Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tulip’s Brew, it  was a quaint little coffee shop that had seemingly endless flowers clustered on tables and in the corners. It was lit up with warm lamps and the natural light that seeped in from the big display windows. John Laurens, the owner of the establishment hummed as he set out pastries in the displays. The smooth voice of Frank Sinatra was playing softly through the speakers.

“ Fly me to the moon ,” John hummed along to the song, dusting his hands off on the apron tied around his waist. His mornings usually were slow much like this one, smelling of freshly baked pastries and the scent of coffee that was always in the air. “ Let me play among the stars. ” He sashayed to the door, keys jingling as he unlocked the door. He flipped the hand-painted ‘ Close ’ sign to ‘Open .’

“Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars .” He mumbled distractedly as he fiddled with the straw holder that sat by the cash register. And like every other morning that started like this, the door was pushed open in a rush as Frances Manning rushed in. John stopped humming along to the song to grin fondly at the teenager, who was bent over huffing.

Frances Manning, one of his dearest employees. She came into his employment her freshman year of high school, grappling with the loss of her mother, had passed away recently that year. All the while she was struggling to keep up with the chaos of foster homes. 

“Sorry, I’m late John!” She panted, her canvas tote bag slipping down her shoulder. “I swear I would’ve gotten here before opening and helped set up,” she explained in a breathless rush. Coming behind the counter with long strides, “But the subway was down because Magentix decided it was a great time to lace the subway tunnels with bombs.” The teenager finished with jazz hands, a slightly crazed look in her eyes. As if to solidify the truth to the story, her curly brown hair was loose around her shoulders.

“Franny, it’s fine. I’m honestly more worried about the bombs than you getting here.” John said, handing the girl a hair tie on her way to the back room. She gave him a thankful smile as she pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. John leaned on the counters, listening to the saxophones blearing along to Frank Sinatra's “ please be true. ”

“Y’know, I think you are the only employer who actually cares if there’s an active bomb threat,” Frances said, her own apron tied around her waist. She had a blueberry muffin in her hand that had a bite taken out of it, crumbs littered her cheeks as she continued on, “Like all my friends who work say that their bosses will give them two hours max to get to work at a threat.” 

John shrugged, glaring at her as she hopped onto the counter. “Yeah, well I’m not too keen on my underage employees thinking that work at a coffee shop is more important than a bomb threat.”

Frances grinned at him, which was only slightly gross as she had mushed muffin stuck between her teeth. John rolled his eyes fondly at the girl, turning his attention to the door as a customer walked through it.

“Welcome to Tulip’s Brew, what can I get for ya?’’ John asked the customer in his most pleasant customer service voice. If Frances said the subway was down, there were bound to be some grouchy customers. John smiled as the customer rattled off their order, punching it in the register. He could see Frances wince as the guy went on a long-winded rant about how he can only have almond milk as he was lactose intolerant. John nodded and smiled politely, “Yessir, that’ll be 12.58, would you like that for here or to go?” 

The man grumbled a ‘to go’ as he dug out his wallet. After the man paid John went to make the drink, shooing Frances off the counter and to man the register.

“Am I being stuck on customer duty because a villain decided to be annoying?” She whined, dejectedly poking the register in front of her.

“You’re on customer duty because you haven’t done the register in a week,” John replied, adding an atrocious amount of espresso shots to the large brewed black coffee. John could feel the man’s eyes on him as he grabbed the milk, clearly labeled almond milk for paranoid customers to see. The bell above the door rang again, letting the occupants know another customer entered the store. 

John hummed as an English version of La Vie En Rose played through the speakers, his mind becoming distant as he went through the motions of making coffee and tea.

It was quite nice not having to think about what he was doing. John has been doing this job for four years currently, a good bit of that time alone when he only had himself as an employee. 

It was decidedly difficult to work and live in a world where superheroes and villains exist. Where villains pulled off gaudy stunts and sent more people to the ER in a day than in a year, it was tiring. John knew it firsthand, with victims of rubble that crushed their limbs, or how explosions marred the skin. Maybe that’s why he chose to open a coffee shop, where the most tiring thing is dealing with grouchy businessmen late for meetings. Or when the skirmishes made their way down his street, the way he helped teenagers and mothers stay safe inside, watching through the bulletproof glass that lined the walls.

John glanced up at said windows, they were probably his best investments. While many of the skirmishes happened on busier streets, or right in Central Park, he had his fair share of close calls. 

“ When you kiss me, heaven sighs .” He sang quietly in time with the song, he would’ve put the French version on, but considering many of his employees and customers didn’t know French, he stuck with the English version.

Chapter Text

Later that day, when the shop was closed and the moon was inching across the sky, John sat, perched on the edge of a building. 

There was a petunia in his hand, delicate petals being shielded by the wind. “What should we do?” John asked himself, looking over the city that never sleeps. It wasn’t often that John sat and pondered what he wanted to do. Usually, he planned ahead better than this. Enjoying the thrill of a successful mission being carried out.

Turning to the edge of the alleyway, a braid of vines stretched in front of him, letting him safely make his way across the roofs of New York apartments. 

On a typical day, a rookie hero would already be chasing after him. Being sent his way as a test of sorts, their chests puffed out in arrogance as they proclaimed his demise. It was always so tragic, when those heroes fell. Always too confident in their prowess and power to even try and patch up any openings. 

Glancing down the street, he grinned as he saw a couple of thugs sneak into a back alley.

You see, the way the night world worked was very delicate. Many people focused on the extravagant villains, like Magentix and his counterpart hero, Kaleidoscope. But John had his own way of life, and that led itself to dark alleyways at night and the only light being flickering street lamps. 

He landed softly behind the thugs, listening as they murmured to each other. 

“Lovely night, ain’t it boys?” John asked, vines creeping along the pavement to wrap around the men’s ankles. 

The two thugs jumped, swinging around with switchblades out. It was almost cute, how they turned to him with such vigor. John watched in amusement as they realized who he was.

“Flore Venenato-“ one of them tried to take a step back, only to realize he wasn’t able to.

“Is there a reason you’re creeping down an alley at this time, gentlemen?” John asked sweetly, taking a silent step forward. The concrete was cool against his feet, as vines with blooming monkshood crept along the walls. 

“No- just tryin’ to get home y’know?” The smaller of the two thugs said. Sweat gleamed in the flickering light, making their skin look oily. The taller of the two nodded along, switchblade still stuck in his hand. 

A vine crept along the man with the switchblade body. He only realized it was happening when the vine reached his wrist and started squeezing. The blade tumbled out of the struggling hand, clattering onto the concrete.

John walked closer to the two thugs, a knowing smile playing on his lips. You see, the thing about night crime is that there is no extravagant scheme. No bombs for the subway system or public acts of grandiose. There is quiet nights in alleys, broken by the sound of fist fights and other ugly things the night life offers.

Somewhere, there was an uproar at a bar, maybe it was a popular track being put on, or maybe a team scored a point. It offered wonderful cover to the less pleasant activities. John hummed as he reached the two men, smiling sickly sweet.

“How about we play a game?”

Chapter Text

Sweet Caroline played through the speakers as John tied his apron around his waist, the pastries he made sat on big trays. There was flour smeared along his cheek and powdered sugar under his nails. “ Sweet Caroline, bah bah bah. ” John sang, bopping his head along. He grabbed the trays, using his back to push the door open into the diner.

“ Good times never seemed so good .” He sang louder, setting the trays down with a clang as he opened the display cases. It was a Wednesday, Frances was at school while his other employee, Maria, was on the floor wiping down tables. 

“Hey Johnny,” Maria called out, her waist-length hair tied into two braids that rested on her shoulders. “Do you wanna change out these flowers?” She asked, holding up a vase that had tulips wilting sadly in it. 

John hummed, “Sure, can you grab some from the back?” John set the pastries into the case, making himself an iced tea to sip on throughout the morning. 

“Do you think daisies or yellow tulips would look better?” Maria shouted from the back.

“You can do both if you want!” He called back, stirring the ice in his tea idly. It was a habit he picked up when he was young, staring into his drink as he stirred the ice around and around and around and around and around and around.

“Hell yeah!” Maria bounced out of the back room, a bundle of daisies and yellow tulips in her arms. John laughed as she bounced over to the vase of wilting tulips. 

“Have you ever had floral tea?” John asked, walking up to Maria to sort through the discarded flowers. Maria shook her head, “Not much of a floral girl,” she said, stepping back to eye the arrangement with a critical eye.

John reached out to move a cluttered tulip to an empty spot in the arrangement, grabbing the discarded pile to rise off in the sink. “Shame,” he said, “Tulip tea sounds odd, but it tastes good.” He said, turning the sink on to rinse the flowers. “Granted, I don’t make it as much as I probably could.”

Maria chuckled at that, going to flip the closed sign to open with a glance at the clock. ‘‘Johnny, I think you’re the only person to ever make tea from tulips.” 

“I resent that.” John gently pulled the petals from the flowers, inspecting them for any holes or decay. 

The bell above the door rang just as Maria got behind the register, “Hi, welcome to Tulip’s Brew, what can I get you?” John heard her ask as he set the tulips to steep in a pot of water. 

Running a business leads one to develop a habit. John would like to think he has known this for a while running a coffee shop helps to feed into this habit. Not only of the owner but of the people around it. Tulip’s Brew was a small shop, not extravagant or as well known as god forbid, Starbucks. Besides not being a big shop, it was well loved by the people who frequented it. 

“Aye Johnny!” One Hercules Mulligan called as he entered the shop, a grin stretched wide across his face. Hercules Mulligan was one of the said frequent people, coming into the shop every Wednesday for a drink and a slice of apple pie. 

“Hey Herc!” John smiled at the man, leaning on the counter. Hercules was a broad man, with wide shoulders and big arms, not to mention he towered over everyone. Besides all that, Hercules was one of the sweetest men John has ever met. Working as a tailor at a local shop, he came in on a Wednesday to get out of the storms, grouching as he nursed a hot chocolate with a complimentary apple pie. 

It’s been a tradition ever since.

“How’s thing been going?” Hercules asked, not even having to place an order as John went through the motions of making his ridiculous hot chocolate. 

“Been good, brewed up some tulip tea for today’s special.” Hercules oohed at that, reaching across the counter to grab a straw. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of tulip tea,” Hercules said, face thoughtful.

“That’s what I said!” Maria smiled at Hercules as she came behind the counter. “Honestly, if it wasn’t John I would be questioning his sanity. Like who makes tea out of tulips?” Maria asked. Hercules nodded in agreement.

“I might have to come back to try it though,” Hercules said idly, slapping a twenty down on the counter. John raised a brow at the cash. Hercules squinted at him, “I’m paying for my hot chocolate. Fight me.”

“You know I don’t mind giving it to you on the house-”

“And you know I like supporting my local businesses.” Hercules interrupted him like he always did, shooting John a fond look. John grumbled as he took the twenty, entering it into the register. “Keep the change,” Hercules said cheekily, knowing damn well that twenty dollars is very much over the amount that his drink is worth.

John squinted at him, trying not to smile, “I will thank you.”

Maria huffed behind him, John could feel the eye roll she sent their way, “ Men .” John heard her mumble fondly, and Hercules grinned at her.

“When are you gonna let me make you a dress?” Hercules asked as he does every time Maria is on shift, John laughed at Maria’s sigh.

It was very much a typical Wednesday.

Chapter Text

Peggy was many things, depending on who you ask. Her sisters would say she’s a lovable mess, her friends would say she’s a threat to society, and strangers say that she is too loud for her own good. 

Most of these are true.

Actually, scratch that, all of them were true. Peggy knew that she was more prone to using her first than Angelica, and more likely to shout at pervy guys than Eliza. It was like that, she was quick to jump on the offense, more prone to showing up with a split lip and victorious grin. Her catchphrase at this point is “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

Maybe that’s why she chose to be a hero. 

Not that it's a really noble motive, more of an itch to have a good fight and the start of a hero complex.

“C’mon,” Peggy whined to her eldest sister. Both were suited up in their hero uniforms, currently standing on the top of a high rise. “I’m a big girl, I can handle this.” Angelica cut a glance at her. Well, Peggy thinks she glanced at her. 

That was the annoying thing about Angelica’s power, light manipulation. She was able to obstruct her face with a frankly concerning amount of shadows, only her mouth visible. 

“Artemis, this is your first time on the field.” Angelica said, using her ‘no-nonsense, I am your boss’ voice. Peggy pouted. “Staged fights are a lot different than fights against real villains.”

Peggy sighed, looking off to the side. It wasn’t like she didn’t know this. It was ingrained in everyone who went the Academy, that it doesn’t matter how well you do in stimulations. One mess up while playing with the big kids and it’s over.

It was around eight pm, Peggy could see people walking around the park, couples holding hands, and teenagers racing each other. She smiled to herself, watching as people went about their lives, all laughing even with threats of villains. It was almost humbling in a way, behind her was a dull thud and a ruffle of clothes.

“Must you always put the spots on top of high rises?” The disgruntled voice of one Noctua asked. Peggy turned around to see him smoothing out his waistcoat, his hair was tied up loosely, clumps of it falling to frame his face. There was his signature mask over his eyes.

“I thought you were an owl? Aren’t high places your thing?” Angelica asked, her skirt blowing in the wind around her legs. 

“That’s like saying Luciole should be able to fly because he’s a bug,” Noctua said, walking towards them with his arms crossed behind him.

“Is that what that means?” Peggy asked, she never really understood the vague references to powers. As far as Peggy was concerned the only villain with a decently cool name was the flower guy. It was something latin that she couldn’t remember off the top of her head.

Maybe it wasn’t that great if she couldn’t remember it.

Noctua nodded, “Yeah, it means lightning bug, which is kinda funny considering the guy hates bugs.” Noctua smiled cheekily, ‘’Pro tip; if you ever come across him just throw bugs at him.” Peggy nodded with a grin, bouncing on her heels.

Angelica cleared her throat, “We can talk about Luciole’s fear of bugs later, we need to talk about Magentix.” She said, hands going to her hips.

Noctua perked up at that, “What about him?”

Angelica sighed, “He let it slip Sunday that him and another villain were thinking about teaming up.” At this, she rubbed where her nose would be, “I don’t know if he’s talking out of his ass but there is a very good chance he isn’t.”

Noctua hummed, “Are you sure? Most of the time he says that and it’s a minor league guy or some thugs he black-mailed.” Angelica nodded sagely at Noctua.

“I'm a hundred percent. What’s more concerning is that he alluded to flowers.” She said, shifting on her feet, “And if I’m not mistaken, the only villain with flower powers is Flore Venenato.”

Oh! That was his name.

Chapter Text

John would like to say he has a level head. He worked in the ER for a year as a male nurse and often had to be able to keep his wits about him in an emergency. It also helps to keep a clear mind when you have to perform CPR.

That being said, John likes to think he is a logical person, a man of science if you will. So, you can’t fault him when Thomas Fucking Jefferson shows up at his register, and he lets out a noise that more akin to a goat dying than a normal human sound.

To Jefferson’s credit, he only raises an eyebrow, “Is this how you greet all your employees?” The billionaire, the very famous fucking billionaire, asks.

John feels himself blush, “Uh- no.” Shaking his head, John gives the man his best customer service smile. “Sorry about that sir, what can I get for you?” He asks, hands already hovering over the register to type in the man’s order. 

Jefferson only hummed, glancing up at the boards behind him. “Do you do cafe creme?” He asks. John nodded, typing into the register the billionaire’s order.

“Yessir, would that be all for you?”

Jefferson hummed, “Throw a croissant in there too.” He said, throwing a fifty down on the counter.

“Sir, I can’t accept that-” John tried to say, knowing damn well he does not have the right amount of cash in the register to break a fifty. 

Jefferson waved his hand, “Keep the change.” The billionaire glanced around the room, taking in the various flowers that lined the shop. John left the register to prepare the man’s order, starting the machine and setting the croissant down on the counter. “I was wondering if I could speak with you privately.”

John eyed the man suspiciously,‘‘If you’re here to buy the shop I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” John had had too many old businessmen coming in here wanting to sink their claws into a new business. 

“No actually. I’m here for something a little more, private?” Jefferson winced at his own words. Probably realizing how it sounds with his reputation.

“Not looking for sex either,” John said idly, cutting a scathing glance at the billionaire. He settled the drink down for the man to take, Jefferson groaned. 

“That’s not what I meant. Also, you’re not my type.” The billionaire said, looking John up and down. Moving over to the bar seat, he glanced  around the room, Jefferson took note of an elderly couple having an idle chat by the windows, and a group of teenagers doing what looks like a study session in a booth.

Jefferson looked at John for a long second, “Let me cut to the chase,” he said, setting his croissant down on a napkin. “I know who you are, and you don’t know who I am.”

John paused, wondering what the billionaire was talking about.

‘’You’re Flore Venenato.” Jefferson said plainly, taking a bit of his croissant with a smug air around him.

John felt his heart drop, no one knew that. He made sure that no one knew that. He kept people at arm's length so he wouldn’t have to deal with the charades that is trying to not let anyone know. His hand paused where they were, deathly still above a bouquet of oleander, verbena, and geranium. 

“The flowers are quite pretty I’ll give you that, also a massive red flag to anyone who’s looking.” Jefferson said, leaning onto the top of the counter. He slid a card over to John, he finished the rest of his drink, and stood up with a flourish. “Hope we can work together some time.” He called, taking a bite out of his croissant before walking towards the door.

It was only after the bell rang above the door that John realized Jefferson was wearing magenta.

Chapter Text

John’s apartment was located above the coffee shop. Some would say it’s not a good idea to have your work and home in the same spot, John thinks he’s good at managing. 

The door to his apartment led to a steep  wooden staircase that creaked at the smallest bit of weight. His apartment, according to anyone who has ever been in it, is very much a reflection of himself. There was a worn down blue couch with a plethora of pillows and blankets set in the living room, a ceramic vase with a bouquet of flowers sat in front of a mounted TV. The wooden floor was covered in a thick fluffy rug that Frances loved to sprawl out on when she visited. John always made sure to keep slippers by the door, not only because he felt weird walking around barefoot but because for some reason his floors repelled heat. 

Shuffling to his room, John changed out of his jeans and shirt for a hoodie and athletic shorts combo. The hoodie was too big for him, the fabric faded to gray after so many washes and paint stained into the cuffs. If he thinks on it long enough, he’s pretty sure he nabbed it from Hercules.

Stretching, John could feel his back popping. He groaned softly as he sluggishly went to the kitchen. He idly thought about dinner, making a lazy pasta bake and eating it in front of the tv. 

Opening the refrigerator, John was going to do as he thought, but his eye caught onto a bottle of red wine. It was a cheap Walmart brand wine that he knows either Hercules or Maria left here. John glanced around, there were a couple of dishes in the sink and a bright pink post-it-note was stuck onto the microwave. Glancing back at the wine bottle, John sighed. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle and wine glass off the drying matt. He made his way to the bathroom, turning the bath on to fill up. He sat the bottle and glass on the counter, grabbing his phone and Bluetooth speaker.

The great thing about living above your work, you don’t have to worry about neighbors and noise complaints. John set his phone down as 505 by the Artic Monkeys started playing through the speakers. He poured himself a generous glass of wine before stripping and stepping into the bathtub.

The water swooshed around him as he sunk into the tub, he spotted a bottle of bubble bath solution that Maria insisted he have, something about lavender and soothing qualities. Vines curled around it and opened it, tipping it over into the rising water. ‘‘Stop and wait a sec, ” John mumbled along with the song, reclining his head to look at the ceiling. One arm was outside the bath, holding his wine glass aloft.

His mind wandered back to Jefferson.

John couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the billionaire, how did he figure out that he was Flore Venenato? Yeah, the coffee shop could raise alarms, but John was intimately aware people thought he was just flower crazy. Which he was, but that’s besides the point. 

John groaned as he took a sip of wine, the berry flavor washing over his tongue. He could barely smell anything over the lavender soap.

John hummed along to 505 as he thought about the day’s events. 

Jefferson wasn’t exactly subtle about who he was that day either, in a ridiculous magenta get-up that would’ve been tacky if anyone else wore it. John rolled his eyes, was he seriously thinking about teaming up with Magentix of all people? Sure, the villain wasn’t half bad at his schemes but they were always so gaudy and over the top. 

The worst part, John was actually thinking about doing it.

Chapter Text

You’d think that working at one of the best law firms would be a good thing. That being a recognized lawyer that did his job pretty fucking well would mean a penthouse that was above everything and life would be dandy.

Nope.

Alexander Hamilton doesn’t exactly hate his job, he would never be as stuck up as that. He actually very much loved his job, but if he has to go over one more divorce case he will scream.

“Rough day?” The living angel that was Eliza Schyluer asked from her spot at the door. Alex groaned, nose smushed into his desk.

“Betsey, when you get married please get a prenup.” Eliza chuckled at her friend’s behavior, heels clicking as she came into the office. There were papers scattered everywhere and Eliza could barely tell if the mound of coffee cups in the corner was structurally stable or not. Honestly, it was impressive that coffee mugs could even balance like that in her opinion.

“Lucky for you, I’m not getting married anytime soon.” She said, gently rubbing a hand over his shoulder.

Alex peaked up at her, “How have you not gotten hitched yet? Honestly, if we were still together I would’ve proposed years ago.” 

Eliza hummed, “There’s a reason for that.” Alex chuckled and nodded in agreement, pushing himself out of his chair. His hair was a mess, and Eliza grimaced just looking at it. “Do you not keep a brush in here or something?” She asked shuffling around in her person for her pop-out brush. 

Alex grunted, “Do I really look that bad?” 

“You’ve looked worse.” Eliza patted his arm, holding out the brush. “I’m surprised Washington even let you see clients like this.” Alex winced as he worked on taming his hair.

“I looked better this morning.” Eliza, knowing her friend better than anyone, just raised an eyebrow. The both of them knew he did not in fact look better that morning.

“Who kept the dog?” She asked instead, glancing at the scattered divorce papers on Alex’s desk.

“The wife. I probably would’ve punched the guy if he tried to take the dog. Betsey, it was so bad, you could tell all he wanted was to get laid by his side chick.” Alex said, looking at Eliza with wide eyes. She shook her head, she never understood men who cheated. What was the point of settling down if you’re still looking for a different time each night? She wrinkled her nose at the thought, Alex laughed at her expression. 

Eliza shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I heard about this cute coffee shop, you wanna go check it out with me?” She asked, stuffing the brush back into her purse. 

“You had me at coffee.” Alex said, hair finally brushed and not looking like he hasn’t slept for three days straight. 

Eliza smiled brightly and dragged him out of the office.

Chapter Text

Maria Lewis was not a remarkable girl. 

She knew this and was okay with it. She wasn’t effortlessly pretty like others, she had a pudge to her stomach and thighs, and she is very aware of the way her right knee clicked when she bends it. Maria was also aware that she had the very bad habit of lighting a cigarette when things got stressful, letting the smoke fill her lungs, and exhaling it into the polluted air.

She also knows she is like any other teen mom.

Her story wasn’t anything unique really, she was dumb and in what she thought was love. 

Later, when her arm is bent in an odd way and before the clicking of her knee became a common noise, she will learn that the condom had a hole in it, and she’ll learn not to always rely on pills.

Maria smiled as she set down the sweet tea. Like any single mother, she was working overtime at two jobs, with only one having decent pay. She glanced behind her at John, the man had his curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. At his hip, there was an excited seven-year-old, hair tied up into twin pigtails and her jumper looking like a dress on her. Maria smiled to herself as she watched her daughter and friend interact.

It was weird almost, she never thought she’d be able to trust another man with her daughter, yet here she was. 

“Did you finish your class reading dear?” Maria asked her daughter, crouching down to the child’s level.

Susan smiled toothily, a gap where her first tooth had fallen out. “Mhm! Jacky even said I could have a cookie!” She said excitedly, bouncing on her heels.

Maria gasped, “That’s amazing sweetheart!” Susan giggled, “Did you already eat it?” Maria asked her daughter, eyebrow raised. Susan shook her head.

“No mama! I have to wait ‘til dinner.” Susan’s bottom lip poked out into a pout.”Even though I really want one now.” John chuckled above them, patting Susan on the head.

“Sorry sweet pea, your mama makes the rules.” He said with an apologetic smile. Susan pouted a little more, much to the amusement of the two adults. “Though if you’re really good, I’m sure your mama will let you have two cookies.” Susan whipped around to Maria quickly, eyes wide in hope.

“Really?” She asked excitedly, Maria giggled nodding in agreement.

“Only if you’re really good!” Maria said, kissing her daughter’s cheek as she got up again. She winced slightly as her knee clicked in protest. She smiled at John’s concerned glance, waving him off. “How about you go color hon? You can watch The Little Mermaid on my laptop.” Maria bargained with her daughter, leading her daughter to the back room where her stuff was scattered on a table. Susan nodded, rushing to sit down as Maria pulled out her laptop. It was an old thing, if you pressed down too hard the keys will stick and you can barely hear anything when the fan kicks in. But it was the best Maria could afford. She didn’t have room to be greedy when she had to put food on the table, even if most of the food was sandwiches and pastries John forced her to take. 

“If I don’t give them to someone they’ll go to no one.” He’ll always say when she protests. She knows that the excuse was bullshit, John always makes extra so he can donate to the homeless. She also knows he makes sweets for kids' birthdays at the local hospital.

Maria took a second to straighten herself out, thinking about her daughter always made her all mushy. 

With a breath she walked out to the front, getting to the register in time for the bell to ring. “Hi, welcome to Tulip’s Brew what can I get for you-” Maria felt her breath catch in her throat as the most beautiful woman approached the counter. She had dark brown hair that cascaded down her back, her eyes were complimented by expertly done eyeliner. 

Maria heard John snort behind her, she would’ve been offended if there wasn’t a blush rising up to her cheeks. “Can I have a coffee?” The man beside her asked, Maria blinked out of her stupor at his voice. 

“Yes- yes! What would you like in it?”

“Nothing, just coffee.” The woman rolled her eyes.

“I don’t understand how you drink black coffee. I’ll have a hot chocolate and snickerdoodle please.” The woman said, grabbing her wallet.

“Yes ma’am,” Maria mumbled, punching the order into the register.

“The flowers are so pretty!” The woman said, pointing to a bouquet with a mix of purple and white flowers. Maria stared at it for a second, trying to remember what flowers they were.

“Thank you,” John said, coming up behind Maria, shooing her off to make drinks with a knowing smirk. “I’m glad someone appreciates them.” John smiled.

“How could I not?” The lady asked, “What flowers are they?”

“Queen Anne’s lace, orchids, and gloxinias.” John rattled off easily, pointing to each flower respectively.

“I think the only flower I know is the orchid.” The man said, glancing around the place. Maria glanced over in time to see the lady hand over a silver card to pay.

“I’m not surprised,” John laughed easily, “I’m told my knowledge of flowers is a little weird.”

“Johnny boy, you’ve told me the meaning behind more flowers than I know,” Maria said, coming up to the counter with two’s orders. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who knows that a cactus means endurance.”

John huffed at her, “You’re just jealous that I’m cultured.”

“Hell of a thing to be cultured in.” The man said, taking a sip of his coffee, he let out an honest to god moan. “Oh my god, Liza why haven’t we come here sooner?” He asked, looking over to the brunette, Liza sighed fondly.

“I’m glad you like the coffee,” John smiled brightly, Maria noted the pink hue that took over the man’s cheeks. “Hopefully we’ll see you two around more often?” John asked.

“Yes definitely! I’m Eliza.” The woman said, she gestured to the man beside her, “This is Alex. I’m surprised he hasn’t come here before. The man is practically married to coffee.”

“I blame Peggy. She drags me to Starbucks when we go out for coffee.”

Maria giggled, “Well you’ll have to bring them around sometime, introduce them to some good coffee.” She said, elbowing John. 

“Awe, you’re gonna make me blush,” John said, playing up the ‘awe shucks’ act. 

Eliza nodded, typing something into her phone. “Well we’ll let you get back to work,” she smiled, ushering Alex over to a table. “Nice meeting you two!” 

Maria watched as they sat down, admiring the way the sunlight seemed to caress Eliza’s skin. “John I think I’m gay.” 

John cackled behind her.

Chapter Text

It was Saturday when John finally called the number Jefferson gave him.

He debated it for a while, going over the pros and cons of teaming up with the man. He stood in his living room, the ringing of the phone seeming to echo through the space. 

“‘Ello?” The voice of Jefferson answered, John wondered if the man really gave him his personal number.

“Jefferson?” John asked, shifting in his place. He could feel the anxiousness flutter through his chest. “This is uh, John Laurens. From Tulip’s Brew? You told me to call you.” He stuttered out, twisting a strand of hair around his fingers. It wasn’t often he let his hair down, not liking how it stuck to the back of his neck in the heat, and for the convenience of having it up while working.

There was a quiet shuffling on the other end, the rustle of fabric and crinkle of paper the most prominent. “Yes, yes! John, lovely to hear from you! So you thought about my offer.”

John hummed, watching as his turtle, a red ear slider named Carl swam around. “I did.”

“So? What’d ya think?” 

John licked his lips as he turned to walk into his kitchen, “I want a test run.”

“A test run?” Jefferson asked, John could hear the offense in his voice. 

“Yeah, a test run. See how we work. I don’t team up often.”

Jefferson snorted, “Understatement. Listen we can do your, ‘test run,’ but we don’t have that much time.” John paused at that, in the entryway to his kitchen, the jar of cookies was more empty than it was at the start of the week, there was a half-eaten sandwich on the counter by the fridge.

“Why don’t we have a lot of time?”

“Should that matter?”

“Yes. I’m not the type for meaningless chaos Jefferson.” John said, pacing back out to his living room.

“But you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.” John groaned, frustrated. “Meet me on Broadway in thirty,” Jefferson said, sounding way too smug. “Don’t be late.”

“You’re the one who wants to do this stupid team up,” John said, staring up at his ceiling. The only thing that answered him was a beeping that indicated that Jefferson hung up. “Motherfucker,” John mumbled. 

It took John fifteen minutes to get to broadway, reclined against the A/C unit while waiting for Jefferson. He idly picked dirt out of his nails, feeling the vibrations from the music under his feet. The night was cool, the moon visible behind clouds, behind him, there was a thud.

“Took you long enough,” John said, pushing himself off the unit. “Shouldn’t the guy who arranged the meeting be here sooner.” The magenta-clad villain only grumbled, brushing dust off his obnoxious suit.

“Not everyone has vines to carry them everywhere.” He grouched, rolling his shoulders before striding forward.

“That sounds like a personal problem,” John said, debating the merits of growing some poison ivy. 

Jefferson waved his hand in the air, leaning against the A/C unit beside John. The two stood in silence for a bit, listening to people go about their daily lives and shows letting out. 

“How’d you become a villain?” Jefferson asked idly, taking out a cigarette from somewhere. John snorted at him, a vine of white roses curling around the A/C unit.

“You really think I’m going to blab my sob story?” He asked, pushing himself off the unit to look at the other villain. “Listen, I called you because you said you had a plan. I highly doubt smoking on a roof is part of it.”

Jefferson looked at him for a long moment, a hum echoing from his chest. “You’re right.” He stated simply, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, “How would you feel becoming more in the spotlight?”

Chapter Text

Phillip Smith liked life very much.

Despite what many of his friends will say, he actually likes the simple things in life. You know, going on long walks through the parks and watching the sunset, the quietness of the morning when everyone was still asleep and it was too early to get out of bed. 

It also happened that he liked chasing after ridiculous stories and taking pictures that should not be possible. 

Like getting pictures of the new up and rising hero, Artemis.

Phillip grinned like a loon as he flicked through the pictures he got, he specifically loved the one he got where Artemis had her bow drawn back, a fierce glint in her eyes. 

You’d think that after years of heroes and villains, all the hype around the would’ve died down, that people would stop fawning over the heroes and making lewd comments about villains. However, Phillip knew intimately that this wasn’t the case.

See one thing people always forget about, is that teenagers are crazy.

This is coming from the guy who had a girl in his class who absolutely worshipped Ted Bundy and swore by the fact that she could’ve changed him.

Phillip tries to stay away from her as much as possible.

With a grin he scrolled through his phone, it was fuck-o-clock at night and Phillip wasn’t exactly too keen on going back home at the moment. Despite his parent's best efforts of trying to be happy, he wasn’t a dumb kid. It wasn’t hard to see the way their fond smiles became strained and tense around each other. It wasn’t their fault, Phillip has read about stuff like this happening before. People fall in love with things they found endearing, then sometimes those once endearing things become annoying attributes.

Phillip shook his head, flipping through the next couple of pictures, he wondered what edits he could add, the lighting on Artemis’ photos were dramatic enough already, with the fire the villain was so keen on using lighting up her figure in gold.

Maybe he’d make it his phone background.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” A gruff voice asked. Phillip stopped despite himself. 

Looking behind him, he saw a man hunched over. He leaned on the entrance of an alleyway, a tattered coat hiding most of his frame, a cigarette smoldered between his mouth. Phillip felt his heart stop when he finally met the man’s eyes. It was too dark to make out any color, but Phillip shivered at the gross intent that he could feel. “A cute thing like you,” the man stumbled closer to him, Phillip could smell the alcohol wafting off of him. “Shouldn’t be out here,” he slurred, a lazy grin slipping on his face.

Distantly, Phillip thought the smile would’ve been handsome if his teeth weren’t stained and rotting.

“I- I was just heading back.” Phillip stumbled back a step, feeling way too exposed as his new vans scuffed against the concrete. His fingers were clenched around his old camera. 

“Why don’t I come a long, pretty boy?” The man asked, reaching a hand out to Phillip.

“Ah, I don’t think. I don’t think that’s necessary.” Phillip mumbled, eyes flicking around to see if anyone else was around.

“Awe c’mon, you’re breaking my heart.” The man went to step forward but stumbled and fell over. “What the hell?” He grumbled, pushing himself up.

Phillip could only stare at the vine that was wrapped around the guy’s ankle, eyes widening as he recognized the thorny vines. 

“I think the boy has said he was  fine.” A voice spoke above them. Phillip’s head snapped up to the figure perched on the street light.  The man stilled where he was on the ground, eyes widening as he realized who spoke. 

Flore Venenato, one of the most chilling villains Phillip has ever heard about. Usually, anyone who has encountered him didn’t live to tell the tale. Phillip should know, he had the clippings of the gruesome crime scenes that the villain left. All contradicted by the prettiest flowers that Phillip has ever seen.

The worst part, Flore Venenato wasn’t like the other villains. He didn’t make grand events of public scenes besides the occasional underground brawl or skirmish with heroes.

“We, we were just messing around.” The man stuttered, raising his hands with palms out. He was on his knees, eyes wide as he looked up at the villain above them. Phillip watched entranced as black dahlias bloomed on the vines, wrapping around the man’s body.

“You might wanna get going kid,” Flor Venenato said, hopping down from the streetlamp gracefully.

Phillip nodded dumbly, his feet working before his mind as he rushed off in a random direction.

When Phillip did get control of his feet again, he ducked behind a wall, quickly taking out his camera to snap a picture of the scene he just left.

Illuminated by a street lamp, Flore Venenato stood above the man who was on his knees, flowers intricately wrapping around his throat.

Chapter Text

Frances likes to think she’s smart.

Not genius smart, but average smart, she gets A’s and B’s in school and can generally grasp the concept of algebra. She knows she won’t be the next Einstein, but she can have a healthy debate. All this to say, she doesn’t understand people.

It’s not some outcast thing, she just does not understand people. Frances knows everyone is different, knows some people have a more skewed perspective of things than others, and that’s perfectly okay! What she doesn’t understand is how people can be rude to workers.

Frances felt her eyebrow twitch as the lady in front of her prattled on about her coffee. It was a very basic latte and Frances will never understand how someone could be picky over it.

“Ma’am,” Frances said kindly, her smile making her cheeks hurt with how fake it was. “I’m sorry if the coffee wasn’t to your liking, I did everything you asked.”

The lady in front of her narrowed her eyes, her cleavage was on full display and her hair pulled back into a frankly ridiculous updo. “Well, then you need to get your eyes checked! I asked for soy milk, this is obviously whole milk!”

Frances stared at the woman in front of her, feeling her soul leave her body. This was about milk . “I would be happy to make you a new drink.” Frances gritted out, feeling her patience thin as the woman kept going on.

“I want a refund.” She demanded, holding the cup to her chest.

“Sorry ma’am, we have a no refund policy. I can make you a new drink if you would like though.” 

The woman huffed, turning around angrily storming out of the store. Frances watched her storm down the street, her middle finger clearly on display.

“Well, that was entertaining,” John said, the bell ringing above him as he entered the store. There was a grocery bag hooked on his elbow as he watched the woman chug her drink when she thought she was far enough away.

Frances huffed, it was always a toss up with people like that, she was just happy the lady didn’t throw her drink at her. She shivered at the thought of cold tea clinging to her shirt. Frances watched as John made his way behind the counter, passing her a carton of cookies on his way to the back.

 “Thanks for holding down the shop! Sorry I had to run out like that.” John said sheepishly, Frances ignored him in favor of her cookies.

Raspberry chocolate chips were a rarity to find, most of the time she had to bake them herself or bug John enough to bake them. Frances quickly ripped off the sticker of the carton, inhaling the first three cookies. “Thanks for the cookies.” She smiled at him, taking amusement in her boss’ slightly disgusted face at the mushed cookies between her teeth.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, grabbing a croissant out of the case for himself. “Oh, remind me to make a batch of muffins before we close. I need a testing dummy.”

Frances perked up, “Am I getting free sweets?”

“You always get free sweets.”

Frances swallowed her cookie before she answered, “Yeah but I never get to be the testing dummy! We should call Maria!” Frances watched John for a minute, bopping her head along to the music, usually, a sappy love song would be quietly playing through the speakers usually, but she was able to sneak it to something better, ie: Hayloft. 

“Why the hell are you playing Hayloft?” John asked, finally realizing the music was not the usual selection.

“Because it’s good!” 

Frances stuck her tongue out at John as he raised a judgmental eyebrow, “Sure, Franny.”

Chapter Text

Eliza, for all intents and purposes, did not mean to spend half her time at Tulip’s Brew. Seriously, she was a busy woman, she shouldn’t be sitting in a cute flower filled coffee shop with really nice lighting for New York which coincidentally had a really pretty barista. Eliza sighed into her coffee, her laptop was in front of her, Pinterest wedding pictures opened on too many tabs, Eliza loved her job. She really did, she was fortunate enough to be able to even be able to be a wedding organizer in the first place, but if she has to plan another beach wedding she is going to pull her hair out.

“Ooh, who’s the happy couple?” Maria, the cute bartender asked, glancing around the table Eliza currently occupied. 

Eliza smiled at her, sighing appreciatively as she put a chocolate-covered croissant down on the table gently. “It's a friend of a friend,” Eliza said, moving one of the many folders out of the way, feeling sheepish about taking up a whole table herself.

Maria laughed, “Did they ask for a discount?” She asked, looking way too amused at the question.

Eliza groaned, flopping over onto the table. A smile tugged at her lips as she heard Maria laugh at the answer. “They even told me they were expecting a discount, which I don't even offer to family friends.” She said into the table.

Maria patted her shoulder in sympathy, still quietly giggling to herself.

Eliza propped her head as she watched the barista get back to work, her eyes catching on the sway of her hips. Shaking her head she looked back to her work, feeling dread well up as she looked at the very basic canopies the couple wanted.

Chapter Text

Very early on in his villainy career, John has made it a point not to look at what the media thought of him.

For his sanity and so he didn’t have to listen to Fox News, John was never worried about his appearance. He’s had a couple of reporters chasing after him, hoping to get into his mind and figure out what makes him Flore Venenato, too bad for them he was an expert at dodging them.

He didn’t even want to think about the public response to him and Jefferson teaming up. In all fairness, even he doesn't know what to think about the team up. Even with only a couple meeting under their belt John already felt this sense of inevitability, as if it wasn't a matter of if but when the team up occurs.

Squinting to look into his target's apartment, he tried to keep an air of professionalism as he saw the man walk into his apartment. From his vantage point he could see the grandly decorated living room, filled with memorabilia that probably held little to know meaning. Awards shined and polished, with no one looking at them with pride but a general air of someone who’s seen them multiple times before.

John took a moment to shake his head, there were no curtains drawn or screaming matches muffled behind doors, no child covering their ears with pillows as they tried to sleep at night. Drawing in a long breath, John settled himself.

There was a lot that came with being a high profile villain, a lot that went into making sure his plans went without a hitch, spending so many nights awake going over his plan fifty times over. John never prided himself on being a good shot, however, he would pride himself on his success rate.

And in the morning there would be a politician found dead in his apartment, found with a vine shot through his neck, a singular monkshood growing on the end.

Chapter Text

Despite what it may seem like, John does prefer having a working schedule.

It’s not too much of a concern, all things considered, he is in fact his own boss and therefore gets to make his own schedule. The problem arises in what happens in the predetermined time slot. John isn’t ignorant of the fact that his life has been less than normal. Growing up he was always told he was special, that he would be bringing honor to his family. He was the first in line to a wealthy family business, a trading company based in South Carolina. Not to mention the fact that his dear old dad was a decently established politician. One who has been around for far longer than he deems necessary to admit.

John sighed, bringing himself back to the present. He was in his coffee shop, the sight of flowers drowning out the dullness of his memories.

Striking out on his own wasn’t the original plan. The knowledge of what he left behind, who he left behind, was always on his mind. He’s spent his fair share of sleepless nights grappling with the all-encompassing grip of guilt that chips away at him. John, the first in line to inherit his dear old dad’s name, wasn’t the only one unwillingly vying for the spot. He had a younger sister and brother, Martha and Henry Jr., both of whom he was often pitted against. A far-fetched plan to fester jealousy and competition between the three. Looking back, John can plainly see the unfair stakes that were set between him and his siblings.

John being the eldest, it was always just assumed that he would take over.

Martha, even as the second eldest, she was always looked down on by their father. Misogyny used as if it were a company secret. John can still remember the tightening around her eyes when their father excluded her from talks of politics or company dealings. Maybe that was what festered her interest in politics, the need to be well read on every topic, to assure not only those around her but herself that she deserved to be where she was.

Henry Jr., the youngest of the family. Even while he was included in talks of business, he took as much pleasure in it as John did. If his delinquent behavior was anything to go by. John always feels a pang of remorse when he thinks about his brother. The way his once mischievous attitude, once something to laugh and joke about, turned sour as bitterness infested harmless pranks. It didn’t matter if he was included in the important discussions, it was just a way to rub in his rank. The youngest, the one who would get the least in anything given.

John wonders how they are, if they both grew into the bitter adults that their father seemed to fester, or if they too broke away.

“You okay there, boss?’ Frances asked, her curls bouncing around her as she wiped the tables. “You’re being spacey.” she said, waving the damp rag around to exaggerate her point.

John shook his head, a smile twitching at his lips as he made eye contact with his youngest employee. “I’m good, just thinking about some stuff.”

“You sure it’s not just you getting old?” Frances asks, batting her eyelashes in an over exaggerated innocent smile.

John squinted at her, “I’m in charge of your paycheck y’know.”

“Yeah but I'm also your favorite so won’t do anything.”

“Actually, Hercules is my favorite.”

Frances squawked, “He doesn’t even work here!”

“Exactly!” John yells as he walked into the staff room, the TV buzzing as it played the afternoon news. He paid little attention to it as he went about undoing and retying his hair.

“Senator Stane has been found dead in his apartment, police reports say that there was a monkshood flower in the Senator’s throat. Many have speculated if this is the work of Flore Venenato, and what this means going forward. Now, a statement from Henry Laurens, a close friend of the victim…” John turned the TV off, staring at the now black screen. There was a pause, before he turned on his heel and walked back to the main floor of the coffee shop, ignoring the never changing face of his father that was on the TV.

Chapter Text

Apparently, shooting a senator in the throat was all the push Jefferson needed to bug him about the Plan™ more.

John stares at the billionaire across from him, feeling his sanity slowly drain away. The man waggles his eyebrows again, “No.” John says, spinning on his heel as he goes back to ignoring him. “Nope, not touching that with a ten foot pole.”

“Why not?” The billionaire whines, draping himself over the counter in a petulant fashion. “It’s not like you’re afraid to get your hands dirty.” Jefferson waggled his fingers with a mischievous grin. John looked back at him unimpressed, it was almost pathetic really. After a while, the dazzling rich bachelor schtick started to wear off, leaving John with a startling realization.

Jefferson was a dumbass.

Maybe it was the fact the man didn’t know what Clorox was, or how to do something as simple as sweep. But the man was equivalent to frat boy, granted a very rich and business savvy frat boy. John knew what it was like to be built off money, he also knew the struggles of having to scrape by only with scraps of willpower. That doesn’t even take into account the alter ego side of things.

Even after a while John started to find himself more unimpressed with the extravagant sparkle of his more villainous schemes. There was only so much robbing a jewelry store could get you.

Jefferson could be a terrifying villain, if he wanted to be. He had the connections and the means to do a lot more than petty theft and some lofty property damage. But he doesn’t.

John isn’t one to criticize motive, he himself could be subject to said motive critique.

“I’m not going to help you topple the empire state building.”

“It’d be fun! Team bonding time, have you ever met Luciole? Great guy, you’d two get along like a house on fire.”

“Isn’t he the one who hates bugs?”

“We’re working on it.” Jefferson dismisses, pushing himself off the counter. He leveled John with a considering look, brows pinched in thought. “You agreed to getting more into the spotlight. Shooting a guy in the neck is fine, beating up some thugs in the alley is fine. But blowing shit up is suddenly off the table?”

John rolled his shoulders. “I don’t mind blowing stuff up,” he said, fixing some of the display items. “But I’m getting stuck on why. Why are we blowing up the empire state building?”

“Because it’d be funny.”

John looked at the billionaire, a tired sigh pushing through his nose. “I’m not going to help blow up a building that would have that much collateral, Jefferson. Do you know how many people would get hurt? Innocent people.”

“You hurt people all the time,” Jefferson pointed out, “Hell, your body count is a thing most guys like us salivate over.”

John wrinkled his nose at the wording, “My answer is no. You and Luciole can have fun with domestic terrorism, I'd rather not.”

The two stared at each other for a long moment, a look of consideration flashed over Jefferson’s face. “Who's next on your hit list?” The billionaire asked, his nail clicking against the counter as he tapped his finger. “We’ve been doing this my way, I wanna see the grimy details.”

John smiled sarcastically, “Sure you’ll be able to stomach the blood, your highness?”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, “Oh please, I’m not gonna faint at the sight of blood.”

Chapter Text

Alexander has lived a long life.

Not in years, God knows he still holds onto his twenty somethings years with viscous pride. But he has lived long in terms of experience. He thinks it’s quite funny, how much his life is laid out like some sort of grand story. His hometown, Nevis, wasn’t anything extravagant to write about. It was a decaying old town, crumbling from the middle outwards.

When he was a young boy, he learned that life doesn’t care what you want.

See time is a vicious thing. It keeps on marching forward even when all you want to do is hit pause or rewind.

He was a man of minimal possessions, it’s not like he doesn’t want to be maximalist. Quite frankly if he were to psychoanalyze himself like Angelica is so fond of doing, he’d know this comes from a fear of attachment. Of settling down and letting time go forward, of letting waves crash onto sand without thinking about the next hurricane on the horizon.

Alexander was never one to let an opportunity pass by him, and if there were none to take, he’d make one. He was seventeen when he joined the army, knowing that with his non-existent bank account, it would be his only way of setting foundations outside of his seaside hometown.

The clink of a coffee mug broke him out of his musings, blinking Alexander became aware of his surroundings again. His laptop was opened to a google doc, the cursor blinking at him lazily. His brightness criminally turned up all the way, the buzz of a populated area mixed with the ever constant ringing in his ears.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook ya.” John said with an apologetic smile. Alex waved away his concern, focusing on the still steaming mug of coffee that had been settled onto his table.

“No no, your fine.” He reached for the coffee, taking a tentative sip, humming as the beverage went down smoothly. “My fault for not paying attention.”

The barista snorted, shaking his head, Alex watched as his curls swished with the movement. “I’ve been doing this job for a long time, you aren’t the first author to be lost in their work.”

“Oh! I’m not- I’m not an author.” Alex stumbled over his words, his coffee swishing in it’s mug as he gestured with his hands. “It’s just a hobby, nothing too serious.”

John tilted his head, “But you still write, yeah?”

“I mean. Yeah? Currently trying to figure out how to do subtle horror. You would think that considering my job, I’d have a better grasp of words, but get me in front of a blank document and suddenly it’s like I didn’t major in English for four years.”

The barista smiled in amusement. “I think that’s the pinnacle of being a writer.” He pointed out.  With a shrug the man cleared a table beside Alexander, a tub of dirty dishes resting on his hip.

“You think that’s what they mean when they call it a struggling artist?” Alexander felt himself smiling involuntarily when John snorted, shoulders curling up around his ears as he snickered. His curls bounced with the movement, the different shades of brown catching in the light. John nodded, snickers still escaping him as he looked back at Alexander. His eyes were squinted at the edges as he smiled,

“Y’know, I think I like that definition better.” The barista mused as he continued to clear off the tables.

Alexander smiled, turning back to his laptop. The blinking cursor greeted him, an idle glance at the clock in the corner of the screen caused him to curse. In a burst of adrenaline, he slammed his laptop closed, shoving it in his bag as he chugged the acid hot mug of coffee.

“How much for the coffee?” Alexander asked as he rushed to the counter, scrambling to grab his wallet.

“You already paid for the coffee,” John said. “Now get going, don’t wanna be late for whatever it is that got you like that.” Alexander nodded, shouting a final goodbye as he raced out of the coffeeshop.

Later that night, when settled onto his dingey couch, checking receipts and counting cash, Alexander would realize that he did not in fact pay for the coffee.

Chapter Text

Frances was never really one to put too much into relationships.

Growing up, her mom always remarked on her general aversion to social interactions. It was always said with fond amusement, eyes crinkled at the edges when she teased Frances about how one day she would run away to the woods. Living in a cabin and becoming a hermit, Frances quite enjoyed that fantastical scenario. She enjoyed it a lot actually. Spending her time doodling ivy covered cottages and watching videos on ways to grow your own herbs and foraging.

There weren’t too many places to forage in the heart of New York, more concrete and bricks than the sprawling dandelion fields. This didn’t stop her passion though. When her desire to go foraging didn’t pan out, she’d spend her time at the library. Perusing through the pages on wildflowers and vegetables.

Despite her aversion to meaningful connections with people her own age, she was able to obtain a few meaningful relationships. How she managed to land a job primarily focused in customer service was beyond her, what John saw in her when she came stumbling into Tulip’s Brew is something she questioned often. It wasn’t like she was a shining example of a people person in those early days. She was more prone to taking long breaks in the staff room, hunched over her locket and wanting her mom to come and sweep her away. Wanting her mom to announce that they need to pack up their cozy apartment because they were going to move to London like they so often talked about.

John only took her grief in stride, a gentle smile and warm drinks being offered like it was nothing.

Frances doesn’t exactly remember when she started hanging out more in her bosses house more than her foster home. She can’t exactly recall when John opened his door to her, letting her crash in his guest room when the foster home grew too loud. One of her first purchases that she made for herself, after a couple weeks of working at Tulips Brew, were a pair of noise canceling headphones. They were on the cheaper side for headphones, discounted at a little under forty dollars. She felt so proud of herself when she was able to afford them with a five dollar coupon.

She still has them, now with a faded smiley sticker on the left side. There was a gold star that was constantly replaced whenever Maria noticed that it was missing.

It was one of those days, sprawled out on John’s ridiculously plush carpet, that she felt painfully nostalgic. Thinking about her mom always did that to her, even after two years since her passing. If she were to talk to anyone about it, they would say two years was perfectly reasonable. ‘Grief took time,’ her mandated therapist told her once. She was an unremarkable woman with her hair pulled into a low bun at the base of her neck. Frances wouldn’t be able to remember the name even if her life was on the line. ‘Not everything will heal instantly, dear.’ The therapist would continue, empty platitudes that matched the empty room the sessions took place in.

Frances was never a very patient person though. It was prominent in her notebooks filled with her chicken scratch. Pens used up to the brink of their lives, until the last drop of ink was used up. Staring up at the ceiling fan, Frances watched it spin around in lazy circles. Her homework was scattered over the low set coffee table, a bottle of grape juice sat on a coaster with the lid somewhere. Probably under a piece of furniture, stuck there collecting dust until its knocked out by a broom.

“Hey, John?” Frances asked, hand finding a stray thread on the couch to fiddle with.

“Hi,” John called from his kitchen, doing something with mail and bills. Frances stopped trying to snoop when she heard the word ‘fucking banks’ and ‘checks’.

“What was your mom like?” There was a prominent pause. As if everything in the apartment stilled at the question. Only that wasn’t true, nothing was suspended in time like in movies or books she’s read. The ceiling fan still spun in lazy circles and the tv was lit with some random Disney movie. She was still breath, in time with her heartbeat that continued thumping inside her chest.

John’s slippers made the familiar shuffling sound as he made his way to the living room, leaning in the archway of his kitchen. Frances could feel his gaze like a weight, settling around her like a blanket. It was weird. She wasn’t used to being watched, oftentimes adults just passed her over. Spouting some thin excuse about her being so mature for her age.

Maria and John, and by extension Hercules, never did that. Maria was understandable, the woman reminded her somewhat of her own mom. All warm laughs and a wicked sense of humor. Hercules was basically just a teddy bear in human form, only furthered by the fact the man gave amazing hugs. John, she swears he has a sixth sense for when she or Susan are about to do something extremely stupid.

Which is kind of impressive, with how many stupid things a teenager and a child can get up to.

“What brought this on?” He asked, walking forward to drop heavily on the couch. Frances glanced at him, chewing on her lip as she debated the merits of having an actually emotional conversation. Instead of answering she shrugs, pushing herself up so she wasn’t sprawled out on the floor. Her eye caught on the cap of her juice bottle. Turns out she was laying on it, not knocked in under the furniture. Again, John watched her with that heavy gaze that settled onto her shoulders and weighed like a cape, one with the fur trims and fancy clasps. There was a sigh as John settled back into the couch, Frances tilted her head to look at as he rolled his head to rest on the back of the couch.

“I won’t lie, kid, I haven’t thought about my mom in a while.”

“Why’s that?” Frances asks, grasping at her bottle of grape juice, picking at the label to have something to do. The cap still rested on the carpet where she was laying on it, pressed into the fluffy carpet like a tic.

“She passed away. About thirteen years ago this year?” John said, his voice lilting up as if he had to think about it.

Frances sucked in a breath, eye widening as she whipped her head to look at the man. There was a feeling uncurling in her chest. It was a selfish little thing that wanted to revel in the shared pain. Here was someone who could understand a modicum of what she's been through, could understand the bitterness of seeing the world march on while you’re grappling with your own world shattering. Wondering why no one could see the fractures in the glass when it was the only thing she could focus on.

Frances was almost disgusted by it, the thought of rejoicing that someone could relate to her pain.

John waved a hand, “Brain cancer, one of the more aggressive types.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Frances mumbled, finally separating the label from the sticky bit. She wasn’t really adept at these kinds of things, which is kind of ironic when it was her who brought it up first. “Does it ever get better?” she asks, trying to stick the label back down again. The wrapper crinkled instead, the ends sticking together.

“I don't want to say it gets better necessarily.” John said, a well worn understanding painting his tone. “It gets a little easier as time goes on. You grow used to their absence, kind of.”

Frances didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she sighed, feeling slightly disappointed at the answer. Objectively, she knows that it was true. Patience. Time. It always comes down to time. Frances was starting to hate time a little bit.

Chapter Text

Peggy wasn’t nervous.

She doesn’t get nervous, she was Artemis. The best new uprising hero. She was fearless, the poster child for the Academy. She was the public’s darling, adored by her peers and fans alike.

Adoration, however, does nothing to stop the nerves of going on her first solo mission. Sure, she’s gone on plenty of missions before. She’s helped her sister out with Magentix and taken down some petty thieves. Hell, there was even that one time she helped Noctua capture a runaway bad guy he was chasing, earning herself thumbs up from the owl themed hero. 

Tackling the streets by herself was a different issue, however. Sadly she has gotten the short end of the stick this time, getting saddled with night patrol.

“You need to get some solo experience,” her advisor said when Peggy complained about it. Her curly hair spilling out of what once was a professional bun. “Need to step out of the support role that you've been putting yourself in.”

“I’m literally a support hero though,” Peggy pointed out. Sally, the unfortunate worker who was saddled with the job of dealing with Peggy, only sighed. Her brown eyes focusing on the ceiling of her office. Peggy could practically feel the prayer she was mumbling. If the woman was any less professional, she would be shaking Peggy’s shoulders in frustration. “My power is literally just having a freakily good aim with a bow.” Peggy said, miming releasing an arrow with her hands.

Sally stared at her as if she has no will left to live. They both knew that was an oversimplification of what Peggy’s powers do. There was much more to it, like how her bow was almost like a manifestation of her soul.

When she was younger she experimented with what other weapons she could make, one of her favorites being a throwing axe that almost gave her dad a heart attack. Bows were both easier to manifest and more palatable to the general public, sadly. That never stops her from using her axe, much to the chagrin of her lovely advisor.

So, maybe, Peggy was a little nervous about going on her first solo patrol. At night. With no one to share her wonderfully witty remarks with. Unless she wanted to be seen as a crazy person. Which at this point in her life she likes to think crazy is a compliment.

It’s not, but Peggy is very good at deluding herself.

“You’re fine,” She says to herself, drawing out the ‘i’. “You’re Artemis! Top of your class at the Academy!” Peggy jumped in place, she’s seen some athletes do the same thing. Pumping themselves up for the games they were about to play.

“Wonderful pep talk.”

With a yelp, Peggy turns around throwing a manifested axe at the voice. It was only after her heart stopped racing that she realized who she was dealing with. Leaning on a wall at the mouth of an alley stood the one and only Flore Venenato. Her axe embedded itself in the concrete right by his ear. The bricks splintered, some loose particles falling to the ground.

“Nice aim.” He said casually, side eyeing the throwing axe. “Very ninja esque, ten stars.”

“Holy shit.” Peggy breathed, “You’re- you are under arrest?” Peggy shook her head, setting her shoulders as she straightened her back. The familiar weight of her bow manifested itself in her hands. She pulled the drawstring back as she aimed at the villain. The arrow settled itself, the fletching brushing comfortingly against her fingers.

Crickets chirped as the moment dragged on.

“Aren’t you supposed to be running?” Peggy asked, shoulders slumping as she stared at the man. “This is supposed to be a chase scene of epic proportions.” She said, gesturing to the both of them.

Flore Venenato glanced around, before looking down. “I, uh, can’t really run. Precious cargo y’know?” He said, finally bringing Peggy’s attention to what he was holding. One by one three kittens poked their heads out. Staring at her with wide eyes. One hissed at her before toppling backwards.

 Peggy had a feeling it was a very spicy kitty.

“Oh my god.” Peggy squeaked, her bow and arrow evaporating into thin air as she rushed forward, a smile wide on her face as she peered down at the kittens. There were three kittens in total, a fluffy gray one, a fluffy black one, and a fluffy white one. “Aren't you three just the cutest?” She cooed as she wagged a finger. Almost cooing again as the gray one blinked up at her, its golden yellow eyes wide.

“Careful, they just came from the dumpster.” The villain said, crouching down to set the box on the concrete.

“Are you gonna take them to a vet?” Peggy asked, crouching beside the villain. The white kitty, with pretty blue eyes hissed again, curling itself up in a corner. The fluffy black one swatted at her hand, giving a happy mrow when she scratched it on the head.

“I’m gonna have to,” the villain said, pulling his hood down to redo his hair. He took it out of the low ponytail and brought it up into a messy bun. He nodded to the three kittens as he redid his hood. “You see those red rings and bald patches? That’s a sign that these guys most likely have ringworm. Not to mention the fleas. Should also get them vaccinated before doing anything.”

Peggy frowned as she looked at the kittens. She slowly took her hand away from the black kitten, despite its protest. “How old do you think they are?” Despite loving animals, Peggy knew very little about the veterinary side of things. Peggy felt her heart breaking as the kittens shivered, huddling together in the corner of the box with the white. She always wanted her own pet, oftentimes badgering her dad about adopting a dog or cat, only to get the same ‘you can adopt an animal when you move out’ spiel.

It was frustrating, but understandable. Even though she had an inkling her dad just wasn’t an animal person.

“Best guess? Probably four to six months.” The villain said with a stretch before standing back up.

“You know a lot about animals.” Peggy mused, pushing herself up as well.

“Grew up around a bunch,” He grinned. “The snapping turtles were probably my favorite.” Peggy snorted, rocking back on her heels as Flore Venenato picked the box up, shushing the whines and hisses of the kittens. “I should get these guys somewhere that isn’t an alley.”

Peggy caught herself before she pouted. She was fully grown adult, she won’t pout over feral kittens getting taken somewhere safe. Peggy jolted when she realized the villain was just going to slip away. “Wait- you have an active catch on sight warrant. I can’t let you just walk away!”

She got the vague impression the villain was amused, if the way he was trying not to laugh was anything to go by. “How about a rain check? Promise I won’t be too mean the next time we meet!” He called, making a dash for it before Peggy could even blink.

“Precious cargo my fucking ass,” She muttered as she watched vines unfurl as the villain disappeared.

Chapter Text

When someone thinks about family, they probably think of those pictures in kid books. With a mom and dad and brother and sister, a perfectly symmetrical family. The daddy goes to work and does his very important job away from the nagging wife and rambunctious kids. All the while the mommy stays behind and does the supposedly easy job of taking care of the house and making sure the kids get to and from.

When John thinks of family, he gets static.

It’s like his brain can’t fully put together what family means, much less visualize it.

If he had to describe family, he would first think of stiff collars and practiced smiles. Making sure tempers were simmering just below the surface, teetering on the brink of boiling over. It would be the ever present smell of scotch while he tried to keep his mind wandering from the present. A gruff ‘are you paying attention, boy?’ It would be watching carefully inked lines shrivel up in flames, becoming nothing but ash.

If he was being honest, he would think about how gnats would greet him as he ventured through the creek of the backyard with a warning that he better not trek mud through the house. Would laugh about the times his siblings toddled off, only to come back with a lizard or frog cupped pleasantly in their hands. The exasperation of their mother as she told them to ‘dios mío, stop messing with the wildlife!’ The swishing of wine. Of grubby little hands clasping onto him and wide eyes grinning up at him, with high pitched whines of ‘Jaaaack!’

John blinks the faded memories of his childhood away. He stares down at the kittens currently residing in his bathtub.

He doesn’t really know where the sudden onset of memories came from. But as he watches the black kitty smack the gray one on the head, only to have its tail pounced on by the white one, he thinks the sudden reminiscing makes sense.

“So, how did you get to be a cat dad of three?” Hercules asked, washing his hands in the sink behind him. John groans, falling back onto his butt from where he was crouched beside the tub.

“Found them in a dumpster in an alley.” He mumbles as he watches the kittens play together. Hercules snorted, shutting the water off with his elbow. John squawked as he was sprayed with cold water by the man. Pouting as water dripped down the back of his shirt.

“And you just couldn’t stop yourself from rescuing them?”

“Like you’re any better!” John defended himself, groaning as he laid out on the tile, smacking the tailor on the ankle.

Hercules snorted, stepping around the sprawled out barista to stoop over the three kittens in the bathtub. The white one hissed at him, “Yeah but I woulda taken them to a shelter or somethin, not nurse them in my bathroom.” They both ignored the fact that they did in fact do this exact same thing a year ago. Only then it wasn’t three feral kittens but a slobbering pittie that was frankly too cute.

John hummed, feeling himself practically melt into the cold tiles. Hercules did have a point, all things considered. Most people would surrender strays to a clinic or shelter, or they would be too focused on recording themselves saving an animal in need. John scrunched his nose at the thought, it wasn’t as if he was against people helping animals in need. But there was a certain wrongness to it when they’re more focused on recording themselves being a hero. He’s seen one too many videos with people audibly saying ‘this would be a lot easier with two hands.’

He was startled out of his thought when sharp little pinpricks dug into his shoulder, a screeching meow greeting him. The smug smile of Hercules hovered over him.

“You look like a cat Jesus or something,” John said, cracking up a little. The man was back lit with the warm lighting of his bathroom, the black and white cat perched on top of his shoulders.

“I’m the best damn cat Jesus to ever live then.” Hercules stated, striking a pose, the two cats on his shoulders choosing the time to try and climb up on his head. “Ow shit,” the man mumbled, grabbing at the two cats about to slide down his face.

John couldn’t help but cackle, gently petting the kitten that decided to settle for a nap on his chest.

“Ya thought of any names, Johnny?”

“Y’know, any time you call me Johnny I think of that one Stephen King movie.”

Hercules raised a brow at him as he settled into the tub, “Do you know how many Stephen King movies there are? It’s like every other year a new one is being made.”

John waved a hand, shifting a bit as the kitten’s claws dug into his skin through his shirt. “The one with the hotel, and the weird twin scene.”

There was a very silent pause as Hercules digested what John just said, an incredulous look slowly taking over his face. “You mean The Shining?”

“That’s the movie!” John shot up, letting out a yelp as the gray kitten scratched his chest in a scramble.

“Oh my god. You’re a dumbass!” Hercules laughed. It was one those deep belly laughs, that filled up the room with how warm  it was. It was one of that settled into the corners and make those around laugh along.

John wonders if this is what family is supposed to be. Sprawled out on a bathroom floor, random conversations filling the air drifting from topic to topic. John thinks about the cafe, thinks about Maria and Susan and cookies before dinner. He thinks about Frances, the lazy nights of being sprawled out in the living room with a movie playing silently on the tv.

John quite likes the thought of that.

Chapter Text

Phillip would like it to make it clear for the record, he is disowning all of the two people in his immediate friend group.

Surprisingly, this wasn’t a tearful conclusion to come to. It was simply a fact that dawned on him one fateful day. He was sat across from the one and only George Eacker, beaming as if he discovered a new species of dinosaur. Theodosia Jr. was bent over the table next to him, clutching her sides as she tried to get her giggles under control. Phillip could only blink as he tried to process the batshit conspiracy theory the other just spouted.

“How does your brain come up with this?” Philip asked, ignoring his phone as it buzzed on the table beside him.

“I won’t lie man, I don’t even remember coming up with it.” George gestured, his cafeteria burger slowly sliding apart in his hand. Phillip watched as the mixed up ketchup and mayo went splat on his tray. Mildly disgusted. “I had a couple buddies over the other day, right?”

“And you got high and made a paper about a conspiracy theory?” Theo wheezed. Phillip patted her on the back as she started coughing.

“The men in black is a cultural phenomenon and it needs to be talked about!” George said, looking way too serious for a paper written while high about a random conspiracy theory.

“I think it was talked about,” Phillip pointed out unhelpfully. “There’s a movie about it. There's also a Buzzfeed unsolved episode.”

“And they are both iconic. Theo, Theo, can I please post my paper in the school news? Please. I will even get Bow to edit it. Please.”

“No! you can’t do that to them,” Phillip gasped, reaching over to swat at George. “Don’t do that to them. That is a cruel and unnecessary punishment.”

Theo finally straightened up, flicking one of her braids over her shoulder. She took in a couple steadying breaths, Phillip could see her struggling to keep a straight face as she made eye contact with George. “If you can get Bow to edit, then I might think about it.”

George whooped, lettuce falling onto his head as he raised his arm in celebration. “That’s basically yes! Hell fucking yeah!” He piped down when a teacher gave him a warning glare, ducking his head sheepishly.

Theo snorted, shaking her head fondly as she went back to her salad. Phillip just slumped back in his seat. His own sloppily put together lunch sat in front of him, holding the same basic ham and cheese sandwich with a pack of Scooby-Doo gummies and baby carrots with ranch.  It’s been the same lunch he’s packed since he had to make lunch for himself. The only thing changing is the dessert he picks.

Picking up his phone, he sees a three minute old text from his mom.

Late night, pasta in fridge

Phillip purses his lips at the message, trying to not let the string of similar messages that made up the text chat get to him.

Chapter Text

John has always had a small friend group.

Growing up he was always content to latch onto one or two people he considered close friends. That’s not saying he didn’t have good relationships with his peers, it was just that John found himself getting tired of trying to keep meaningless friendships. There was only so much one could fake being genuinely interested in a friendship while just trying to get to money.

So, he kept a small friend group. It probably didn’t help that his father was not very happy with the lack of ass kissing he was doing, which made John more adamant about keeping his record of two friends at the time.

By his junior year of high school, John had gotten pretty good at knowing when someone genuinely wanted to be his friend, or if they had ulterior motives. Most of the time they had ulterior motives.

So, he was pleasantly surprised when he met one Alexander Hamilton.

John can admit, mostly to himself and the three kittens that keep him company, that he genuinely enjoys the man's company. Alexander has become a regular at the coffee shop. Coming in closer to closing most days during the week. Claiming a small round table in the corner as his own little domain.

By the time his fifth visit rolls around, John doesn’t even have to ask his order. More often than not he just waves the man aside to go to his corner. Bringing his always disgustingly black coffee to him after he’s nose deep into his work.

On the weekends, Alexander comes in earlier in the morning. Thirty minutes after opening when the shop is mostly empty. John finds probably an unhealthy amount of amusement when the man slumps over the counter, inhaling his morning coffee.

That was how they were now, Alexander slumped over the counter as he sipped at his coffee. John was only mildly offended at the bright pink straw the man uses, being to sleep deprived to lift the mug like a normal human being.

Currently John was the only one working, both Maria and Frances having the morning off to sleep in. John let Alexander drink his coffee in tentative peace, busy reorganizing the fridge that stored the milk.

“Do you think if I mixed the coffee with Monster I'd ascend?” John looked up at the question. Alexander was staring down at his mug in a contemplative manner.

“I will ban you from my store if you mix Monster Energy with my coffee.”

Alexander slowly looked up at him. He was the sort of tired that reminds John of the all nighters he and classmates pulled during college. It was the type of sleep deprivation that made you all the slightly more insane as the seconds ticked by. Squinting a little, John could barely make out subtle tremors in the man's hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t mix an energy drink with my coffee.”

All he got in response was a slow slurp.

“I can see more colors than I can name.” Alexander said, eyes boring into John’s.

John slowly felt the last bits of his sanity drain away, the years of working as an ER nurse making him fill up with dread. “How are you still alive?” He asked, grabbing a cup filling it up with ice. John poured water into the glass before sliding it over to Alexander.

“Spite, honestly.” The man answered, squinting at the glass of water suspiciously. John took advantage of the distraction to gently pry the abomination of caffeine, wincing at the discolored coffee. “I’m not drinking that.” Alexander pouted, glaring at John as he poured the Frankenstein coffee down a sink.

“If you drink the water, I’ll give you a cookie.”

“Bribes won’t work on me.”

John only raised a brow, grabbing a freshly baked sugar cookie. The two locked into a staring match, John had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing as the other took a sulking sip of his water.

“Now, was that so hard?” He asked, handing over the cookie, only a tad bit mockingly.

“I’m gonna sue.” Alexander grumbled, biting into his cookie with projected displeasure.

“No you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.”

Chapter Text

Maria liked to think she understood what family meant to her.

It was something she thought of a lot, what she defines as family. Growing up it was instilled in her that family could only be by blood and marriage. There was little to nothing else that could come between that, that blood relatives always come first. It wasn’t like she disapproved of that ideology. But Maria has been through enough to also understand blood was not the only definer.

“Mama, do you think they’ll like their gifts?” Susan asks, tugging Maria’s hand as they walk towards Tulip’s Brew. Maria smiled, shifting the bags further up her arm as she looked at her daughter.

“They’ll love it, baby. I promise.” Maria said, finding delight in Susan’s happy bounces. The gifts of course, were a couple hand crafted mugs from Susan’s art class. Each one intricately painted with the thought of each recipient. Maria’s mug was already happily displayed in their little studio apartment. Wobbly lines and crooked handle proudly set out on the counter for everyone to see.

Susan rushed ahead of her as the door to Tulip’s Brew came into view, pulling the door open eagerly with both her hands. Maria could only laugh as the girl bounced in place, waiting for her. It took Maria a little longer than it probably would’ve if she were younger. Or even if her knee was properly taken care of. It was too late now though, the thought of getting corrective surgery was a fever dream for Maria at this point. It bugged her sometimes, her inability to keep up with her daughter, her little girl bursting with energy that Maria found herself often lacking.

“We’re here!” Susan proclaimed, racing towards the gate that separated the area behind the counter to the rest of the shop. Frances jumped up from where she was messing with Kosher Salt. The white cat swatting at her hands while on its back, tail swishing back and forth as it sprawled out on top of the glass display. Kosher Salt startled up, scurrying back up the flat at the entrance of the mother and daughter.

Maria chuckled, gently closing the door behind her. She watched with fond amusement as Frances enveloped Susan in a hug, picking the girl up and twirling around.

John met her at the door, sweeping his curls off his shoulder with a laugh. “You need help with those?” John asked, gesturing the bags currently cradled in her arms.

“Yes, please.” Maria groaned, handing John bags. She followed the other barista to the back, finally piquing Frances interest as she spotted the gift bags.

“Ooh, who’re those for?” She asked, hand smacking against the counter as Susan clung to her around the waist. Maria noted the odd sluggishness that the teenager tried to hide.

“Presents!” Susan exclaimed, detaching from the teen to instead latch onto the two adults. “For you guys!” Susan grinned, Maria felt warmth fill her as her daughter stood proudly. Her grin stretched fully across her cheeks, showing off the gap where her baby teeth recently fell out.

Frances gasped, looking at John excitedly. The man barely had any time to prepare as the teen launched herself at him. “Gimme gimme gimme!”

“Dear God!” John yelped, holding the bags above his head to keep them from getting broken. Maria cracked up as she slipped into the back room. And to think, only a couple years ago she would be paralyzed in fear. The sound of shouting used to make her think back to dark closets, and the never ending screeching of an infant. Maria set her bag down on the table, grabbing the ancient laptop and setting it up for Susan. She rifled through the bag for a little longer, making sure she had everything to keep a younger kid entertained as she worked.

When she finally resurfaced from the break room, she was met with Frances clutching Susan as she cried laughed.

“I’m guessing she liked the gift?” Maria asked, sidestepping the two as she went to stand beside John at the register. John was holding his own mug delicately, a soft look on his face as he traced the green blobs that are supposed to represent turtles.

“I think so,” The man said with a grin with a nod to the chattering teen and kid. “Are these safe to use?”

Maria nodded, “Susan’s teacher said they should be. Checked them before sending them off.”

“Y’know, I’m surprised they even let kids do stuff like this. My teacher barely trusted us with finger paints.” John said, looking at her with amusement. Maria barked a laugh, shoulders shaking as she nodded in agreement.

“Oh yeah, I remember my school had to ban scented markers when one kid tried to eat them.” John spluttered at the shared memory. Maria watched as unbridled delight filled the man’s eyes.

“Did they have to ban those fun erasers that were shaped like food?” He asked.

“It was the same kid who tried to eat the markers.” Maria nodded sagely. Both nodded their heads in faux remorse, unable to keep the façade as they caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing.

“Where Mr. Hercules?” Susan asked, tugging on Maria’s hand to get her attention. Maria took a second to reign in her giggles before she responded to her daughter.

“He’s probably at his job, honey.” Maria said, running a gentle hand through her daughter’s hair as she pouted.

“Can’t you call him?” She whined.

Maria shook her head apologetically, “John can text him to see if he’s free, but I’m sure he’ll love the gift when he gets it.” Maria soothed her daughter. That seemed to do the trick in brightening the girls mood, as she nodded brightly before scurrying off to the back room. Maria watched her daughter disappear behind the door, stuck wondering what she did to have such a wonderful kid.

Chapter Text

John didn’t know what to expect when Jefferson texted him to meet up.

It wasn’t like it was an unusual occurrence, more times than not Jefferson wanted to meet up with him when he was wanting to commit some crimes. John has begrudgingly accepted that no amount of threats and poison ivy will sway the man’s opinion. Jefferson has claimed that they made an amazing duo, with him being the brains and Jefferson being both the beauty and brawn. All that garnered the billionaire was an eyebrow raise and an ‘Uh huh. Sure.’ John swung his legs as he sat on the edge of a building, feeling slightly miffed that the magenta billionaire wasn’t already at the spot. Something to do with being fashionably late.

John just thinks it’s annoying.

There was a thud behind him, “Mon ami! How wonderful it is- you aren’t Magentix.” A heavily accented French voice called out, John turned around to come face to face with the one and only Luciole. The two paused as they watched each other.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” John said, slowly standing up so he was on somewhat even footing.

Luciole lips twitched, as if they were trying to repress a smile. “Between you and me, petite fleur, it definitely is.”

John squinted, “Did you really just call me small while wearing heels?”

“Ah wonderful!” Jefferson said as he finally made an appearance, “You two have finally met I hope?’

“Mon ami, did we really have to meet on a roof? You know that heights make me dizzy.” The lightning villain said, a frown on their lips.

“What? You want us to meet in a secret lair or something?” Jefferson asked with a frown and a hand on his hip. John doesn’t know how the man was able to portray a raised eyebrow with his mask, but he did.

“Are you telling us you don’t have a secret villain lair?” John asked, leaning forward. His shoulder brushed up against the lightning villain, little spurts of electricity zapping between them.

“Have you not taken petite fleur to your lair?” Luciole seemed shocked at the revelation. As if Jefferson having a super secret Batman lair was common knowledge. The lightning villain seemed to take the billionaire’s silence as an answer, wrapping an arm around John’s shoulder with a gasp. “Oh, mon ami, we must fix this immediately.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the evil batman wanna be lair.” Luciole snorted at that.

Jefferson groaned, “I regret introducing you two.” John and Luciole shared a look, twin grins of a mutual understanding was shared between them.

Chapter Text

There was a sort of bitterness that Martha Laurens has grown used to.

Martha was one of those people who knew what she was doing. She had all her ducks aligned in a row before she could count and knew exactly what she wanted. It was something her mother used to fret about, during the moments where she was lucid. Would always concern herself with menial things like vanity and proper etiquette for a lady.

Martha took all these lessons her mother gave her with a grain of salt. Knowing she was born into a world where any hint of femininity would rule her out. Would confine her into a simple little box. Martha worked hard for her accomplishments. Harder than what was fair, but she was never one to derive off the back of others.

Growing up, Martha wasn’t close to her family. It was something she found herself regretting after one too many glasses of wine.

One time when Martha was fourteen, all gangly limbs and false bravado, she went to her brother. Back then John was the closest thing she had to a friend; he was her confidant in a way. He was her brother, her partner in crime. And on days when Martha’s resentment towards their father was piqued, raging against the absence of both her parents, John was the closest thing to a parent she’d ever get. She remembers, one night during her first semester of high school, the two were sat out on the back porch.

It was one of those slow nights, where there were crickets chirping and moths fluttered around the outside lights. Martha was watching the fireflies dancing in the backyard, swatting at the mosquitoes around her with muted annoyance. There was a bottle of sprite in her hands, the condensation clinging onto her fingers. John was beside her on the stairs, taking slow sips of his water watching the stars.

Martha never could understand her brother’s fascination with the clusters of imploding gas, never could take the stories of constellations seriously.

“John?” She asked quietly, eyes focused on the dancing fireflies.

Her brother hummed in acknowledgement, looking away from the stars as he focused on her. Martha always found herself reveling in the attention, when eyes were on her she wasted no time in trying to keep their attention.

“How did you know what you wanted to be when you grow up?” Martha asks quietly. She felt childish then. In the buzzing of night and the fluttering in her chest, Martha couldn’t do more than glance at her brother. Martha didn’t understand where the question came from. She already knew what she was going to do. She had notebooks with detailed plans just for that. Evolved from sparkly gel pens to systematical highlights and carefully placed sticky notes.

John tilted his head, the plastic of his water bottle crinkled in his grip. “I don’t know.” He responds, “The thought of helping people makes me happy, I guess.” It was said more as a question than a statement, accompanied by a shrug. Martha stayed silent at that, wondering if that’s really all it took to choose a career path.

Her teachers always said to pick a job that they’d enjoy, one that they think they could have fun with. Martha could remember always writing the same thing since first grade. Without fail every year the same answer would be on the future aspiration line. Businesswoman.

“What do you wanna be, Patsy?” John asked. Martha wondered if he was just toying with her. They both knew what the answer would be before she even had to say it.

“I’m gonna be the best business mongrel on this side of the Mississippi.” Martha said, her carefully annotated notes flashing through her mind. Every little snippet of advice their father gave her, unknowingly or otherwise, settled on her shoulders. Martha straightened her back as she grinned, shark like with too many teeth, at her brother, “Just watch. I’m gonna leave dad in the dust, Jacky.”

John’s brow creased for barely a fraction of a second. An expression that Martha couldn’t decipher as too many emotions flashed through her brothers eyes, layered over each other. The expression smoothed out just a millisecond later. John smiled at her, a small tug at the corner of his lips, so unexplainably sad.

“Just as long as your happy, pattycake.”

Martha stared blankly at the tv as a random episode of Grey’s Anatomy played. She thought about the comments John would make if he were here. If Henry Jr. was sprawled across the two of them as they made fun of the over the top drama. Martha didn’t let the tears well up in her eyes. She was too put together to let things like this get to her.

Bitterly, she wondered if John was happy wherever he was. If he was able to help people like he always wanted. If he was able to find a home amidst the chaos of the hospital. If he got that dog he always wanted, if he found that partner he could settle down with. If it was always part of the plan to leave her behind. Martha wondered if he was happy without them, without her.

She wondered why she couldn’t have that happiness.

Chapter Text

Working as a villain should come with a warning. A warning that in one of those bright neon signs that points and says ‘this one is a downright idiot!’. John would really appreciate it if those existed. One right when Jefferson walked into his coffee shop would’ve been perfect, actually.

John stared at the plans laid out on the table in front of him. A very convoluted plan that had way too many steps and glittery notes in an obnoxious gel pen. Where anyone could produce a gel pen as obnoxious as the one Jefferson used is beyond him. But then again, his memories of obnoxious gel pens mostly consisted of him banging them against a table when the ink got stuck after one use.

“It’s a great plan!” Jefferson grinned at him from across the table. It wasn’t like the plan didn’t have some merit, but then John glances at Luciole, who seems vaguely confused by step five.

Of a twenty step plan.

John already has a headache.

“Did you get the idea from Tom and Jerry or something?” John asks instead, pointedly not looking at what was basically a villain diary. It was magenta and fluffy, with a small little latch that had one of those small locks that people lose the key for all the time. John and Luciole barely contained their laughter when they saw it. The billionaire stayed quiet for a moment too long. John groaned as he realized that yes, the idea did indeed come from Tom and Jerry.

“I will say mon ami, it’s not like it’d be too great of a loss. The collections at the store are frankly… Affreux .” The lightning villain said, a grimace taking over the confusion. “How anyone can see it as fashion is an insult to the industry.”

“They aren’t that bad.” Jefferson hedged. The other two stared at him blankly. John might not exactly like jewelry much, but even he had standards.  

“Questionable standards aside,” John said, dragging a hand down his face. “We aren’t going to cut an entrance using a laser on the roof.”

“That was half the fun!” Jefferson groused, much to the amusement of the lighting villain.  

“We could always shatter a window, non?” Luciole offered instead with a grin.  

John groaned again, “Why do I work with you two?” He mumbled to himself, staring at the stupid plan that was marked out in glitter pen.  

“Oh, loosen up flower boy,” Jefferson waved a hand at him. “Don’t you wanna have some fun?” The billionaire asked with a grin, hands settled on his hip. If the man switched his magenta for a blue or green, he would’ve looked like a peacock. As it was, with all the magenta the man looked like a slightly more manic mad hatter. An accomplishment, considering the source material.

“You do realize that I’m basically a glorified hitman, yeah?” John asked, just to make sure. Even without the ‘for hire’ part, it described his job pretty well.

“Mon fleur, give yourself some credit!” Luciole said, wrapping their arms around his shoulders. So close, John could smell the others perfume. It smelled vaguely like something his sister would find at Bath and Bodyworks. One of those sweet scents that infested the nose. It was pleasant on the other villain though, with the knowledge that perfumes like those were meant to be discovered, not smelled from a mile away.   “You’re much more pleasant than the average hit man!” The French villain continued, unintentionally setting off small bolts of lightning up and down John’s arm.

“Why are you interacting with hit men on an average basis?” John asked instead, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that the other had to deal with those situations enough to build a base line. The more he thought about it the more concerned he grew, squinting at the other in mild concern.

“Why do you think you’re here?” Jefferson asked flippantly, ordering his notes in his diary.  

John gasped in offense, “Did you only get me to do your dirty work?”

“Yes.” Jefferson deadpanned, looking at him straight in the eye. Well John thinks he looked him in the eye, the opera mask that the billionaire wears is awful for getting a good read on the man’s expression.

John groaned as he tipped his head back, staring up at the sky. You can’t really see the stars from the city, too much light and pollution to get in the way of even the most basic of constellations. “You two are just gonna do this anyways, aren’t you?”

“Oui.”

“Yeah, probably.”  

John groaned again, “Fine let’s get this over with.”

Chapter Text

John likes to think he’s a mature adult.  

But it seemed this thought seems to fizzle out into nothingness when surrounded by other supposed adults. Said adults who had varying different powers and over the top robbery plans. John cackled as he raced along the New York skyline, his heart racing with adrenaline. Somewhere below the high rises and in between the twists and turns of the city, police sirens were wailing accompanied by the flashing red, white, and blue lights.

A collection of over expensive jewelry clinked in the bag slung over his shoulder, the delicate glass faces of watches getting scratched by the harsh edges of diamonds. It wasn’t like John was too worried about that, however. There was a loose string of pearls around his neck, hitting his chin as he hopped down into an alley. A braided stem of vines greeting him on his descent down, letting him land softly and take off again.  

There were some perks to being a villain it seemed, knowing the lay of the alleyways and which streets cut through where. It was always a cat and mouse game when it came to running from law enforcement. Too bad most of the NYPD didn’t bother themselves with knowing the supposed undignified alleyways.  

John quickly skidded to a halt, heart pounding in his ears as a police car wailed past him. His grin hurt his cheeks, obscured by his mask as he caught his breath for a moment. Somewhere on the other side of the city, Magentix would be making a nuisance of himself. Aided by Luciole in gaining most of the law enforcement and heroes attention as John made a break for it with the items. Of course, the other villains had their own collections of items as well. The image of Luciole wearing a truly atrocious ruby necklace while flaunting around like a flamingo would be forever ingrained into John’s mind.

John laughed again, hunched over behind a dumpster. It shouldn’t have been fun, indulging in over extravagant plans like the one Jefferson cooked up. But it’s been such a long time since he was able to have unbridled this amount of fun. John fiddled with the pearls around his neck, humming a tune to himself as he made his way out of the alley. He took off his mask and hood, shoving the jewelry into one of his pockets. To anyone passing by he’d look like someone on their way home from work. Which isn’t too much of a stretch really.

Tulip’s Brew was only a quick walk from where he was, the cafe’s window dark as he entered. It was like one of those liminal spaces Frances was obsessed with, John thought. Seeing the cafe so empty and dark didn’t really compute in his mind. The chairs stacked up on tables, the display trays empty of any pastries that were being sold throughout the day. The cafe’s bell dinged, ringing throughout the empty air.

John made his way quickly through the cafe, feeling the exhaustion hit him as he entered the steep staircase to his flat. There was a light shining beneath the doorway. This filled John with a slight confusion as he noticed the sound of someone talking. Silently, John slid a knife out of his boot, cautiously pulling his mask back up before he reached the door to his flat.  

Slowly reaching for the handle, brow furrowed in confusion at what sounded like a sports announcers talking. John wasn’t really one for sports, never able to get into football like his dad. He was only marginally better with baseball, but he was also the one who went to his brother’s practices and games when he was in his sports star era.  

It was a weird feeling, sneaking into his own home. The door gave a whining creak as it opened, drowned out by the cheering of the sports game that was playing on his living room TV. There, sprawled on his couch surrounded by cats, was none other than Hercules Mulligan. The man fixated on the television in front of him, mouthing words silently at the tv as he held a handful of popcorn.  

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” John asked incredulously. Hercules yelped, throwing his handful of popcorn at John as he leaped up from the couch, blocking the television in an awkward pose. John stared at the kernels on the floor, wondering if he would have to sweep that himself or if Hercules would do it.

“Jesus Christ man! You can’t just sneak up on me like that!” The man yelled, clutching his heart.  

“This isn’t even your place.” John said, kicking a piece of popcorn with his foot.

“I was out of popcorn, and I knew where you kept the good stuff.” John looked back up Hercules unimpressed, pausing at the confused look on the tailor’s face. “Uh, John? What the hell are ya wearing, man?”

John looked back down at himself, noting that he was still in fact in his full Flore Venenato gear. “Uh- it’s not what it looks like?”  

“What is it supposed to look like?” Hercules asked instead, eyeing the pearls that aligned John’s neck. “Because, man, if you’re getting into cosplay, it’s probably a bad idea to do a villain.”

“People cosplay Loki all the time.” John pointed out uselessly. He didn’t have to look to know Hercules raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, but Loki is hot.”

“You just like the accent.”  

“I’m a sucker for a good accent, alright?” Hercules defended himself. His brow was pinched as he took in John before him. John felt panic well up in his chest as the situation finally settled in. Hercules knew. Hercules, who was one of his closest friends. Hercules who has seen him piss drunk more times than he could count. Hercules who he shared a kiss with once on New Years because they were both high and Maria was taking drunken selfies. Hercules who sat with him when he adopted three cats and helped him give them flea baths. Hercules, who has been one of the steadiest people John has ever had in his life. Hercules and his sloppy dog that John called dibs on babysitting at any oppurtunity.

“Uh, you’re not gonna freak out, right?” John asked, reaching up haltingly to take his mask off.  

Hercules stared at him, his dark eyes reflecting the warms lights like glass. It was a long moment of silence, stretching into something that felt like a cavernous ravine. John has killed plenty of people in his time, has known learned how to dispose of the bodies in dumpsters and how to stage them in the back of cars. He never made an unnecessary kill, never was once sloppy or unprofessional in his years on slowly taking out targets. He didn’t want to kill Hercules. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did, wouldn’t be able to look at anyone in the eye knowing what he did. There was a million different ways to stage a killing of someone who society deems and unimportant. An unfortunate mugging. Wrong place at the wrong time. A petty feud spiraling into something unchangeable.

“If you’re gonna call the cops just do it now.” John begged, his knife never felt so heavy in his hand.  

“Nah.” Hercules decided, it rung out like a judge’s gavel deciding the verdict of a trial.  

“Nah?”  

“Listen man,” Hercules started, stepping forward. “Sure, I don’t agree with how you go about your shit, but I know how half those people make a living, man. I’ve worked with men like them before.” Hercules glanced out the window, the light of a police cars filled the space. “I’m not gonna turn you in.”

John shoulders drooped from where they were tensed around his ears. The knife slid back into his boot quickly, the comforting press against his ankle calming his nerves. “Thank you.” He whispered, focusing on unlacing boots, ignoring the jumpy feeling that lingered in his chest.

“Does this mean I can be your guy in the chair?”

“I’m not Spiderman.”  

“Guy in the lair then.”  

“Magentix is the one the lair.” John said idly, walking past Hercules to the kitchen, chucking off his mask somewhere on the counter. Hercules whistled quietly, following John into the kitchen cradling his popcorn.  

“Can I give you a makeover? Because I already have some improvements in mind.”

“Do you usually design villain costumes in your spare time?”

“When I’m bored, yeah.” Hercules shrugged, throwing some popcorn into his mouth. The game was forgotten about, the two commentators voices being drowned out by Hercules diving into his Ultimate Villain Make Over (tm).  

John laughed, grabbing a bottle of sweet tea out of the fridge. “Clean up the popcorn you threw at me first.” He said, leaning against his fridge. Grinning as Hercules looked at the mess of popcorn sullenly.  

Chapter Text

As it turns out, Hercules finding out about John’s nightly habits wasn’t as catastrophic as one might have thought. If anything, it’s proved to be more of an incentive for the tailor to hang around the coffee shop more often. John should know, the stool the man has taken to occupying is now starting to form an impression. This wouldn’t be that shocking, Tulip’s Brew was a well established business with a regular flow of customers. However, this specific stool has now become selective in who is allowed to sit in it.

Which is to say, only Hercules is able to actually sit in the stool comfortably anymore. John should probably feel some sort of negativity about this. Something about customers and if there isn’t proper sitting and accommodations they’ll start to dwindle. John stares at the stool, a bottle of cleaner and and old dish rag held in his hand. 

“How does one man have such a great ass?” John mumbles to himself, shaking his head to get rid of the thought. There was a meow beside him, looking up John was met with the judgmental stare of Asthore, one of three kittens that he rescued. She sat primly, her fluffy gray tail wrapped around her paws. “Don’t judge me.” John said, pointing the bottle at the cat.

The bell above the door opened, looking over John furrowed his brows as he was greeted with a disgruntled Frances. Her hair was messier than usual, and there were deep bags under eyes. Her clothes were also wrinkled more than usual. “You okay, Fran?” John asked, setting his cleaning products to the side. 

The teenager looked up at him, her smile seemed forced. Wavering at the edges as she nudged the door closed with a thud. “Yeah boss! Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked. 

John glanced down at his watch, “Franny your shift doesn’t start until ten. You’re four hours early.” Frances blinked dumbly at John as if she was just now processing the information. John felt his concern rise at the glazed look on the teen’s face, looking down at herself as she mumbled. “How about,” John said gently, walking forward to guide the teenager. “You go take a minute upstairs. I’m just opening up.”

“I can help! I mean, I can help with opening.” Frances exclaimed, looking up with wide eyes. The two stared at each other, stood in the middle of the store in a game of push and pull. John took a bracing breath, looking Frances in the eyes.

“Y’know what?” John said, “I completely forgot to feed the cats this morning. It completely slipped my mind.” He laughed, shrugging sheepishly. “Do you think you could go check on the other two?”

There was a smaller pause as Frances took in the request, her eyes clouded over. John watched as her eyes cleared a little, a teasing grin more similar to her usual smiles softened the forcefulness of her previous smile. “You’re gonna go senile in your old age, boss.” Frances teased, taking a small step forward. She swayed slightly as she made her way to the stairs leading up to his flat, her braids coming loose around her shoulders.

“Thats what I pay you for!” John joked back, making himself grab the rag and spray bottle. Frances giggles grew muffled as she made her way upstairs, eventually petering out as the door closed behind her. John stood in his spot for a minute, fiddling with the trigger of the spray bottle. He shook his head, trying to shrug off the niggling bits of worry. 

Everyone has their off days, Frances included. He went back to wiping down the counters, spraying the seat that had Hercules’ impression to clean off the dust. 

Time passed quickly after that, with John flipping the Closed sign to Open. The rag he used to clean slung over one of his shoulders, Asthore perched on his other. The bell rang again, bringing with it the first customer of the day. John smiled at the bland man, not phased by the noncommittal responses that his questions got. Slowly, as the minutes ticked by more customers filtered in. The regulars chipping in with some lighthearted banter alongside their orders.

John hummed to himself taking stock of the occupants in the shop. There was a couple sitting by the window. A group of young adults huddled together around a bigger table with laptops and spreadsheets. There were more patrons, filling up tables and infusing the air with their idle chatter. The usual music that John liked to play was replaced with the musings of radio show hosts. 

It was around twelve when Hercules bundled in. Grinning wildly with a couple folders tucked under his arm. John sent him a questioning look, unable to greet the tailor as he was working another customer. Like all the other times the man came into the shop, he settled onto his chair. Sinking into it as if it were his own throne, and not a mass produced store stool.

“Johnny boy, I am a fucking genius.” The man declared. He settled the folders onto the counters, there were three that John could see. Two were respectable colors, one muted green and the other a soft blue. The one in the middle was an atrocious hot pink color, even worse when it caught the light. The tailor looked around, “Where’s Frances? Isn’t she usually here?” He asked, his goofy demeanor slipping as he noted the absence of the teenager.

“She’s upstairs,” John leaned his hip on the counter across from the man, idly petting Miss Kitty as she wandered up to the two. Miss Kitty was the black kitten that John rescued, namesake thanks to Susan who was insistent on Miss Kitty being the cat’s name. Said cat meowed at him loudly, sassily walking off to demand pets from someone else. Hercules nodded in understanding, his grin slowly coming back as he settled hands onto the folders. 

He leaned over the counter as if he were gonna tell a secret, sliding out the green folder towards John. The tailor was like a kid on Christmas, bouncing in his seat as he urged John to take the folder. “C’mon I don’t have all day man. I gotta get these dropped off for a customer.” He said, knocking a knuckle against the bright pink folder. 

John huffed a laugh, slowly opening the folder only to see the glare the other man sent him. “Alright, alright. What even are these?” John asked, eyes catching on sketches of what could be almost a cyberpunk costume. There were multiple variations, ones with more mecha accessories and some with more sleek designs. John blinked down at the sketches, thumbing through the pages repeatedly.

“Do you like them?” Hercules asked with boyish excitement. “Granted, some of them I got a little carried away with, but we could always revisit those if needs must.”

John could only gape for a minute, eyes tracing over the different designs in shock. “Herc, these are amazing.” John said, setting the folder down on the counter in front of him to flip through the designs more thoroughly. There was one design that caught his eye, it was sleeker than some of the other ones in the folder.

Hercules glanced at the design that John was looking at, chuckling a little to himself. “Figures you’d like that one.” He mused.

John shrugged, “Does there have to be so many straps though?”

“It’s part of the brand Johnny boy,” Hercules explained with a shrug. John rolled his eyes at the tailor, unable to look away from the design for more than a second. It was a step up from what he usually wore, with intricacy coming in the form of halters and straps.

“Would you even be able to afford making this?” John asked, finally closing the folder. He handed it back to the tailor with a brow furrowed, “Some of those elements aren’t as easy to throw together at home.”

Hercules took the folder back like someone who won an Oscar award. There was a satisfied look on his face as he stacked his folders together. Before the man could answer, the bell above the door rung. John sent him an apologetic look that was dismissed with a shrug, “Did you want anything before you leave?” John asked the tailor, making his way to the register to greet the customer. Hercules tipped his head back to look at the menu hung behind the counter, contemplating the options. John rolled his eyes in amusement; the tailor practically had the menu memorized at this point.

John focused on the customer, he was met with a tall and slender person grinning widely at him. The customer was super model level pretty, exuding confidence and elegance where they stood. “Welcome to Tulip’s Brew, what can I get for you?” John asked, glancing back as he heard Hercules cough unexpectedly. The tailor was staring at the super model, eyes wide as saucers. John turned back to the customer, watching as their face lit up in recognition.

“Ah! Mon ami, Thomas did say I could find you here!” The other spoke with a very familiar French accent. John’s breath rushed out of him, “Je m’appelle Lafayette, it’s wonderful to finally actually meet you!” Lafayette said with a grin.

John nodded, trying to figure what emotions he was feeling. On one hand, he was ecstatic to meet the other villain. The two seemed to click in the time the two worked together, granted they were able to bond over bullying a magenta peacock. On the other hand, the idea of Jefferson giving out his identity freely didn’t sit right with him.

John shook his head, grinning at the other. He’ll deal with Jefferson later, most likely with multiple threats of bloodshed and knives involved. “John, nice to finally meet you too.”

“I’m Hercules.” The tailor announced, sliding over to hold out a hand. “I’m Johnny’s friend. I run a tailor’s shop a couple blocks over.” John looked at the tailor in confusion, opening his mouth to ask what the hell he was doing, until he saw the look on the tailor’s face. John bit his lip to keep a grin from forming.

Lafayette tilted their head, an amused smile curving at their lips. John covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to burst into laughter. “Pleasure to meet you too, monsieur Hercules.” Lafayette said, taking the tailor’s hand.

“I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” Hercules said, hesitantly letting go of the other’s hand.

“Oh my fucking god.” John wheezed, having to crouch down before he fell over with how he was holding his breath. “Oh my fucking god, you and your accents.” John wheezed into his hands, shoulders shaking with his giggles.

“John, I love you man, but you are ruining this for me.” Hercules said, leaning over the counter to glare at the barista. Lafayette leaned over to look at the barista too, amusement shining in their eyes as they glanced back at the tailor.

“Is he okay?” Lafayette asked, their amusement poorly hidden.

“I’m fine!” John said, popping back up. His cheeks were flushed with his amusement, they hurt with how much he was grinning. “What can I get for you?” John asked Lafayette, having to bite his lips to keep more giggles from escaping.

Lafayette glanced at the menu with a hum, “I don’t know, mon doux tailleur what would you suggest?” they asked. John raised a brow at the nickname, sending Lafayette a knowing look. Lafayette stuck their tongue out at him.

“Oh! The hot chocolate is good. If you’re wanting something to eat, I’d recommend the apple pie.” Lafayette hummed in consideration, glancing at the pastries on display.

“How about a hot chocolate and raspberry danish?” Lafayette asked, looking back at John with a smile.

“Coming right up.” John said, punching the order into the register.

“Add my usual,” Hercules said, holding out his card.

“Oh! You do not need to that!” Lafayette said, hands fluttering around themselves. Their wallet was in their hands. John nabbed Hercules card, punching in the man’s usual order alongside Lafayette’s.

“Didn’t you have somewhere to be, Herc?” John asked idly, focusing on grabbing the pastries so his smile wouldn’t be seen.

“Oh, that’s not important.” Hercules dismissed with a wave. Lafayette and Hercules settled into their seats, already engrossed in conversation together when John finally got their orders to them. He smiled to himself, going back to the register. It was nice to see his friends get along, even if they end up being more than friends.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Phillip wonders who in the hell invented the bell. Specifically, the bells that are used in school. Wincing as the shrill bell rung above his head, Phillip packed his bag up as quickly as possible.

“Don’t forget that your essays are due Thursday!” his history teacher, Professor A, called out as the students flooded out of his classroom. Phillip waved to the professor on his way out, smiling a little when he was greeted with Goerge waiting for him in the hallway. Why the other on insisted on wearing his backpack in the most bizarre ways was beyond Phillip. The way he was wearing it under his jacket now made him look like a mutated turtle.

“What’s up man?” Phillip asked, bumping his friend on the shoulder as they made their way down the crowded hall.

George groaned, stretching his arms out, “Dude I could barely keep my eyes open last period.” The other said, “I finally got caught up on all my AP classes, but then my history teacher decided to assign a whole new chapter.”

Phillip winced, patting his friend on the shoulder. “How you and Theo are able to keep up with multiple AP classes is beyond me.”

“Says the guy who decided to take AP History while being in all honor courses.” George grouches, his arms falling by his sides. Phillip shrugged not knowing what to say. The AP History class was notorious in their school for being the worst. The teacher, Professor A, was well known for going off book. Most of the time they would go off on side tangents completely disregarding the textbooks, telling the stories as if he were there. Despite all the eccentricities of the class, Phillip found it to be one of his favorites. While the tests and quizzes could be nerve wracking to get through, the actual class was a lot of fun.  With a lot of obscure facts sprinkled throughout that Professor A was all too willing to share.

Phillip’s favorite antidotes from the class were probably the goofier stories. One of his personal favorites was probably the stories about Zhuge Liange.

“George Eacker!” A voice shouted from down the hall, echoing over the mass of students. Many of the students turned to look at the voice, Phillp being one of them. He had to hold in his snickers as George ducked to hide behind his back, as a seething Bow came marching down the hall. They were holding a stack of papers with what looked like text printed in comic sans. A lot of the text was slashed through with red ink however, with scribbles taking up the margins. “Why in the ever loving hell would you make me read this?” Bow asked, they couldn’t have been too mad about the papers, Phillip noted. They were doing that kind of glare a child does when they want to be upset but were trying not to laugh at the same time.

“Heyyyy, Bow! Long time no see!” George squeaked, peaking out from behind Phillip with a nervous grin. “Did ya like my paper?”

“I would’ve liked it a lot more if it wasn’t in comic sans.” Bow said, shaking the papers in their hands at the other teen.

“Hey! Don’t make fun of comic sans!” George defended himself.

“He’s dyslexic Bow, comic sans is more readable for him.” Phillip said, jumping to his friend's unneeded defense.

“So is arial,” Bow pointed out unimpressed. How they were able to raise one eyebrow in the most ‘I won’t say it, but I am judging you’ way is beyond Phillip. Especially when they are one of the bubbliest people he has ever met. Outside of scolding George for using comic sans on a paper about the men in black, apparently.

“Are you going to say I should’ve done it in times new roman?” George asked, slinging an arm around Phillip’s shoulder. He must’ve realized that there was no threat from Bow, as he leaned closer to the main editor of the school newspaper. “On a more serious note, what the fuck did you do to my beautiful paper?”

Bow huffed with an eye roll, shoving the papers at the two boys. “Critiques and edits.” They said, “If you can get this back to me with all the corrections by the end of the week, then I’ll help publish it.” George reached to take the papers from Bow’s hand. “Think about getting some pictures too, yeah?” Bow asked, turning on their heel to walk to their class. Students parted for them as if they were Moses parting the red sea. Phillip shook his head at the thought, turning to look at his friend who was blinking at the papers dumbfoundedly.

“I didn’t think that’d actually work.” George mumbled, looking up at Phillip.

“I mean, it was Theo who handed in the papers first.” Phillip reasoned, thinking about how close the two students were. “And you didn’t get Bow to edit it.”

“Man, don’t ruin this for me.” George said, pushing Phillip a little as they continued their way to class as the tardy bell rang.

The energy that Phillip had while talking to his friends petered out as he realized they were going to the last class of the day. It wasn’t like Phillip liked school necessarily, but the thought of having to walk home to an empty apartment sat heavy in the back of his mind. Phillip fiddled with his backpack strap, wondering how long the library would be open tonight. Maybe he could try and get more pictures around New York. Walking into his last class, Phillip settled into his seat defeatedly, wondering when going home filled him with more dread than going to school after a holiday.

Chapter Text

Despite popular belief, Alex did like going outside. It didn’t happen often in all fairness, but he does enjoy feeling the sun on his face and the breeze messing with his hair. Though it would’ve been nice if the temperature never dipped below seventy degrees Fahrenheit, but alas, Alex cannot control the weather.

It was a nice day out, a slight breeze blew through the park he was currently visiting. Just cool enough to start wearing sweaters, the leaves were all changing color. Which to Alex meant that he was sniffling every five seconds. Alex shoved his hand against his nose, holding his breath so he doesn’t sneeze again.

“Bless you.” John said across from him, hunched over the hot chocolate that the two bought when they first met up. He was smiling mischievously as he said it, nose scrunched up like it usually does when he was trying not to laugh.

“Fuck you too.” Alex said moodily, finally moving his hand away from his nose. He took a deep breath in, bracing for a sneeze. “Why do the states hate me?” He whined to himself, grabbing his own hot chocolate. There wasn’t much left of it, only the cocoa powder that lined the bottom and some soggy marshmallows.

“We could always go somewhere that has central air conditioning, with y’know, heating.” John said, nudging his cup over, his was only half empty. Though it was marshmallow-less, the barista having eaten the jumbo marshmallows like they were candy as soon as he got the drink.

“But that would mean nature is winning.” Alex pointed out. It was a moot point, and he knew it. And, just like every year before, autumn brought nothing but allergies and headaches. Which was kind of aggravating in Alex’s opinion, he loved the look of autumn. With all the leaves falling and the knit sweaters he could wear, and it be socially acceptable. Not like it being one hundred degrees has stopped him from wearing knitted sweaters before.  

John snickered quietly, eyes wandering to watch the people passing by them on the path. Alex hummed to himself, a pop song he’d heard playing in the store at some point. It wasn’t anything he would listen to by himself of course, the song being made of up of the same lyrics sung with different auto tuning.  The two sat together in comfortable silence, letting the sound of the wind rustling the leaves fill the air. The chatter of the park drifted around them, passing over them as if they were in their own little silent sanctuary.

Alex found his eyes wandering back to John, taking in the barista across from him. Alex held no doubt in his mind that quite liked the barista, knowing from the minute he heard him laugh in earnest. Watching as the man’s eyes crinkled from a smile as a dog passed, Alex wondered what was holding him back from shooting his shot. It was unlike him, to not get swept away in an exhilarating rush with a potential new relationship. He looked down at the half empty hot chocolate, watching the way the cocoa and the melted whipped cream swirled together.

“If you could travel to any time, what would it be?” John asked suddenly, settling his chin on hand. Alex startled slightly, flushing when he realized he was most definitely staring.

“What is this, twenty one questions?” Alex asked, trying to think of the answer. John swatted at him with a huff. “Okay, okay. Let me think… The eighties.”

John squinted at him, “Why the eighties?”

“One the different political and social movements.” Alex said, counting on his fingers. “Two, the music.”

“Predictable.”

“Alright, at least I don’t listen to sad songs in different languages.”

“Says the man who cried at Dos Ouruguitas.”

“Thirdly!” Alex said loudly, ignoring the barista’s very true statement. “The fashion was iconic.”

John squinted at him, “Please don’t tell me you just want a mullet.” Alex stayed quiet at the question, looking around with a whistle. “No, why. There are so many better hairstyles out there.” John tried to explain, looking horrified at the thought of Alex with a mullet. Alex sniffed in haughty offense.

“The mullet was an iconic part of our fashion history-“

“When did you learn about fashion history?”

“I may or may not have gotten into an argument about fashion trends once on Twitter. I won, by the way.” Alex bragged with a grin. John tipped his head back with an overexaggerated groan. “What about you?” Alex asked, “Anytime in human history, which do you choose?”

“Hmm,” John said, slowly tipping his head back down, resting his chin on his hand. Alex’s breath caught as the barista’s hazel eyes caught the sunlight. So close he could make out the flecks of green and brown that swirled together. “Late 1700’s, early 1800’s.” John said decidedly, “Maria made me watch Bridgerton with her, I read the books before too. And I know they took creative liberty with costuming in the show, but damn.” John said with a wistful sigh, “Also I think Mr. Darcy is hot.”

“You want your own Pride and Prejudice moment, huh?” Alex teased, snickering as John pouted at him. “Mr. Darcy isn’t even that hot.” Alex said as his snickers subsided, probably having had too much enjoyment from the aghast look that garnered from the barista.

“It’s not what on the outside, it’s what on the inside.”

“Uh huh.” Alex agreed amusedly. John rolled his eyes at him, grabbing his hot chocolate in a huff.

The two grew quiet again, finally tuning back into the rest of the world around them. It felt like too soon and not soon enough when the two finally went separate ways. Alex watched from the corner of his eye as John walked further through the winding park trail, becoming one with the crowd. Alex turned to go on his way, back to his mountain of paperwork and never dwindling emails.

Chapter Text

There was an understated difference of opinion when it comes to how people view one spot. A city, for example. The difference between those who live outside the city compared to those who live in it. Compared to those who live in it, and to those who live above it.

Alexander wouldn’t say he’s particularly attached to New York. At least not in the way people might think he should be. To him, New York, and by extent New York City was a safe haven. It was where he was called back to after his tour with the military. It’s where he went to college and remade himself. It’s where he’d found a purpose in his life.

The people who work the Hero Academy and Institute were firmly set above the city. Not in the literal sense, with how many high rises there are you’d have to build a city in the clouds to actually be on top. But in a metaphorical sense, there was an odd gap between those who ran the Institute and their connection to the city. Some found their way to the Hero Academy and Institute out of obligation. A necessary evil needed in helping to protect their home.

Gazing out at the scenery from his advisor’s office, Alex wondered if he’d ever reach the point where he would also feel above the city. If there will come a day when he’ll scoff at the hole in the wall diners that he used to visit because of the cheap food. If he’ll wrinkle his nose at beggars on the pavement, forgetting that it’s not their fault that their government failed them.

The door of the office opened with a swish. Aaron Burr, his advisor stepped in. The man’s expression was as blank as ever, his charcoal grey suit being the most colorful thing in the room. Alex straightened his back as the man wandered over to his desk, the sun warmed his back where it was facing the window.

Burr glanced at Alex, “Noctua, thank you for coming in.”

“Sorry for not waiting outside.” Alex said, eyes shifting back to the window as the advisor sat at his desk.

“By this point I’ve come to expect it.” Burr said, Alex thinks the man was joking. It was hard to tell with Burr, the man was like a blank wall. All of his emotions seemed stifled, as if he was never taught how to properly emote. Alex wonders if he’s ever seen the man smile. “Sadly, this isn’t a social visit.”

“It rarely is with you.” Alex pointed out, turning away from the windows entirely. Burr’s office was very plain, very few mementos to the man’s personal life were on display. That’s not to say the man doesn’t have a life outside of work. Alex knows that he does, having caught glimpse of a polaroid picture the man keeps in his wallet. It was of him and his wife, with their then infant daughter cradled in between the two parents.

Burr hummed, settling into his desk chair, his briefcase landing on his desk with a dull thud. The latches opened with a satisfying click click. Onto business then, Alex thought with an amused huff.

“I got word from the Commissioner, there has been some whispers of an upstart. A group of unsanctioned powers have been going around and dealing what they deem ‘justice’ to different groups.” Burr laid out a couple pictures, their glossy finish reflecting the light back into his eyes. Alexander squinted as he picked up the first picture. It was of a brick building, crude red spray paint spelling out profanities with the windows smashed in. Alex felt his breath catch as he looked at it.

“Not the most forgiving group, are they?” Alex asked with a forced lightness. “Why is this coming straight to the heroes? Why not police?”

“The police department have deemed the persons to volatile for non powers.” Burr looked away, his brow crumbling as he gazed out of his window. “They’ve also been targeting local shelters and LGBTQ plus owned businesses.”

Alex looked back down at the photo in his hand, looking closer he could see the chipped pink, blue, and white stripes painted in the corner of the shattered window. His teeth grinded together as he tried to keep a lid on his anger.

“Do we have summaries on powers?” Alex asked, the photo crinkling in his grip the longer he looked at it.

“I’m guessing you are agreeing to work it?” Burr asked.

“I wouldn’t be asking for summaries if I didn’t.” Alex bit out, taking a breath in at the unimpressed look Burr shot him. Alex slowly unclenched his hand, letting the photo fall to the ground. Burr gave a short nod, shifting in his chair with a tired sigh.

“We have up to five reported powers working with this group, varying from pyro to telekinetic.” Burr said, his voice becoming its usual monotone as he recited the summaries. “You will also be working on a team with five others, one of which is Kaleidoscope.” Alexander perked up at the mention of his friend.

“And the other four?”

“Artemis, Orchestrator, Puppeteer, and Scopeshot.”

Alex furrowed his brows at the unfamiliar names, Artemis he knew. He has worked with Peggy on a handful of occasions, usually trying to be on when the young hero was working. “I don’t recognize the last three names.”

Burr shrugged, “I’m not surprised. Scopeshot is a foreign hero based out of Japan. Orchestrator and Puppeteer are recently graduated from the Academy.”

Alex wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling at the thought of upstarts working this case. The knowledge that Peggy was already going on solo patrols didn’t sit right with. Usually after a hero graduates from the Academy, they are set to shadow an older hero. Alexander wasn’t too familiar with the shadowing of an older hero, as he himself was recruited through his military career. But he knows Angelica has had some shadows. 

That doesn’t even touch on Japan’s hero process.

“Beginners are working this case? Have they even shadowed anyone?” Alex asked. Burr shrugged, collecting the photos one by one.

Alex shifted, an unpleasant thought starting to settle in the back of his mind. Objectively speaking, this case isn’t too bad compared to some other ones Alex has worked on. But there is still too many unknown players in this case. And the players that are known are supposedly highly volatile.

“If you don’t mind,” Burr said not looking at Alex, he was currently swiping his computer mouse lazily to wake the screen up. “I do have other work I need to be getting to.” Alex nodded shortly, quickly making his way out of the office. The bare halls of the Hero Institute did nothing but let the thoughts spin around in his mind.

Chapter Text

John doesn’t know if he should be jealous, amused, or annoyed with how quickly Lafayette and Hercules got together. He was leaning towards amusement, finding that he couldn’t be too mad when Hercules always looks at Lafayette with a besotted look on his face. There was adoration practically oozing off the tailor. A gentle sweetness that seemed to only amplify when the model was nearby. John had to admit that it was quite sweet how much the tailor flourished in the relationship.

Lafayette wasn’t much better. Since the model got with the tailor, they’ve acted like a stereotypical princess. Sighing and fawning to themselves. Even while out as Luciole, a minute couldn’t pass without them mentioning their sweet tailor. Even Jefferson, the aloof billionaire that’s denser than a ton of bricks, has made a face as if he’s thrown up in his mouth at the cavity inducing sweetness that Lafayette is prone to spilling.

Even now, the couple was sitting together. They’ve found their spot at the counter, Lafayette falling into the spot of Hercules right, the two absorbed into their own world, their chatter and silence becoming it’s own comfort when the crowds swarm in.

“They are sickeningly sweet, y’know?” Maria asked, leaning on the counter beside John. She was watching the new couple, a fond tug of her lips discrediting the harshness of her words.

“Makes you wanna throw up, doesn’t it?” John replied back, staring at the pennies as he debated if he should restart counting or just hope for the best.

“You were at seventy-eight.” Maria shifted, putting her weight onto one leg, “When’s the wedding, you think?”

“Give Herc some credit.” John said, “Unless there’s a trip to Vegas planned, I give them five years.”

Maria whistled, “You’re too nice Johnny, I give them less than six months.”

“We can hear you.” Hercules deadpanned, surfacing from the impenetrable bubble that is his and Lafayette’s conversations. Lafayette seemed flushed at the thought of a wedding, a dazed look in their eyes as they stared into nothingness.

Maria stuck her tongue out at the tailor, “I’d be more worried if you couldn’t.”

“Are we making fun of Hercules and his old man hearing?” Frances asked, pushing the door to Tulip’s brew open with a flourish, the bell ringing above the idle chatter of the shop.

“No we aren’t, because I do not have old man hearing.”

“We’re gonna have to get him hearing aids soon, Franny.”

“Mon cher, there are some moments…” Lafayette trailed off, shaking their head with a teasing grin. Hercules gaped at his partner.

“Wait Herc, you got hitched?” Frances screeched, vaulting over to the couple. John bent over the counter, hiding his face in his hands while trying not to laugh. Frances introduced herself to Lafayette a vigorous handshake, the French model seemingly more amused as the conversation went on.

“We aren’t married?” Hercules asked with a high pitched voice, gaining Frances attention. The teenager glanced between the two with a grin.

“I can hear the bells, well, don’t you hear ‘em chime?” Frances asked with a grin.

“Don’t quote Hairspray in my coffeeshop.” John groaned, finally lifting his face to look at the teenager. Frances smiled at him innocently, nabbing a muffin a chomping into it. John squinted as he noticed a weird coloration under the teenager’s eyes, the skin ever so slightly more yellow then her usual tan. John glanced at Maria nodding towards Frances with a nod. Maria looked over the teenager as well, her face impassive as ever, idly she fiddled with a half dollar. Maria made eye contact with John, she nodded once before turning to greet the customer that just came in.

John hummed, watching Frances with a more critical eye. It seemed after the last incident she put more effort into acting like everything was fine, ignoring the way her hands tremored as she worked the espresso machine. Or the strain around her smile as she dealt with customers.  

“Mon ami,” Lafayette called, leaning over towards John across the counter. Their eyes were wider than normal, an anxious energy filling the air around them.

“What’s up?” John asked, dumping the pennies into the register, deciding he really didn’t care enough to recount.

“J’ai un classuer.”

John blinked, thinking and discarding too many ideas that went through his head at the statement. “Pourquoi avez-vous un classeur?” John asked hesitantly, stepping out of the way of Maria.

“Jai un classeur.” Lafaytte glanced at Hercules, who was currently tapping at his phone with furrowed brows. In a rushed whisper Lafayette continued, “Rempli de preparatifs de mariage.”

“Vous vous etes recontres il y a une semaine!” John said loudly, staring at the model incredulously. A few customers looked over at the loud exclamation, John waved absently them off, too focused on the person in front of him.

“Je sais! Je sais! Mais vouz devez comprende, j’ai eu ce classeur depuis avant- depuis un moment mon ami.” Lafayette explained frantically. Their hands waving in the air, “J’ai toujours reve de passer un mariage. De trouver celui-la et de les epouser, je l’ai depuis appris le concept a l’ecole.”

“…Et pourquoi me le dites-vous?” John asked, trying to calm down the rollercoaster that was this conversation.

Lafayette glanced at Hercules, the longing on their face was palpable. “Parce que ju ne veux pas gacher ca.” John smiled at Lafayette fondly, their whisper barely audible.

“Tu ne le feras pas.”

Lafayette made eye contact with John, giving the barista whiplash at how serious they were. “Si je le fais, je veux que tu me tues.”

“Absolutely not.” John said, turning on his heel to deal with a customer.

“Aw why not, mon petite fleur?’ Lafayette whined, “I would deserve it.”

“Nope. J’ai une politiques d’amis sans tuer.” The statement gave the model a pause, frozen in place with a look of shock. After a second they smiled, it was small and nothing close to their blinding grins. But it seemed like the most genuine thing John has seen from them.

“D’accord. Je peux vivre avec ca.”

Chapter Text

In John’s defense, the knowledge that Jefferson had a super secret man cave wasn’t on his list of priorities. Yes, there was a lingering interest about said man cave, but actually stepping into it is a different experience.

“You know, if you added a waterfall this would have everything checked off the superhuman base.” John said, turning around to take the whole place in. The weirdest part of the experience was the fact that he wasn’t even in his full gear, instead in the nicest pair of jeans he could find and a shirt and jacket that didn’t have flower caked into the creases. As of right now he was on a villain ban while Hercules worked on his new getup.

“It’s a work in progress.” Jefferson said, waving a hand around. John could only raised an eyebrow in disbelief. The cave, decked out with fully automated rotating shelves and a holographic table was still a work in progress?

“You could’ve hired an interior designer, at least.” Lafayette said, they were wearing sunglasses but John could feel the contempt in their expression.

“Ah yes, let me just hire an interior designer for my villain cave.” Jefferson deadpanned, turning around in his chair. The billionaire was dressed like a normal human being, a rich human being, but a human being nonetheless. John amused himself with the thought of Jefferson having a cat, one that would really complete the nefarious billionaire look.

“You’d be surprised by how many people would pay for that kind of job.” John said, falling onto one of the ridiculously white couches with an oof. “They wouldn’t even care about the NDA. I mean, have you seen the way people decorate DnD rooms?”

“Oui. I knew a girl who specialized in decorating BDSM dungeons.” Lafayette said, sitting beside John in a more elegant fashion. “You wouldn’t even have known it was for the fun kind of torture.”

“How many people did you know?” Jefferson asks in response to that, “If the next person you bring up isn’t apart of some mafia family, I will donate all of my savings.”

“Define all of it,” John said, pushing himself up onto his elbow to look at the billionaire. “Because when you say all of it, does that include the offshore accounts or just the trust funds?”

Jefferson snorted, “You really think I’d admit to off shore accounts?”

“It’s really not a secret. Half of congress have tie ins with organized crime.”

“I’m pretty sure I spent a New Years in Italy with a mafia family.” Lafayette said, functionally interrupting the conversation. “I slept with the bosses son.”

Jefferson whistled, “Are you sure it was the mafia? Or was it just a group with over inflated egos?”

“Non, it was legit. I went back the next year and they were arrested.”

“How are you actually not dead yet?” John asked, staring at the model in amazement.

Lafayette grinned wickedly, “I am a very charming person, mon petite fluer.”

“No kidding.” Jefferson mumbled, pushing himself up of his chair. “Well gentleman and non-gendered person,” he said clapping his hands. “I would like to introduce you two to something that will change the underground market as we know it.”

“Please don’t be chemical warfare.”

Jefferson scrunched his nose in offense, “Continuing on. I’m sure we’re all aware of the handy dandy ear pieces that heroes are given to scramble their facial features?” The billionaire asked with a grin, reaching for two boxes on his desk. “Well I’ve spent many years researching how they were able to condense facial scrambling and communications into a small little earpiece, and I’ve finally found it.” He held out the boxes to the two on the couch with a flourish. John glanced at the box hesitantly, watching as Lafayette snatched their up with little pause.

“Now, they are a work in progress right now, but hopefully we’ll be able finalize them with some on field testing!”

John took the box held out for him slowly, carefully opening it to reveal the aforementioned earpiece. Nestled safely in the middle of a padded box, rested the unassuming earpiece. It reminded John of a Bluetooth earbud, but much more sleek and compact compared to the mass marketed ones. Picking his up, he watched as the piece lit up a deep magenta color.

“Mon ami, this is great!” Lafayette said excitedly. John had to stare at the for a minute to realize the wrongness of their face, their eyes were an icy blue, almost white. Their nose and jaw were much narrower than what they usually were. Their voice was also slightly distorted, a sort of autotuning that was barely noticeable unless you really paid attention. Their voices rung through the lair, crackling through the speakers of Jefferson’s computer.

“That’s trippy as hell.” John said, putting on his own earpiece. He fiddled with it, so it rested comfortably in his ear. Pressing the circle button on the main body the ear piece made it start working with a soft buzz, Lafayette’s chatter coming through the ear piece as well.

“They should be very resilient, having been tested to the max.” Jefferson boasted, puffing up like a proud bird. John had to give it to the man, he deserved it for what he’s done. “Now this isn’t the only piece we’re working on, of course. But the other piece is still having some kinks worked out, so sadly we won’t being playing with those anytime soon.”

“What more would you need than face scrambling earpieces?” John asked, jumping as his voice also rang through the lair. “What the fuck.” He whispered, staring at the computer with wide eyes.

“That, my favorite flowery hitman, is a secret.” Jefferson said with a grin.

“Never call me that ever again.” John said disgusted.

Chapter Text

Becoming a hero was a weird thing.

Peggy likes to think she’s handling the stress of her job well. Sure, patrols bite into her sleeping schedule a lot more than she originally anticipated, but that’s nothing a few energy drinks can’t help. Training also cuts into her social time, but she doesn’t mind too much. The friends she did have before weren’t that close to her anyways, their group slowly dissolving throughout the years after high school and college.

Peggy clutched onto the can of her energy with a shaking hand. The tin underneath her crackled at her firm grip, but that was barely noticed with how her mind kept wandering off. Sally, her advisor, was sitting next to her. They were currently in a big room with a long oval table, the kind of ones that she sees on shows where important government officials have to make very big decisions. Peggy chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at the wooden table. She knew if this were a show, she’d be one of the characters having to make big official decisions, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she’d been thrown into the deep end. No one’s prepared her for this kind of stuff. The kind of stuff that will have an impact on the future.

“Chin up.” Sally said, her voice startling Peggy out of her own spiraling thoughts. Her advisor glanced at her with a calming smile, “I know this is stressful, but you’ll be fine. I’m gonna be right here, alright?” Sally was one of those people who had a calming voice. It was one of those lower tones that made those around her relax and feel less tense.

When she wasn’t seconds away from pulling her hair out, that is. Peggy was good at that, making the woman lose a little bit of her coolness. It always amused her, she always times herself on how quickly she can get Sally to roll her eyes or have to hide an amused snicker behind a cough.

“Yeah but, what if I’m not? Fine that is.” Peggy asked in a rushed whisper, “This is like, official official.”

“You’ve been doing ‘official official’ work since your first patrol.” Sally pointed out, fixing her champagne blouse. Peggy took a breath in, holding it until her body wasn’t able to function without it. Three minutes, usually she could do six.

“But what if I mess up?”

“Then you’ll have you’ll have the others to help you.”

“And what if they can’t?”

“Artemis.” Sally admonished, it was the kind of gentle admonishment that made you want to duck your head in embarrassment. “You’ll be fine.”

An efficient knock knock knock interrupted what Peggy was going to say. The door to the room opened with a swish, two people entering the room with quick steps. The first to draw Peggy’s eye was the one who was wearing tactical gear. A hood obscured most of their features, reflective goggled bouncing the light of the room covering their eyes. Peggy noted that they reminded her of Flore Venenato a little bit, with the darker color pallet and hooded top. Though, she amusedly thought, they had a higher budget for their outfit.

In front of the hero, was a put together woman who had light brown hair falling in waves down her shoulders. Her buttoned shirt was tucked into her pencil skirt, her red tie matching the red lipstick she was wearing. “Hello,” the woman said, “This is the room for Mission USP-091, is it not?” She had a strong accent, Peggy noted with interest.

“Yes, it is.” Sally said, “You must be Scopeshot’s handler?”

The woman nodded, bowing slightly, “I am Hatashi Sorra, from Japan’s Official Hero Committee.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Sally Hemming’s. Please have a seat, we’re just waiting for the others.” Sally said, gesturing to the table. “I’m Artemis’ advisor.”

“Artemis?” Scopeshot asked, tilting their head. The hero leaned forward, “The one with the bow?”

“Yep! That’s me!”

“What’s your accuracy like?” Scopeshot asked, with them being closer together Peggy could see a hint of green hair peeking from underneath their hood.

“Oh, uh. I’m not too sure. Though I like to think I’m decent?” Peggy asked her voice slowly rising into a squeak.

“We should test it!” Scopeshot said clapping. “I haven’t met anyone with better accuracy than me! I’d love to see how well you do!”

“Uh, yeah. I wouldn’t mind.” Peggy said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Later though,” Hatashi said, cutting an amused glance at her hero companion. “We have to focus on the reason we’re actually here first.”

“Of course, of course. I’m very professional!” Scopeshot said grinning.

Peggy snickered, taking a sip of her energy drink. It was relaxing, having someone to joke around with. Scopeshot was easy, having an air around them that made you want to laugh along. The door opened again with a swish, the stern face of Aaron Burr appeared, followed along with Kaleidoscope and Noctua, Peggy relaxed at the sight of her sister. The elder of the two walked in with confident strides, her hair being carefully done up in a way that Peggy was slightly envious of.

“Sorry about the tardiness.” Burr said, bowing his head at the group already sitting at the table. “My wards were too busy squabbling.”

“We don’t squabble,” Kaleidoscope said in offense. “We were having a sophisticated discussion.”

“Yeah Burr, we were just chatting. Not our fault you are incapable of picking sides.” Noctua said with a grin, slinging an arm around Kaleidoscope’s shoulders.

“I’m able to pick sides, my side is you two are getting on my last nerves.”

Scopeshot snorted, at the three’s bickering. “Are all the American heroes like this?” They asked, looking at Hatashi. “If so I wanna come here more often.” Hatashi rolled her eyes fondly in response.

Burr, realizing that he was still in a room with people he still had a professional standing with cleared his throat. “Sorry, my manners must be lacking. I’m Aaron Burr, the advisor for Noctua and Kaleidoscope.” He said gesturing to each one respectively.

“Seems like we’re late to the party.” An amused voice said. Standing in the door was another advisor with long blue hair, and strangely enough a lab coat. Peggy perked up as she recognized the two heroes behind the advisor. Puppeteer and Orchestrator, two heroes from her graduating class of the academy. Peggy was never particularly close to any of the heroes in her class, never being able to click with a majority of them, but she was friendly with these two and their group.

Puppeteer gasped, “Artemis! You goofy goose I haven’t talked to you in forever!” The hero said, bouncing up to Peggy with a grin. “How have ya been? I heard you’re the public’s darling! How does that work? Your fans must adore you!” Peggy giggled, feeling her face flush at the bombardment of questions and praise.

"I’ve been good! What about you two? I’ve heard you two have been doing well for yourselves as well!”

“We’ve been good!” Puppeteer cheered, “Did you hear that Orchestrator proposed to their partner?” She asked in a loud whisper, “And they said yes!”

“Really?” Peggy asked, looking at the other hero. The red head nodded with a small smile.

“Yeah, but we’re planning on having a long engagement while they finish their studies. I’m still shocked they said yes id I'm honest.”

“Oh hush! They absolutely adore you!” Puppeteer scolded them sternly, resting her hands on her hips. Peggy had to bite down a laugh at how ridiculous the scene was. Here was a hero decked out in a pink tutu and Sailor Moon twin tails scolding their heroic partner. “And I should know, I can see it you dumb dumb!”

A throat cleared, all the idle chatter of those in the room hushed. Standing in the doorway now stood a grayed hair man that Peggy has only seen once before. He wore a military jacket adorned with metals, a dark wooden cane held in his hands. He was an imposing figure, with broad shoulders and a stern expression on his face with eyes that made Peggy want to shift in her seat. Everyone sat up in their seats, those standing quickly grabbing a seat at the table.

This was the Commissioner, one of the highest ranking personnel in the Hero Institution.

Peggy felt her breath catch, quickly shoving her hands underneath her thighs so they wouldn’t fidget with the crinkling can of energy drink in front of her. There was only one two people who ranked above the Commissioner, that being the President and the Vice President. Peggy cut a glance to her sister, she sat in perfect form with her shoulders relaxed and her chin raised ever so slightly.

“Good morning.” The Commissioner said, his voice deep and gruff. “I trust you are all informed on why you are present here this morning.”

“Yes sir.” Burr and Hatashi agreed, in sync with each other. The other two advisors nodded their agreement, the Commissioner hummed walking further into the room. His cane clicked against the floor, filling the empty air like gunshots.

“Good, that means we can get through this quick. A group of people have been targeting businesses and organizations they think require ‘justice.’” The Commissioner started, “We have reason to believe they have unsanctioned powers working with this group. Five have been reported so far.” Burr opened his suitcase, setting pictures out on the table. Peggy glanced at the pictures, biting her tongue as a slow curdling rage built up in her chest. “The five powers we have summaries on are pyro, telekinetic, sound manipulation, sight manipulation, and matter manipulation. We have reason to believe that their next attack will be focusing on a larger soup kitchen by the park, and it seems as if they are working on recruiting more people.”

“If I may ask, sir.” Hatashi spoke, “I understand the volatility of, unsanctioned powers, wouldn’t it be smarter if heroes teamed up with the police?”

The Commissioner hummed, “We have discussed that route, and the police have deemed this too risky for their numbers.”

Hatashi stared at the Commissioner, a slight disbelief starting to line their features. If she had any more reservations, she decided to keep them to herself, instead she settled back into her chair.

“You will have a week to plan and prepare. I expect to be pleased with this team.” With one last look around the table, the Commissioner nodded once and turned to walk. The silence rested in the air until the door closed behind the man.

Peggy could only stare at the table, apprehension building in her chest as the mission finally settled onto her shoulders.

Was she really fit to do this?

Chapter Text

Maria was one of John’s favorite people.

The woman was a fun person to be around, with her sarcastic humor and mischievous spark. She was his first employee, and he hasn’t regretted hiring her for a second. Not to mention, her daughter was straight up adorable, and John could never be mad at her for a second. So, watching as her sighs get progressively more longing throughout the weeks was not something John was ready to deal with.

The woman was currently at the register, staring out the windows idly, a sappy expression on her face. John counted in his heading, making it to sixty-three before Maria let out another sigh.

“Alright, spill.” He said, walking back up the counter from where he was washing tables. Maria blinked as he broke her view of the windows.

“What?” she asked, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“You’ve been worse than Hercules simpering after Lafayette.” He said, tucking the rag he was using into his apron and propping his elbows up on the counter. This was factually incorrect, no one could ever hope to pass the amount of sickly sweet adoration the tailor and model had for each other. “So spill, what’s up with you?”

Maria flushed and turned her head away. He stood patiently, humming along as ‘Just the Two of Us’ played over the speakers.

“You know Eliza?” Maria asked, John nodded remembering the wedding organizer that usually sits by the windows. She only really shows up when Maria is working. Which in retrospect, is quite often. How the wedding planner handles working four separate devices at once is beyond John, much less how she stays organized with so many binders. “It’s just. I feel like we click, y’know?” Maria says, emphasizing the click part. “But it’s been so long since I even thought about dating, not to mention the last time I got into a relationship.” Maria pulled a face at the thought of her last relationship. “Less said about that, the better.”

John hummed in understanding, “You don’t even know where to start?”

“Exactly!” Maria exclaimed, slapping the counter. “That doesn’t even touch on Susie. I know that most people aren’t looking for their partners to already have kids when they enter a relationship.” Maria said, fiddling with a strand of her hair.

“It’s her loss.” John shrugged, pushing himself off the counter. “You’re an amazing person Maria, and your daughter is adorable. If she doesn’t like either of those variables then, shame on her.”

Maria groaned, hiding her face behind her hands. “You make it all sound so easy.” John shrugged, it sounded easy because to him, it was. He wasn’t too fussed on relationships, figuring when the time was right then it would happen. He’ll admit that watching his friend’s fall into their own relationships made him think about it idly. The thought of having that one person you always think to go to first. John fiddled with his washcloth, his brain spinning the idea of a relationship around in his head.

He was fifteen, kissing a pretty boy in the back of a dusty red pick-up truck. Wondering if it really was as much of a sin to be so enamored with someone, even if they were of the same sex.

He was in his early twenties, wondering if all the sleepless nights and lack of friends were really worth what he’s running away from. Getting drunk off his ass at parties and ignoring the book and rosary shoved under his bed.

He’s nearing twenty-eight now, standing in the middle of the coffee shop that he opened by himself. Somehow with a makeshift family that he wouldn’t want to change for the world. Chocolate brown eyes and tangled hair flashed in his mind’s eye, a tug of a smile fighting at the corner of his lips.

Just like every other time Maria was on shift, the bell rung opening to reveal a woman with long hair and a light blue overcoat and white scarf. John watched amusedly as both Maria and Eliza lit up on seeing each other. “You’ll never know if you don’t try,” John said to Maria in a low whisper making eye contact with the other barista.

“Yeah,” She mumbled, eyes trailing back to Eliza as the wedding organizer untied her scarf slowly making her way to the register. “Yeah, I wanna try.” John smiled, nodding at the wedding planner politely before going back to wiping tables.

Chapter Text

John wondered what it said about him that he has made it apart of his daily routine to log onto a virtual game where he shared an island village animal villagers. He stared down at his switch, wondering if hitting Raymond with his net repeatedly was really what brought him joy in his life.

The answer was yes. The cat just had a punchable face, it’s not his fault.

“Should I be concerned?” Alex asked from across from him, they were currently at a sandwich shop, waiting for their orders to be called out.

“Hm?” John asked, thwacking the villager once again.

“You have been smacking a virtual cat for like, five minutes.”

John looked up, seeing Alex’s amused face looking back at him. They were sat in a booth, the mid day sun spilling in through the windows mixed with the warm lighting of the shop. “…I may or may not have a problem.” The lawyer stared at him for a couple seconds before his neutral face dissolved into snickers.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Alex said, reaching for his drink. The clear cup that held his lemonade was coated with condensation, the napkin that it was rested on stuck to the bottom of the cup. John watched as a drop on condensation trickled down and fell onto the table. On his screen Muffy, one of his other villagers, walked by where he was standing in game.

“Isn’t it bad manners?” John asked, suddenly realizing that he was supposed to have a modicum of manners.

“I mean,” Alex tilted his head, watching as a car passed out the window. “I don’t think I’m the right person to necessarily judge. Considering one time I went on a date I was distracted with a Wikipedia article about microwaves.”

“Why out of all things, microwaves?” John asked, saving his game.

“Honestly? I could not tell you, I was probably high.”

John snorted, “I love hearing the shit people get up to while high, I knew a guy in high school who once wrote a full length novel while high. It was awful as shit though, but he somehow got it into a book fair and made money off of it.”

Alex stared at him, slow blinking as he tried to grasp the concept. “Wait, he just, put it in the book fair?”

John nodded, “Used a pseudonym and everything.”

“What the fuck was the book about?”

“From what I remember, I think it was just knock off Treasure Planet. Group of kids get lost in space and commit war crimes. I still have the copy, only one that he signed.”

“It’s really true what they say, there will always be a high teenager who can do anything a lot better than you.” John snorted at that, quickly grabbing napkins as his drink came out of his nose. Across from him, Alex had to covered his mouth as he started to cackle.

When he was younger, John found a hobby in painting. It was nothing spectacular, just some cheap Apple Barrel paints and canvases from the dollar store. His paint brushes were ones that his art teacher gave to him, the handles caked with painted and the bristles stiff from improper washing over the years. He enjoyed it, for what it was worth. Finding himself sitting idly at parks and trying to capture the wildlife with his six-colors palette. He ‘stored’ his paintings in his friend’s houses at the time. ‘Stored’ being used as more of a code word, as his record two friends at the time were all too eager to hang his paintings up on their walls.

The hobby evolved into paper sketches and ink soon after he exhausted his bottles of paint, his work shifting into more gesture expressions and a focus on anatomy. He became too lax in the hobby though. Hi father was none to pleased that his son was wasting his time on a meaningless hobby.

John never really had the motivation to get back into the hobby, only being able to force out rushed expressions on napkins and doodles on his arm with a dying ballpoint pen. Sitting here now though, watching as Alex’s brows scrunched up, his eyes squinting as he laughed, John had a sudden itch. A need to translate all the smallest of details onto paper.

He was snapped out of this impulse as their names were called, he packed the idea into the back of his mind.

Chapter Text

Alex hasn’t been to many gyms on his own violation. Many of his visits to the gyms or his need to work out has been mandatory, first through the his military employment than later due to his work as a hero. He should probably think about getting a gym membership and working out on his own time. However, the thought of having to work out around people he doesn’t really know or care to know gives him the heebie jeebies.

Even if he did get a gym membership, he doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle the downgrade of equipment. The Hero Institute’s gym was one of the best in the states, decked out with the best equipment that could handle the abuse of multiple different powers and abilities.

The punching bags were probably Alex’s favorite. They were in a secluded away a little further away from the main body of the gym. It also helps that not a lot of people were vying to bother a guy who was beating up a bag filled with sand.

Many people, apparently, doesn't extend to Angelica Sschyuler.

The woman popped up behind the bag, grabbing onto it as it swung back and forth slowly. “Spar me.” The woman said, there was a steely glint in her eyes that had Alex bemoaning the next forty minutes of his life.

“I was doing something.” He said, shaking out his hands as she gently rocked back and forth with the punching bag.

“Yeah, and now I want you to spar with me.”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

Angelica grinned at him, a signal that he was not in fact, getting out of beating up his friend. He tipped his head back with an overdramatic groan, the LED lights of the gym making black spots appear in his vision when he blinked.

There were limited reasons why Angelica would insist on a spar, most of the time it was a mutual thing. The both of them needing to let off a little steam after getting pent up over an extended period of time. Other times, the sparser reason, was when one needed to talk about something important. For some reason, the two could only have meaningful conversations with one another while beating each other up.

Alex wasn’t willing to look to much into it.

It’s not like he disliked these sparring sessions. Quite the opposite in fact, it was nice to be able to know your opponent almost as well as you know yourself. Letting your mind turn off and simply relying on instinct and muscle memory. Angelica seemed to enjoy too, not bothering to hold her punches when the two were in the ring together.

The spars were held in a boxing court, it was with the punching bags, settled into the middle with the most natural light being allowed in.

“Are you even prepped?” Alex asked, stretching his shoulder with a wince.

“To beat your ass? Always.” Angelica said, hopping into the ring with a bounce. “Now stop being a wimp and get in here.” Alex climbed into the ring with a grumble, eyeing Angelica to see how much effort they were going to put. She was barefoot now, her leggings hooking under her foot being the only thing protecting the bottom of her feet from the cold floor. Her hands were wrapped expertly, probably have been done when Alex was too busy beating up an inanimate object. He sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, her shirt cropped to above her belly button.

Alex hopped on his feet, kicking off his busted sneakers. Shaking his head, he huffed as his bun came loose slightly.

“We counting in?” He asked, retrying his hair while keeping an eye on his opponent. Angelica hummed, looking around the room with her shoulders loose.

“Nah,” she said, just as Alex finished his hair.

Angelica rushed in low for a tackle. Alex kicked out huffing as she blocked his leg, she bounced back straightening up and pivoting on her heel to aim another kick at his head. Alex ducked down with a grin, aiming a punch to her gut.

“C’mon, spill.” She said, grabbing Alex’s wrist and twisting his arm behind his back. Alex kneeled, using his momentum to throw Angelica over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Why are you so hung up on me talking about something?” Alex asked as Angelica pushed herself off the floor. She turned to face Alex, crouched low to the ground with an unimpressed expression.

“One, you’ve been overly moody.” She said, popping up onto her feet, her fist swinging towards Alex’s face. Her fist connected with his cheek, promising a nasty bruise later. Grunting, she kneed Alex in the gut causing him to kneel over. “Two. You refusing to talk is like, a major red flag.”

“I resent that statement.” Alex said, kicking Angelica’s feet out from under her.

“Resent it all you want, it’s still true.” Angelica said, landing on her back with a thump. She laid there for a second, panting as she stared up at the skylight that framed the boxing ring. The other hero did a kick up, raising her fist in front of her with a grin. Alex matched her stance, the two falling into a flurry of punches and kicks. There were no words in this moment, both falling into the comforting rhythm of fighting.

Angelica landed a solid kick on Alex’s side. Stumbling back, Alex guarded his side with his arm. “What do you think of the mission?” He asks.

“Business as usual.” Angelica said with a shrug, “We’ve dealt with groups like this before.” She was still breathing shallowly, there was a tension in her shoulders from where she hit the ground.

Alex glanced around them, there wasn’t anyone else with them, the punching bags swaying from the AC turning on. “Yeah,” He said, rolling his shoulders. “But stuff like this isn’t really given to the newbies.”

This gave Angelica a pause, her brows furrowed as she looked at Alex. “They would’ve gotten a mission like this sooner or later.” She pointed out, “Burr said you weird about the newbies joining.”

“It’s just, it feels weird. Not to mention Peggy going on patrols by herself, Angie I’ve seen how the recent graduates operate. It isn’t pretty.”

“Alex.” Angelica said, “They got the same amount of training as we did.”

“But they didn’t, did they?”

They don’t talk about their pasts a lot. Angelica has been especially tight lipped about how she joined the Heroes Institute. But Alexander knew. It was a secret he was especially careful to keep close to his chest. What’s worse, she didn’t even realize that she was being conditioned for this life. It was supposed to be a normal boarding school, one for gifted young girls. Before she knew it, suddenly classes were more focused on surviving. Slowly, any sort of independence that the girls had was slowly trimmed down. Alex remembers the soulless eyes Angelica had when she first entered the Institute. The robotic inflection of her voice, the way she would push herself until she could barely function anymore.

“Alexander.” Angelica said, her tone was a warning in itself.

“I’m not saying they need to- they don’t need to go through the same shit we did.” He said, “But you and I both know how it’ll end if they go out on the field by themselves.”

Angelica looked away, setting her jaw in frustration. “You have to trust the training.” She gritted out, “Trust that they know what they’re doing.”

“Angie.” Alex said, close to pleading with his friend. “Please. Just think about it.”

“I have, and I don’t want to hear it.” She said with finality. That seemed to be end of their match, Angelica walking off the mat as she unwound her hands.

“Angelica-“

“I agreed to meet up with Eliza for brunch.” She said, “Just… Promise you’ll be careful.”

“When am I not?” Alex asked, that got a snort out of Angelica. Alex watched as the other hero made her way out of the gym. Her bag was slung over her shoulder and shoes dangling from her hand.

Alex stood in the middle of the boxing ring, a nagging feeling in the back of his head. Looking down at his fist, he wonders how he got to this point. Wonders if it was worth the fight. His ears were filled with a ringing only he could hear, mixing with the buzzing of the AC.