check his wrists, then kissed him fiercely. Warren arched off the bed completely, his breath stolen from his body as Layla kissed and bit and licked into his mouth, dominating every part of him. She let him go after a long breathless moment, Warren barely feeling the mattress hitting his back as he reeled from the unexpected kiss. Layla's soft smile turned into a broad grin, smug and pleased, and Warren loved pleasing her.

Before he had a chance to fully recover from the intense kiss, Layla stroked a line down from his clavicle to his belly button, his dick twitching desperately, just as eager to please and be pleased. Layla's soft laugh had Warren opening his eyes and he looked to his girlfriend the best he could while tied in this position. Layla had heat shimmering between her hands, the pressure building between her palms and then she moved her goddamn hands towards his straining dick. Heat pressed around Warren's aching dick, making him jolt at the unexpected heat and pressure and pleasure.

"Fuck!"

Layla looked to Warren at his throaty groan, seeing his fingers curled into his palms. "You're not hurt?" she asked, feeling the thread of pain beneath his pleasure.

"No. Just... Intense," Warren said, breathing heavily. "Do it again. Please, hippie."

She pressed a fingertip under his chin, closing his mouth gently. "Later."

Warren couldn't protest with her finger on his chin, but he tried to beg with his eyes anyway. Layla smiled in response, stroking his lips gently.

"Later, Warren," she repeated, waiting until he nodded before moving down to his legs. "Now, stay still for me."

Growing a fern next to her, Layla took one of the feathery leaves and stroked down his legs, Warren squirming in response, even as he desperately tried to stay still. Layla waited until he was still before stroking the leaf down his chest, the tip brushing up against his dick. Warren bit his lip to stop from crying out, his muscles straining to keep his body and limbs still. Layla watched the play of muscles beneath his skin, fascinated by the restraint and how Warren's body responded to each light touch of the soft leaf, almost as responsive to her power as her touch. Curious, Layla stroked a fingertip around Warren's nipple, watching as it hardened beneath her touch. Using her power to make the leaf reach and brush against Warren, Layla smiled as Warren responded just as instantly. A thought of power had her hands warming, heat shimmering off her palms, and she held them above Warren's abs, watching his stomach tighten and flex with the sensation.

Pressing her hands to his thighs, Layla slowly started to draw the heat from Warren's body, as he'd done to Magenta all of those months ago. The feeling was a rush of warmth and heat in her own body, and Layla chased the feeling, wanting more.

"Too... much," Warren breathed, his breath leaving his body in a cold fog. "Layla."

Hearing her name jolted Layla from the sensations she was feeling and she realised in a split second that she'd taken too much, Warren's body far too cold beneath her. "Shit. I'm so sorry," Layla said, returning the heat to Warren's body, taking care to do it slowly so he wouldn't be hurt further. "Shit, shit, shit."

"I'm... okay," Warren said, though relief pulsed through him almost as fast as the heat Layla was returning to his body.

"Should we stop?" Layla asked, worrying at her bottom lip.

Warren shook his head. "No. Please, hippie. I'm okay, see?" he said, powering up and letting a fine layer of fire play across his body.

The fern leaf burnt away completely as Layla watched the flames. Glad that he was all right, Layla kissed him again, softer and sweeter this time. "Keep the flames there for me? Can you do both the vines and flames?" she asked as she pulled away.

Warren nodded, determined to try. She smiled at him, pleased, and then she hovered her hand above the flames and increased the heat gently and with more attention this time, watching as Warren's muscles responded to the intensity of the heat.

"I love how responsive you are," Layla murmured, stroking his arms through the flames and watching as the hairs on his arms raised with goosebumps, despite the warmth from the flames.

"I love you," Warren admitted.

Layla smiled at him brightly, making him just as breathless as her earlier kiss. "I love you."

Something settled in Warren's chest at Layla's response, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in his feelings and the play of heat along his skin.

...

"Mr. Fisher, Miss Mia. You're here again," Mrs. Woo said.

"We'd like to talk to your staff again, Mrs. Woo. We won't be long," Fisher said with what he thought was his most charming smile.

"You've talked to them three times; they still don't know the people that were killed," Mrs. Woo said, not looking at all impressed.

"We'd like to talk to them about Warren Peace," Mia interrupted, glancing at Fisher as though she thought he was having a stroke, his charming smile obviously not working.

"Why?" Mrs. Woo asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Can we talk to you first, Mrs. Woo? You've known Warren the longest, haven't you? In fact, you were the one who hired him when he was only fourteen, weren't you?"

"It was a youth program, not child labour," Mrs. Woo said, even more defensive at Fisher's implication.

"The youth program only ran that year though, and Warren was the only one who stayed on. Why was that?" Mia asked, her voice and questions kinder than Fisher's.

"He was the only one who didn't cry when Kim yelled at him in Cantonese. Kim's a very angry man, but Warren was a very angry boy, too. That was the program: helping children too angry to handle their emotions."

"By putting them in kitchens with sharp knives," Fisher snorted.

"By teaching responsibility and employable skills," Mrs. Woo corrected, even as Mia glared at Fisher for his comment.

"Were they all supers, or was it just Warren?" Fisher asked, ignoring Mia's glare.

Mrs. Woo frowned at him. "None were supers. Too young for supers and too unpredictable."

"Yet you had your kitchen renovated shortly after the program started. Seems like a funny time to do renovations when there were six young children in your... youth program," Fisher said.

"The kitchen was old," Mrs. Woo said.

"And the insurance claim for the kitchen fire? The one you withdrew a day later?"

Mia bit her tongue at Fisher's words; she had no idea Mrs. Woo had put in an insurance claim, and it was something her partner hadn't shared with her. By the expression on Mrs. Woo's face, she didn't expect Fisher to know about it either.

Mrs. Woo shrugged and waved off his questions dismissively. "I am foreign and insurance claims take too long. I repaired the kitchen without the pink tape."

"Red tape. That's your excuse, really?"

"That's the truth, Mr. Fisher."

"All right. We'll talk with the rest of your staff now, Mrs. Woo," Fisher said.

Mia wondered if he had purposely annoyed the woman so she'd be more inclined to get someone else to talk to them so she wouldn't have to anymore.

Mrs. Woo's jaw clenched. "Kim. Mr. Fisher and Miss Mia want to talk to you," she called.

Fisher smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Woo."

She muttered under her breath in Cantonese, going to replace Kim at his station in the kitchen.

Kim was just as closed off - or too pissed off at being interrupted - to say anything useful about Warren, though Fisher seemed intrigued by Kim's comment about Warren having a hot temper.

Mei Ling said Warren was a nice person who just had resting bitch face, which had Mia responding with a cough-covered laugh. All of the waitresses said similar things about Warren being a nice person, especially since he had started dating Layla.

"Who is Layla? How does she know Warren?" Fisher asked.

"Layla's a regular here. They go to school together," Mei Ling replied.

"Mrs. Woo wants them to have babies."

"That's a lot of pressure for a high school romance," Mia said, frowning.

Two of the waitresses shook their heads, and Mei Ling continued, "They're more than that. It's not a young romance with them. You look at them and know they're going to be together until they're ninety. Warren loves Layla more than himself, which is so damn rare for guys. I mean, Tinder is like virtual proof that guys love themselves more than anyone else."

"Warren makes me believe there's hope," one waitress said, grinning.

"Wish he had a brother," another said with a wistful sigh.

"His mother's single, then?"

"Karenina Peace, are you kidding me?" one waitress asked incredulously.

"Karenina? I know that... Holy shit," Fisher whispered, realisation dropping like a goddamn bomb on his brain.

"What? You know what, Fisher?" Mia asked, hurrying after her partner when he stood and left the restaurant without waiting for her.

"Karenina Peace, mother to one son, and ex-wife to none other than Baron Battle. Baron Battle is Warren's father. I... I should have known. Fuck. We've got the kid's address, right?"

"Uh. Yes. Yes, it's in the file. Here," Mia said, grabbing the file as she sat in the passenger seat, flipping through the pages and documents, scanning each one quickly for the list of employees at the Paper Lantern with their contact details and addresses. "Karenina, are you sure it's her? There's gotta be a lot of people with that name, surely?"

"She goes by Nina now. Call Judge Salt, see if we can get a warrant. Salt's the one judge who'll get us in without asking a billion questions, so long as we don't harm the person in question."

Mia nodded, clipping her seatbelt on as she scrolled through her phone for her list of judges. "Hello, Judge Salt? I apologise for calling so late in the evening, but I was wondering if you can supply Detective Fisher and myself with a search warrant?"

Fisher drove towards the Peace residence, keeping one eye on the road and one on his navigator.

"Warren Peace, mother is Karenina Peace. They live out on Steeping Road," Mia answered Judge Salt's questions.

Seeing a red light up ahead, Fisher pressed down on the brakes, taking his gaze off the navigator briefly.

"Yes, Judge Salt. Probable cause in the murder of five citizens back in January, and another citizen in April."

Fisher glanced back to his navigator, following the directions towards Steeping Road.

"Warren Peace is Baron Battle's son, Judge Salt," Mia said, glancing to Fisher in confusion; Judge Salt wasn't asking a billion questions, but there were certainly more questions than she had expected given his recommendation.

"Three is a pattern, not a coincidence," Fisher muttered. "What's his motive, though? Hamm was a dick, we know that thanks to his neighbours alone, but is that enough to kill a man?"

"Thank you, Judge Salt. Have a nice evening," Mia said, finally ending the call. "Judge Salt's sending through a search warrant. We've only got an hour to complete a search."

"More than enough time. If it's this kid, then he's not smart enough to hide something like this. A pattern means he wants to be caught, he wants to be known. Maybe he wants people to think he's like his father. Is that enough motive to kill six people?" Fisher mused.

"In 200 metres, turn left."

Mia looked around, frowning at their surroundings. "Where are we, Fisher?"

"Wherever the navigator's led us. Why?" Fisher asked, glancing to her as he turned left and seeing her frown.

"We're on the opposite side of Maxville; we're closer to Maxville's Super Penitentiary than Steeping Road. Did you put in the right road?" Mia asked, reaching for the navigator.

Distracted from the road, Fisher didn't realise that he was driving straight towards a ditch until it was too late, the car already crashed and the vehicle was flipping and he'd forgotten to put his seatbelt on and -

Where the hell did that tree come from? was Fisher's final thought before darkness claimed him.

Across town, Hyacinth Salt had ended the call with Mia and immediately dialled Frieda's number. "Frieda, it's Hyacinth. Two questions: one, what the hell is going on? Two, where are Warren and Nina?"

...

Layla steadied herself on Warren's shoulder, her nails digging into his skin like thorns.

"Are you okay, hippie?" Warren asked, tugging her between his bare legs and pressing his face to her chest, holding her close and listening to her rapid-paced heartbeat.

"I'll be okay. I wasn't... I wasn't expecting to use my power like that tonight. I had to let go of the tree too soon, otherwise I would've created a forest instead. I'm... my power is angry. Are you all right? We had to stop right before you - "

"I'm still here, y'know!" Adam called, his voice louder than normal on Layla's phone.

"Sorry, Adam. You got the navigator without any trouble?" Layla asked, stroking Warren's back with her nails as he breathed heavily against her corset, the emotion of his almost-orgasm and the fear of the police almost questioning his mother making him tremble.

"Of course. You're lucky I've been following any mentions of you or Warren. I've actually created a really cool program to pick out your names. It's focused on the Maxville area, just because there's more correlation between your names and this area for now. I'll expand it later, but there'll be some anomalies since you're not the only Layla and Warren couple."

"I don't know if I'm honoured or annoyed," Layla said with a brief smile, moving to run her fingers through Warren's hair to try to calm him further.

"You can be both. I'll set up surveillance on the two detectives, since they'll survive the crash. We'll see who visits them and monitor what they say."

"Thank you, Adam. We owe you."

"I know, I'll think of something suitable," Adam said. "Say hi to Warren for me when he's lucid again, yeah?"

"Okay. Have a good night, Ace."

"Ugh. Don't tell Craig, but that name's growing on me."

Laughing, Layla ended the call and set her phone aside, turning her attention to Warren. "Hey, look at me, Warren. Come on, there you go. You're all right, and so is your mother; we're all okay."

Warren squeezed his eyes shut and held Layla tighter. "I just... I can't be in a cell next to my father, hippie. I can't. I won't."

"I know. I won't leave you in there. You'd either be out in an hour or have company in less time than that," Layla promised, stroking his hair back from his face.

Warren thought of her document detailing exactly how to get out of Maxville Super Penitentiary. "That's just a theory, hippie. It's not... It's not enough."

Layla kissed him firmly. "Trust me?"

"Of course."

Layla stepped away, opening her bedside drawer and taking out a package with a white, bulky bracelet. "I bought these off Darla."

"Hippie..." Warren said, realising it was a power-repressing cuff.

"It's for me, Warren," Layla said quickly, feeling a spike of fear from her wrist. "I wouldn't do this to you. Definitely not tonight, I promise."

Warren didn't exactly relax with her promise. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to wear it and use my powers."

Warren frowned. "They're designed to stop exactly that from happening, hippie."

"I know, but they're designed for supers who are still at half power. We're at our full powers. I know I can do it, Warren. My vines won't stop because of this," Layla said, shaking the package.

Warren licked his lips, nervous and hating the idea already, though he could see sense in it, too. It was better that they attempted it now, outside of prison, before they were on the inside only to find out they couldn't. Still, he couldn't bring himself to put a cuff on now, not tonight.

"We can keep going with this instead, if you'd like?" Layla offered, stroking his shoulders gently.

"I... I don't think I can continue with this tonight, hippie. My brain's all fucked up right now," Warren admitted.

"That's all right. I'd be surprised if you were okay right now," she murmured, kissing him briefly. "Help me take this off and we'll get dressed and cuddle, okay?"

Grateful for something to do, Warren nodded, squeezing Layla's hand in his own. "You can... You can try the cuff tonight, if you'd like. I'm kind of curious to see if you can do it."

Layla smiled brightly. "So am I."

Warren stood off the bed and helped Layla with her corset, massaging the red marks on her skin gently as she rummaged through her chest of drawers to find shorts and a singlet.

"I've still got a pair of your underwear. Do you want those?" Layla asked over her shoulder.

"Yes, please."

Layla picked up the briefs and held them up for Warren to take. Stepping into his underwear, he returned to massaging the marks on Layla's body, pressing light kisses to her body as she pulled her shorts and singlet on.

"Would you like to cuff me?"

"I... No," Warren said, shaking his head.

"Okay. Are you sure about this? I can just try it in the morning," Layla offered.

"No, tonight's fine. I just don't want to touch it, if possible. I associate it with my father too much right now."

Layla turned and kissed him, gentle and sweet, drowning Warren's worries with love and an undercurrent of pity that he couldn't blame her for. It wasn't meant to judge him or make him feel lesser, it was simply an emotional response to everything he was feeling.

He heard the cuff click behind him, and let out a soft breath as they pulled away from their kiss. Layla kissed him briefly once more before using her non-cuffed hand to guide him back to the bed, sitting between his legs as he hugged her from behind.

"I'll take it off if I can't get it, okay?"

"Okay."

An hour and a half later, Layla gave up in frustration, unlocked the cuff, and put it back in her drawer so Warren wouldn't see it.

"Emotions don't work, otherwise my father wouldn't be wearing his," Warren murmured against Layla's neck.

"I didn't think of that," Layla admitted with a sigh. "I'm too tired to try anything else tonight. Want to sleep now?"

"Yeah. Stay close tonight, hippie?"

"Anything you want," Layla said, wriggling and squirming until they were both lying down on the mattress, Warren's arms wound around her body.

"Love you, Layla."

"Love you, Warren."

...

Ronnie looked out to where the police detectives were interviewing Mei Ling and the other waitresses. He was up next, if they were going through the same cycle as the last three times, and he felt an itch under his skin. He'd woken up, finally feeling ready to talk and tell someone about Dale Coward. His father hadn't believed him as a child, told him to stop telling lies, and his mother was long gone so there was no one else to tell. But now, with the MeToo movement, people would listen. People would believe him, and something could be done. Something or someone could stop Dale Coward now if not when he'd been younger. He could stop it from happening to other children who were as voiceless and unheard as he had been.

Before he had his chance to talk to the detectives, they'd left the restaurant as if the hounds of Hell were after them. Ronnie frowned as Mei Ling and the other waitresses came back, talking to each other in Cantonese. "What happened?" he asked, looking between the women.

"They wanted to talk to us about Warren," Mei Ling replied. "They think he's a super."

"Really?" Ronnie asked in surprise. "He's not exactly the calm and collected type, is he? We all would've known if he was a super by now," he added, shaking his head.

When he'd been younger - both before and after Dale Coward - Ronnie had wished he'd been a super. Before, if he'd been a super, he would have been able to save people, he would've found his mother, he would've been loved and adored like the Commander and Jetstream. After, if he'd been a super, Ronnie would've been able to save himself.

He'd spent a long time being scared and angry and a combination of the two emotions, turning to alcohol as a way to suppress the memories and feelings. His liver probably hated him, but it was the only way Ronnie could cope. Women weren't interested in him and those that were didn't stay long. Just like his mother.

But he needed to separate those women from his mother, and just because his mother had left as well, it didn't mean that all women were the same - they were separate people with completely different experiences and emotions, just like he was different from his father. If he was willing to do more than drink, to actually find something that he enjoyed, then his life would improve with his own actions. Along the way, he might even find someone who would make committing to a relationship feel like he was taking another step forward in his life, rather than another person to blame.

But first, he needed to deal with the past.

"I'm going on my break. Kim, can you cover my station, please?"

More startled by the 'please' than anything else, Kim found himself nodding in response.

"Thanks," Ronnie said over his shoulder, heading to the back of the Paper Lantern and taking his phone out of his pocket. "Hi, Maxville Police Station? I'd like to file a report."

...

End of the ninety-sixth chapter.