Red Fox Action Log 52:

  I tried to avoid her by saying that I needed to carry our bags in, but Sleuth said he’d get it and that we probably needed to catch up. What a jerk.

  Nora stood.

  “Hey,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. The sun through the windows set her dark skin shining, and her soft maroon sweater complimented it perfectly. It was a softer look for her. Minimal jewelry — weird.

  “Coulda let me know you were coming,” I said. “I would have got you a gift or something.”

  “I don’t need a gift. Though, funny enough, I have one for you.”

  “Really?” I asked, approaching her.

  She stepped forward, and hugged me. I hugged her back. Her body was soft, and reassuring against mine.

  “I hated watching you on the news,” she said.

  “It was more fun than it looked,” I said. “I got to jump a motorcycle into a robot’s head.”

  “I know,” she said.

  We parted. I saw Cynthia eye us carefully as she walked in.

  “This is Nora,” I said. “Maybe the best precog in the world.”

  “You’re Gem Blade,” she said, not surprised, but still in awe. How could you not?

  “You two catch up,” Cynthia said. “I’ll go unpack.”

  Nora nodded.

  “I knew she was coming,” Nora said. “But still. You get used to seeing her like that?”

  “Not yet,” I answered truthfully.

  I wasn’t sure if Nora’s frown was of concern or something else, but it was gone as soon as I noticed it.

  “I talked to Jill,” she said.

  Jesus. This was a lot all at once.

  “Oh yeah?” I said finally. “Is she okay?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nora replied. “She’s retired from field work. Carla Quick is trying to get her back out there but she’s, well, it seems like she’s got the yips.”

  “I don’t know if you call it ‘the yips’ when someone takes your arm. Maybe just ‘recovery?’”

  “If that’s true, why the hell are you still going out there?”

  “Because, Nora, I’m insane. You know that.”

  She laughed. Then she pulled a small wooden box from her bag on the table.

  “Jill gave me this to give to you,” she said, placing the box in my hands.

  I opened it to reveal a laser pistol — Jill’s laser pistol. These were custom items, made with rare, unstable materials. Not just anyone had one of these. And even retired, it was something few would consider giving up.

  I wondered what this meant? Was it an apology?

  It looked a lot like an old war semi-automatic pistol, with wood-grain pistol grips and steel, but with a glowing crystal embedded above the trigger mechanism, and no visible slide or ejector port. You’d think the glowing on it would be a liability on night ops, but I knew the crystal didn’t emit much infrared light, and that was the real danger. Once you got close enough for someone’s eyes to be a problem, you were more dangerous than they were. On the side next to the serial number was an engraved phrase ‘she’s got the guts!’ Next to that was a small Fox logo. Must be some kind of inside reference between Jill and Carla.

  “Thank you for giving this to me,” I said. “It could be a big help. But I know you didn't come here for that. Why are you here?”

  “I can’t miss you?” She asked with a playful pout.

  “I missed you too,” I said.

  “Alright,” she said in a hurry. “Let's see if we can’t figure out the Team’s next move.”

  The days passed quickly. Nora spent quite a lot of time trying to get an information center set up for Gunnar, and she consulted heavily on Sniffer Slueth’s new suit. They got the flack vest integrated into a suit system from materials repurposed or fabricated on site.

  I was able to convince him to use Jill’s pistol. He wasn’t very enthusiastic about guns either, but the pistol had a ‘less than lethal’ setting that was mostly concussive, not penetrative. Too many shots to the head wasn’t safe for anyone, but it wasn’t gonna kill someone as quickly as a bullet to the femoral artery would. He also got a new baton, as the old one was starting to show its age.

  I judged all this a sound tactical choice for the team. Not only did he need the power boost to keep up with the rest of us, but he was also the best shot.

  Marshal also had a lot of army surplus supplies and rigs for stunt work. This included wingsuits, gliders, and parachutes. We did a couple tests where Gem Blade dropped Slueth with the wing suit then sped off to go catch him. Not necessarily super safe, but maybe valuable for niche situations. He had some experience parasailing, but we couldn’t figure out a way to make that work that didn’t also make him a target. We figured we’d probably just fly him in and set him down for the next op.

  Marshal had added a sturdy helmet to his costume with a clear blastic-resistant face shield. Not rated for anything bigger than a 9mm, but should keep him from busting his face open on the next mission.

  As for me, the Fox Foundation was able to deliver my latest suit. It wasn’t much different than the last one except for having my prosthetic integrated easier. The neural connector was in the helmet, instead of glued to my scalp, which was nice.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Twitch was starting to cool a bit — less angry all the time. But she also spent a lot of time alone, flying up to the top of a tall tree to gaze out at the woods. Or peak under the bundle of cloth that concealed the sword she’d taken from the museum. I wish I could help her. I felt like I knew a bit of what she was going through.

  I wisely kept that to myself. I’d lost my arm. She had lost more than that.

  I knew she needed a mission, and so sometimes she left to find one.

  Two days in, I bumped into Nora on the stairs. She’d just exited the shower, hair wrapped in a towel, simple cotton A-shirt sticking to her skin — neck and shoulders dewy with condensation. I tried to get my brain to form words that weren’t just a wolf whistle or have an expression that wasn’t just open mouthed drooling, so I clenched my jaw, and said nothing.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” she said.

  I just nodded, and averted my gaze, looking at the trees out the hall window.

  “We weren’t dating or anything,” she continued. “We’re friends, colleagues.”

  “Of course,” I said, smiling as best as I could. That was not exactly the thing I had in mind, but I’m glad she brought it up first.

  “It was one nice evening,” she said.

  “It was more than nice,” I said. “You were kind to me when I needed kindness.”

  She smiled, and pushed past me.

  I wanted to say so many other things. I wanted to say that it didn’t need to be one night. But that would have been ludicrously self centered of me. She had better things to worry about.

  Marshal leveraged his stunt guy connections, padded them up in the best protective suits he had, then had them shoot us with paintballs. They seemed to have a lot of fun, but I didn’t much like getting hit. When I couldn’t get my gemfield up in time, they stung. Even Gunnar joined in some, though his combat prowess was limited. We ran some scenarios where we ran interference while he defused a bomb, or established a comms uplink.

  We were beginning to learn each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but we had major gaps. Gem Blade hesitated. Bronze Boy jumped the gun. I could see what we needed to do next, but I had a hard time getting BB, and even Gem Blade — who I knew liked me — to listen. I had been certified as a Journeyman Hero before I got any of my power upgrades. I wasn’t a chump. And they knew I had more experience out in the field than anyone on the team that wasn’t Gem Blade.

  All that said: why was this so hard?

  Nora continued to have increasingly bad migraines. I had trouble sleeping. One night, maybe five days in, I headed down to the kitchen to make myself some herbal tea, try to calm my mind.

  Nora was at the kitchen table with her own tea, gazing off into the dark forest. She wore soft flannel pajamas, the buttons open to a comfortable three inches below the clavicle. I knew she was probably hurting, so I didn’t stare or anything. But I sat down across from her.

  “Caffiene help?”

  “A little,” she said, still staring off at the treeline.

  “Any way I can help?”

  She turned to look at me, and her eyes softened.

  “No, you’re sweet, but no.”

  The weight of all the things I wanted to say pushed me to leave. I stood.

  “I am mad at you,” she said.

  I sat.

  “Is it something I did, or will do?”

  “Something you did,” she said, her eyes an accusation. “I don’t condemn people based on what they could do.”

  “Then what did I do?”

  She pushed the morning’s paper to me. On it was a headline ‘Monster Torches Mental Hospital.’ The lead mentioned that John Sulivan, the man I was supposed to have brought into the team, fought Whitehot and lost. She claims to have brought him into protective custody. Whatever that meant.

  “We can rescue him,” I said. I stood, “I can go get—”

  “It’s too late,” she interrupted.

  I sat again.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I gave you a plan. I gave you an order to things that would keep us safe, and you screwed it up.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I countered. “I don’t know if I can trust Sulivan. He turns into a monster. And Gem Girl was right there! I’m just supposed to say ‘see you later?’”

  “You didn’t trust me.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “I can’t protect you if you don’t listen!”

  “What’s so bad about Gem Girl joining instead of this other guy?”

  “It’s not just him. You didn’t just lose him. You lost everyone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She put her face in her hands. She growled in frustration and pain.

  “This is so hard. What I have to do now is so hard. I made a plan. I did the work. Now I have to start over. And I’m worried it’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late,” I said, standing. I put my hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugged my hand off, stood.

  “I’m going to try to get some sleep,” she said. “You should too.”

  I sighed. She ascended the stairs.

  A gazed off into the darkness beyond the windows. I took the stairs too.

  I pulled my shirt over my head but it got stuck on my stump. I growled in frustration and sat on the bed. Then I noticed Cynthia. I think I successfully hid my surprise. She sat in a rocking chair across from the bed, a satin calf length nightgown shining in the lamplight. Her hands lay demurely in her lap.

  “Need help with that?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. I’d done this plenty of times before, but it did help to have another set of hands.

  Her blue freshly painted nails sent goosebumps across my flesh as she pulled my shirt over my head. I felt the tiredness in my bones. But I also didn’t want to stop looking at her.

  “I heard some of that,” she said. “Is it too late for me to leave?”

  “I think so,” I said, running my fingers through my hair, then laying back on the bed. She sat on the edge, just barely touching my leg. She wound her fingers through mine, resting on my bare stomach.

  I stared at her delicate fingers.

  “I haven’t been like this with anyone in a long time,” she said, after a stretch of silence. It was the closest we’ve been since that day flying. She hadn’t been avoiding me so much as being exceedingly professional.

  This was less professional.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She took her hand from me, and scooted a little ways down the bed.

  “Nothing you’re not ready for,” she said — a clarification, not a defence.

  “You got a say in this too,” I said. “What are you ready for?”

  She held herself reflexively. Seemingly. I wondered if she knew what the posture did for her figure.

  “I am ready — no — I am determined to live my life. I don’t know what is going to happen in the next couple of days. I don’t know how long we have. But I don’t want to live my life with regrets.”

  “What do you regret?” I asked.

  “That’s none of your business,” she said.

  “Well, then I’ll go first,” I said, sitting up. I brushed a strand of her hair back with my hand. “I regret the day I lost my friend. I don’t regret us being there to stop Flameopath, but I regret not being strong enough to keep him safe, even if I know that isn’t fair to me. I regret not seeing White Rabbit for who she was. I have a lot of regrets.”

  “Do you regret going after me first?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She turned and leaned toward me, bracing herself with her hand on the bed, and this time I was sure she knew what she was doing.

  “So sure,” she said. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I can’t imagine a path forward without you.”

  “Can I kiss you?” she asked, almost so quiet I could barely hear her. I didn’t need to hear her. Her intent shone like a sun-trapped crystal in the light of her eyes.

  “Just once,” I said, as lightly as I could.

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