Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And to my anonymous reviews - Sidekick, Lumnia and Grenade Jumper - who I couldn't reply to tell you guys thanks!

Three – Panic

In a way the chase had begun. In another way I had resorted to wearing a pair of dark glasses and a hideous sunhat while tracking Lash all over Maxville.

It was beyond lame, I was fully aware of that little fact, but I was done with kidding around. There was no more time for brilliant ideas and elaborate schemes. There was only the feeling of a quickly approaching deadline. After all, who'd ever heard of an old superhero?

So it was that I prowled the streets, occasionally catching myself humming the Mission: Impossible theme under my breath, waiting and watching for the right moment to spring Lash's sense of righteousness upon him.

I began walking past his house, everyday, eager to catch him on his way out, or bringing the paper in, or anything! I'd even make up an excuse, telling myself that it really was the quickest way to the library to return those books for my dad. And it could actually still be classified as walking, too. I kept a normal pace, nodding at passers-by, pretending to be enjoying the hot June weather as I chanced a quick peek at the house.

Then I'd start passing it on my way home as well. Just to be fair, you know? Just to double my chances. I hardly even noticed the way my feet began to drag on the pavement, or how I sometimes stood there staring at the empty front yard for ten minutes before realising what I was doing.

At night I dreamt of raging fires that destroyed half of Maxville, of trains racing towards cliff edges, of people trapped in cable cars dangling thousands of feet in the air. I'd wake up and ride my bike over to Lash's house, almost halfway there before I'd notice that the sun hadn't even risen yet.

I was losing it.

The problem was I didn't know Lash. I mean, sure, I used to see him almost every day at school, but beyond being the kid who helped Royal Pain revert everyone back to their infant forms I had no idea who he was. I wanted to know him. I needed to know him. It my only shot at figuring out why he wouldn't be a hero.

Two weeks past and, despite my best efforts, I didn't run into Lash once. I was despairing big time, and almost ready to admit that maybe my mom had been right after all, maybe see about finding a part time job until he came around, before I went completely stark raving mad.

Then one day, as I was riding my bike home, I spotted him. He was just standing there, talking to some guy I didn't recognise, as I rode through an intersection. He didn't see me and I was so shocked I almost ran into a parked car, but it was a good sign, it was a start.

After that it was impossible for a day to go by without seeing Lash.

Suddenly whenever I went to signal the bus driver that my stop was next there'd be Lash, sitting a few seats away. I'd go to the movies and, sure enough, Lash would pass me in the lobby. I'd be in the car with my mom and look out the window only to see Lash behind the wheel of the car next to us.

It was extremely weird, but I didn't much care. At least this way I could keep tabs on him, observe his day-to-day life and figure out the best way to infiltrate it with heroism.

I was walking ten feet away at all times, certain that Lash hadn't even noticed his new shadow, following him through Maxville as he didn't even try to do good for anyone. So, of course, it was a little hard for me not to notice when he dropped a piece of paper in the gutter.

I grabbed at it eagerly, completely prepared for secret codes and the like (when I mentioned I was losing it, I seriously meant I was losing it!) I was a little disappointed to find that it was merely a flyer advertising some band at some place I'd never heard of. Sighing, I straightened up, ready to move on out of the gutter before people started staring.

One step and I walked straight into the last person I wanted to see, well, ever.

Brian. My former hero support classmate.

"Alissa?" He sounded shocked. Couldn't blame him, though, I was right there with him. I mean, how often do you spend the better part of six months trying to avoid someone only to crash right into them when you're in the middle of vital hero support duties? Not too often, I can tell you, especially when they're doing their best to avoid you right back.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me.

I decided to politely let the question slide, I wasn't in the mood to point out that I lived in Maxville.

"Brian," I attempted a smile, but only managed a sort of grimace, "how, uh, how are you?"

"Fine," Brian said stiffly, blue eyes looking everywhere but at me. "What's with the hat?"

I ripped the thing from my head, balling it up in my fist, so much for my clever disguise.

I crossed my arms awkwardly. I certainly hadn't been prepared for anything quite like this. I mean, gearing towards saving the world I could handle, hell, stalking Lash I could handle, but having to make humiliatingly uncomfortable small talk with the ex-boyfriend… well, I was ready to run a mile.

I could see Brian casting around for something to say. "Oh, Panic," he said at last, reinforcing my already strong belief that he was completely mental. He nodded at the flyer still clutched in my hand. "Are you going?"

I blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Panic," he repeated, "are you going?"

"Come again? What's a panic?"

Brian gave me an odd look. "Panic, it's a club," he explained in a voice that suggested he thought I was either extremely slow or reeling drunk, "It's in the bad part of town."

"Bad part of town?" I gulped.

He nodded. "About half a block from the good part of town. Not much town to speak of in Maxville," he mused.

"Really…" I was staring at the flyer with new found interest. Sure enough the word 'Panic' was stamped across the top in block letters, followed by a street address at the very bottom. If Lash was going to be there –

"Didn't much pick it for your scene," Brian interrupted my thinking, "not really our crowd."

"No, I don't suppose it is," I murmured, distracted by the new wave of thoughts bouncing around in my head, "I bet it's a strictly 'hero class' sort of thing."

Now Brian looked as if I'd grown an extra head. "I guess."

I carefully folded the flyer and stuck it in the back of my jeans. I smiled at Brian's confused face. "Say, how's your hero support thing working out?" I asked him.

"Err, great," his voice held just a trace of suspicion, "yeah, we haven't had any calls yet, but we're hopeful. Of course we haven't finished finalising costumes, so in a way it's kind of a plus."

"How super for you," I said and sidestepped around him, continuing off down the street.

Lash was long gone, but that was okay. I'd just had to talk to Brian, but that was alright too. I skipped a little on the way home. I had a lot to do, like digging out the phone book and finding out exactly where this bad part of town was.

OOOO

I had never been to a club before, which is probably glaringly obvious within five seconds of meeting me. I'd never heard of Panic, none of my old Sky High buddies had exactly been the type to hang out in places like that. But if Lash was going to be there, I was going to be there. It was a good chance to try and find out what made him tick, not to mention another chance at introducing myself as a person rather then an annoyance. Besides, you never know what incentives a good brawl might bring out, maybe even a little righteousness if I was real lucky.

It was a cool night despite the season and it was while I was pulling on a sweater that my mom came in. She sized up the fact that I was getting ready immediately.

"Are you going out tonight?" she asked in a would-be casual voice, eyeing my scuffed Mary Janes.

"Yeah," I reached around her for a hair tie, "I'm going to a club."

"Oh." She nodded, obviously milling this over in her head. "Will there be boys?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, mom, it's a nun club."

"No need for sarcasm," she told me.

"And no need for worry," I mocked, waggling a finger at her.

"But, Alissa –" she began.

"Seriously, mom, I'll be fine," I cut in, touching a finger to her temple. When I drew it away a brilliant pink butterfly had settled in her hair. "Home by twelve," I called as I raced out the door, tying my hair in a ponytail as I went.

True to Brian's word, Panic was half a block from the good part of town – which mainly consisted of office buildings and all the places I usually go. The bad part of town, on a Friday night, was full of people coming and going.

I caught the bus over, having no idea how I was going to get home again, and as I stepped onto the sidewalk I felt like all the butterflies I had ever created were currently partying in the pit of my stomach. Quite possibly this was the worst idea I'd ever had and it was also quite possible that by the end of the night I would be seriously regretting ever seeing Lash drop that flyer in the first place. But it was too late for any of that now; the Mission: Impossible song was running through my head.

I did my best to blend, which is easier said then done when you're walking alone, mumbling street numbers to yourself. Fighting my way against jostling groups of kids – most of whom looked way too young to be out and about by themselves – I finally craned my neck to be met with a large sign declaring the word 'Panic' in glowing letters.

Now, I've never considered myself to be a very intuitive sort of person, but there was just something about the line of people trailing into the blackness beyond the doors that sent off alarms in my head. It was stupid and I shook off my uneasiness, tacking myself onto the end of the line, taking deeper breaths then necessary.

People went to places like this all the time, what's the worst that could happen?

The line moved forward, past the heavily leathered bouncers checking ID's. I tried to remind myself that it was all for the greater good.

The man scrutinised my ID for what felt like ages. I wondered if they ever refused entry on the grounds of being hero support, which was ridiculous because these people weren't superheroes, they'd never had to do Power Placement, they'd never even heard of Sky High. Still…

At last, after eyeing me up and down and demanding to check my purse, I was waved inside. I stumbled forward, my feet feeling too heavy as I dragged them up the carpeted stairs. It was dark and… loud. I blinked my eyes furiously in an attempt to regain my sight, refraining from cupping my hands over my ears.

Inside was packed. More bouncers lined the bar, making sure no one who wasn't supposed to got near anything stronger then lemonade. Across a sea of heads and waving arms a band played under dim, silvery lights.

I pulled nervously on the end of my sweater, biting my lower lip. I was distinctly aware that I must just scream 'awkward' standing there, dressed in basically what I'd been wearing that day, eyes scanning hopelessly for any sign of Lash.

Definitely my worst idea to date.

"Okay," I muttered to myself, edging away from the bar, "okay."

It hit me that Panic might not have been such a random name after all. It sure was nearing the top of my list of current emotional states.

How on earth was I going to find Lash! I certainly hadn't taken any of this into account when deciding to come. Not to mention that if I did, somehow, manage to find him, there would be no way to communicate, it was so noisy.

I tried not to dwell on the problems. The important thing was to remain calm and try not to cause a spontaneous eruption of butterflies.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged myself into the crowd. I turned full circle, completely surrounded by bodies in a manner of milliseconds, jostling and stomping, I was grabbed and pushed and I'm pretty sure my hair was pulled a little. The red haired girl next to me stumbled and spilt her drink all over my shoes, mumbling a drunken apology before propelling herself away. Everyone seemed to be in various stages of yelling, whether at one another or along with the band, it was hard to tell.

It would have been sort of infectious had I been in the mood to impersonate a can of sardines. The crowd in front of me shifted slightly as someone fell over and I caught sight of an attractive boy with pale blond hair sweeping into his eyes singing into the microphone. Yeah, definitely infectious.

I cracked a grin despite myself. The crowd surged forward and I threw out my arms to steady myself against the crush. A train of people shoved their way through, attempting to break out. A crushing pain in my wrist hit me like a train. I cried out, trying to wrench my wrist back. Tears sprung into my eyes and I turned, almost blindly, to the source.

"Lash!" My voice was lost against the noise, I couldn't even hear it.

Lash had my arm in a vice-like grip, one eyebrow raised, giving me a look of mock interest. I struggled, gasping in pain as he twisted my arm to draw me towards him. He was actually quite a bit taller then me and, so, had to really lean down to speak in my ear.

"You," his voice sounded calm, but he couldn't completely disguise the anger, "you've been following me."

Damn! So he had noticed after all! But he'd made no sign of it before now and I'd been so sure he hadn't seen me all those times I'd spotted him.

There wasn't really that much I could say. I suppose I could have apologised, but considering I could almost feel the bones in my wrist breaking it seemed like a waste of breath. I dimly wondered why no one around saw the need to intervene. Just another case for my Maxville-needing-more-superheroes theory, I guess.

"No more newspapers?" he continued in my ear, "I'm a little disappointed."

"Please!" I panted, "Let go!"

Lash, much to my surprise, obliged. A second later I was being steered out of the crowd, convinced he was going to take me out back and shoot me or something. He didn't. He merely leant against the wall, arms folded, looking down at me expectedly.

"Well?"

"Um," I said, attempting to rub some feeling back into my arm, "what?"

"What's the plan?" I must have gone blank because he laughed. "Oh, come on, like you would come here for any other reason then to continue following me. So what is it this time? Gonna tell me some more sob stories? Or is it time for us to discuss sidekick names?"

I gave him my best glare which was a little hard considering the pain I was in, not to mention the fact that my ears were straining to hear a single word he was saying. I hadn't caught all of it, but I assumed none of it was particularly nice.

"Actually I came here to introduce myself to you."

Lash laughed even harder. I waited patiently for it to subside.

"You don't know me," I explained, "and I don't know you. I bet if we just talked we'd find that we have more in common then we think."

"Look, do you see what the problem is here?" he asked, continuing without waiting for an answer. "You keep saying 'we'. There is no 'we'. You might get your kicks from the idea of me wearing tights and, hey, I'm not judging." My glare intensified. "But I don't."

"Lash," I said through gritted teeth, "can't you just shut up and tell me your favourite colour?"

He rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms, beginning to walk away. I counted silently to five, praying for patience. Why did he have to make everything so difficult?

I thought about calling after him, but in all honesty there didn't seem to be any point. He probably wouldn't even hear me anyway. I wondered what Brian was doing at that very moment. Probably sewing his costume or something. The thought made me feel sick. Everyone else was well on their way to achieving something, something normal people never get the chance to do, and here I was, hanging out in a club watching my hero walk away.

Things just couldn't get much better, I thought bitterly.

A large drunk man suddenly crashed into me, knocking me clean off my feet, sending me sprawling on the ground. He'd stumbled backwards into me and from my position I saw his feet turn around. I could just imagine him scratching his head, wondering what he'd hit.

"Oi, darlin', what you doin' down there?"

I was manhandled roughly to my feet. The man looked me up and down. I would actually have been very surprised if he could see anything, given how bloodshot his eyes were. He was clutching a can of God-only-knew-what and seemed very intent on closing the distance between us.

I stepped backwards hastily. Cursing Lash silently when I remembered that he'd led me to the wall. The man opened his mouth to say something, a wicked grin plastered on his face, when he was suddenly distracted by a butterfly crawling over his hand clutching the can. He let out a yelp, sending the can (and its contents) flying. A second later I was drenched in alcohol.

"Fantastic," I muttered as the man stomped away, the butterfly coming to rest on the front of my dripping sweater. I sighed and pulled the sweater over my head, not sure what to do with it in its current state.

On the other hand the commotion seemed to have drawn Lash back. Which probably wasn't exactly a cause for celebration. I noticed that he hadn't tried to help me.

"Ready to get to know me?" I asked, attempting to wring out my clothing.

"You're a sidekick, there's nothing more I need to know," he hissed nastily.

"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing," I said, holding my soaking sweater a little away from me. "I'm okay with being hero support. It sure beats almost getting expelled for turning everyone into babies, or have you forgotten that?"

"Technically I didn't turn anyone –"

"You ruined Homecoming!" I yelled. A few people turned around to stare. "You ruined what was supposed to be the greatest night…" I trailed off, closing my eyes and praying for even more patience. "And all you got was a few months detention. Do you care?"

Lash sneered. "I might have helped a few friends, closed a few doors. It's not like anything bad happened."

I shook my head. "You know, I actually thought you were joking about all this not wanting to be a hero stuff. I thought you'd come around and we could work together. But I guess I do know you after all, Lash. You're nothing but a bully."

I tied my sweater around my waist. The alcohol was cold and rather sticky against my skin, not to mention extremely gross. I made a mental note never to ignore my intuition again. A perfectly good sweater had been ruined, I'd probably have a bruise the size of Texas on my arm by tomorrow morning which I'd have to explain to my mom, plus I still didn't know exactly how I was going to get home. Did the buses even run this late?

I pushed my way through the crowd, heading for the exit. The band was still playing, a roar of shapeless noise against my ears. Suddenly I felt very tired.

"Hey, sidekick!" Lash's voice yelled at me.

I stopped but didn't turn around. "What?"

"How're you getting home?"

Okay now I turned around. I stared at him. The freaky idea that he could read my thoughts darted through my head. I shrugged. "Bus," I said simply.

His mouth twisted into a tiny smile. "Wanna ride?" he asked.

Wait, backtrack, was he actually concerned about my wellbeing? Hope filled bubbles rose in my chest. Concern was, essentially, a one-way ticket to justice.

"A ride?" I repeated, unable to keep the silly grin from my face.

He stepped towards me. "Yeah, I'll give you a ride home if you help me with something."

The bubbles burst, one by one. That definitely didn't sound promising.

"Nothing big," he continued, coming closer, "just something Speed and I were planning to do. I think now's the right time and, well, since Speed isn't here and with you being my sidekick and all…"

"What are you talking about?" He was making me feel nervous. Not to mention that he had just suggested I could fill in for his weight-challenged best friend. "'Planning to do', like a job or something?"

"More or less. You in?"

I bit my lip. Around us the pace had slowed somewhat. The band had finished and despite the fact that hundreds of people were still laughing and talking and fighting, it felt almost quiet.

"Okay," I said at last, deciding to take the fact that he'd said I could help him as his sidekick as a sign that it couldn't be anything terrible. Well, at least, too terrible. It could always bring us closer as a team, right?

"Super." He put his face very close to mine, the dim lights turning his eyes into empty, shadowy sockets. "We have a job to do. Come on."

OOOO

- The good/bad part of town and the nun club thing are both quotes from Buffy. Just so you know I'm not stealing! ;) -