"No," he said, from where his head rested on her lap. "Only ever with my power."

She ruffled his hair, though he swatted her hand away. "Dude, really? That's like masturbation. You're basically a virgin."

"Basically is better than what you've got," he retorted.

"Some supervillains we are." She leaned back and sighed.

"Yeah," he agreed, "your brother's the only one who ever got tail."

"What, you don't think...?" her voice trailed off as she realised she couldn't suggest any of their teammates.

"Tattletits says she can't do it. Permanent TMI. If Bitch has ever been in heat it doesn't show."

"Maybe Taylor's had freaky bug sex with someone. Y'know, web him up in her lair and then devour him afterwards."

Alec snorted. "I guess Grue is a pretty meaty—" He cut off as she grabbed his throat, choking the words before he could finish the innuendo.

"Parian and Foil," she interjected after letting him go. "They are definitely sexing it up."

The first time he saw her crying, she almost expected him to laugh. Or make fun of her. Or just run away. But instead he sat down next to her, and when she leaned on his shoulder, he didn't move. Skinship between them had become something easy, instinctive, but without expectations. He stayed there, unspeaking, not even looking at her, while she cried it out.

She knew he didn't know what had upset her; she hadn't told him. But he could make an educated guess. She wondered if that was why he was staying, even though she knew he'd have no idea what to do. He understood fuckwit parents. He understood running away from them. His base was hers to use as she needed – as was his shoulder to cry on, apparently.

It didn't last long. Anger overtook the despair quickly and she felt her expression harden, her lips pinch together, her fists clench. When she sat up, he turned his head, and then smirked. "You're either gonna throw me down the stairs, or throw me down on the bed."

She smacked his arm. "You wish. We're going hunting."

"Again?" he moaned, but got up to follow her just the same. "We scared off a skinhead last week. Surely that means a holiday?"

"I'm pissed and I'm ready to cut someone," she retorted, exiting his base and turning down the street, relishing the cold night air. "Unless you want it to be you, we're gonna find me a Nazi."

He complained the whole time, but he stood alongside her anyway.

As soon as she'd found out he didn't know, she'd picked a date. When he turned up at her flat, he actually raised his eyebrows in surprise. She'd gone at it like a total goof, with balloons, confetti and the biggest cake she could find, which was actually only the size of a normal sponge since the bakeries hadn't come back after Leviathan.

"You realise I don't fucking celebrate my birthday," he said.

"Well then I'm gonna fucking celebrate it," she replied. "I'll open your presents and eat your cake, and you can go be miserable in the corner."

She hauled him inside by his arm, though he made a show of reluctance. She shut the door.

"Is this when Bitch bursts out of the cake and strips?"

"If you wanted that you should've asked."

He threw himself down on her sofa and waved a hand. "Where's my present from you, then?" He gave her a smirking glance. "Because if it's sex, I've gotta say I hope you kept the receipt."

"This whole thing is the present, ya douche." She flopped down beside him. "Why don't you celebrate your birthday? Father Fuckboy not into that?"

"Nah."

She waited, drumming her feet against the side of the sofa. Eventually, he relented, heaving a dramatic sigh and explaining properly.

"He was into forcing triggers. Once a year, unless he got bored. He'd hit you with the terror, or get the other kids to do whatever horrible shit they could think of."

He already knew the story of her trigger, her father, the gang. One of the few social codes he understood was that trigger stories were not casual conversation; he was paying her back today.

"Cherie, Cherish, liked playing the mastermind. I resisted her, but some of the others didn't. It's not that hard to give someone pleasure at violence, and when it's four or five kids, it gets ugly quick." He paused, then skipped the rest of the story. "I triggered trying to make her stop."

She patted his knee. "Does that mean you don't want any cake?"

"Fuck no. If I'm gonna do this emotional shit I'm getting the comfort food."

Brian unmasked the second they were alone in the hospital.

There were deep, dark bags under his eyes, his skin was discoloured by sweat and grime, and his breathing was ragged. Nevertheless, his gaze was focused and unmoving.

She stared back at him. She knew he wanted her to talk, but she couldn't make herself care. Everything was distant. Her body was oversized, clumsy; she had shrunk to a tiny, hard kernel in her centre.

"It wasn't your—"

She released her power before he could finish the lie. Masochistically, she watched him stutter over his next words, confused. She used to love doing that to him, seeing him lost, vulnerable in a way he had never been...before Bonesaw.

Also her fault.

Today she felt nothing as he frowned absently and walked away. There was no room for thinking about her brother. There was only the image of Alec dying, over and over in her mind.

She should probably get someone to look at the burns on her neck.

She stayed where she was for two hours.