“Fortune reigns in gifts of the world"
Several days after my fairly disastrous attempt to be an open book to my Soulmates, my boots touched down on our rooftop garden before the sun had even risen. Luna wasn’t home, but I hadn’t expected her to be. We were fast approaching the season of finals and so I imagined that Luna was spending the vast majority of her time down at the theater with her students, or with her Soulmates, now that she was somehow on decent terms with them (or at least working up to it).
As for me . . . all I wanted was a bath. A long soak with a few bottles of something bubbly while the sun rose . . . And then perhaps, an epic shopping spree. Yes, retail therapy to compensate for what a little wanton destruction hadn’t cured.
Almost two glorious hours later, I was almost ready to face the day, albeit for a day slightly warmer than today was supposed to be, but I didn’t plan on sitting still long enough to get cold. Short black wrap skirt over black tights, knee-high leather boots that I paid a fortune for to go over my wide calves, vintage white silk blouse, and a black vest—all I needed was my trench coat and red lipstick and I’d be good to go. (I was considering a hat, but that might be a little too Carmen Sandiego . . . maybe that was exactly a reason why I should?)
. . . which was of course why the intercom had to buzz. I suppressed a sigh—you’re impeding my forward motion!—and hit the button. “Speak.”
“Excuse me for the intrusion, Ms. Suero,” came Mark’s voice on the other end, “I’m sorry to bother you, especially so early, but there are a couple of . . . gentlemen to see you. They insisted on being shown up. I did try to tell them that you would see no one but—”
I called one of my tablets to me and tapped a couple of buttons and then stared. I’d had a vague sense of what I’d see, but that still didn’t prepare me for the reality of one Doctor Bruce Banner and one Captain Steven Grant Rogers outside my door, surrounded by a proverbial army of doormen, security, concierges, and persons from the cleaning staff. (Since Luna and I treat people from all walks of life like human beings, the staff in our building were a mite protective of us.) That scene in the movies where they march the villain down the hall surrounded by guards? Yeah, the only way this could have resembled that scene more would have been if they’d added shackles—and my brain wanted to go somewhere terrible with that. But no, no time for that—shopping awaited.
“No, its fine, Mark. I’ll see them. The honor guard was much appreciated, but you all can return to your work. I’ll invite them in once I’m decent.” Mark responded with an affirmative and then he and the cadre of workers began to leave, some more reluctantly than others. Apparently my “guests” were “awfully shifty looking.” I had to smile at the idea that someone would think Captain America (especially) was “untrustworthy” but once the last of temporary ‘honor guard’ had left, the smile fell away and I opened the door and leaned against it to block the doorway.
“So, this is a turn up for the books. What can I do for you boys?” I was aiming for cordial and fell rather short of the mark.
Bruce (did I still have permission to call him that?) had the nerve to stand there looking all nervous what with clasping and unclasping his hands, slouching just a little, and cocking his head just slightly so he was looking at me sideways through those stupidly long lashes in that (Sherlock) purple shirt of sex and his damn fluffy hair and why am I such a sucker for the vulnerable eyes? It’s so no fucking fair . . .
“I came to apologize, after the other day, well, we, things.” He took a breath and pushed his glasses up before trying again. “We didn’t leave things on a pleasant note and so I’m hoping we can try again.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“You said it yourself; you didn’t ask to be this way.” There was more, I know there was more, I could practically hear it—no, stop listening! This is part of the problem!—but the Captain decided that this was a good time to interrupt. (Rude much? I thought that Captain America wasn’t allowed to be rude?)
“That may very well be but I am here to ask you about a series of suspicious explosions in South America over the past couple days. And the conveniently tied up piles of known drug runners left nearby after another convenient anonymous tip sent in to the authorities.” I didn’t know Captain America that well, but I’m pretty sure that I was being given ‘The Eyebrows of Disappointment’ right about now.
I waited. And waited. Letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably while I made an “and?” face at the blond supersoldier. “Was there a question in there somewhere?”
Eyebrow intensity upped to an eleven, he asked, “”What do you know about it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” Ooh the sarcasm was strong in this one. “All over the news? Raging fire and millions of dollars of drug paraphernalia seized and at least two major cartels nearly decimated in the last couple days? Days where you were suspiciously incommunicado?”
“Really?” I said and purposely widened my eyes as much as I was able to, “How extraordinary.”
Captain America just continued standing there, staring at me. “Do you believe that playing the innocent is going to work here?”
I laughed, “Oh, sugar, if you knew my thoughts, you’d know that innocent is the last thing I am. But I am still wondering why you’re asking me about these strange occurrences. And I am very sorry that I can’t be of more help to you.”
My purse floated from inside my penthouse and hovered next to me. Cap looked away from our staring contest to stare in shock at my bag, Bruce too.
I grabbed my bag and stepped forward, letting the door shut and lock by itself behind me and started down the hall.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Captain America exclaimed with an irritated edge to his voice. “I wasn’t done.”
“I am.” I turned my head over my shoulder and cocked a brow in his direction. “I’m leaving now, so you can either stand there and let my security system deal with you, or if you must, you can continue this conversation on our way.”
Tilting my head in Bruce’s direction, I offered him a small smile, “You can come too, if you want. I don’t think our conversation is quite finished.”
“Where are we going?” Bruce asked while Cap scowled even as they both followed after me.
“Shopping, boys!” I said with a sunny and slightly maniacal smile, “you’re welcome to come along—if you can keep up.”
***
That was at 8:30 in the morning. When I strolled into the Tower at 6:15pm with Luna at my side, the Avengers straggling in, exhausted after us, I just had to say it, "Aren't you all so glad we were taking it easy today?"
"That was taking it easy?!" somebody asked breathlessly from behind us.
“Of course,” Luna responded, giving voice to both our thoughts, “we certainly weren’t going to go all out when you’ve never done this before. We aren’t monsters!”
I cleared my throat pointedly and Luna corrected herself, “Well, most of the time we aren’t monsters.”
She rounded on me, “You are certainly a monster though, getting me out of bed so early this morning to go shopping!”
“It was for charity.”
“. . . fair point, that is one of the few things worth getting out of bed for,” Luna conceded. Plus the fact that when she and her other Soulmates met us outside Macy’s this morning, I had a piping hot extra-large London Fog for her, like I generally do when a Shopping Trip™ was my idea. (When it’s hers, she brings me an extra-large Dirty Vanilla Chai, three shots expresso, two extra pumps syrup).
On this trip though we had help, Luna enlisted the help of her other Soulmates to come with us, mostly to be our gophers because as much as we like the selfish shopping, retail therapy was primarily about spending as much money as we could, buying out whole stores if we can, to fill the proverbial coffers of the couple dozen shelters we help support throughout the five boroughs.
Our “army” of delivery people waited for us outside each store, most regulars given how often we did this. A number of them were Luna’s current or former students and the techies from her stage performances. Best yet were the sweatshirts, ball caps, etc. our regulars were wearing, our prototype ‘swag’ with our tongue-in-cheek “Don’t Scrooge This Up” Foundation logo.
We greeted them all by name, Luna’s Soulmates got a few looks, but even Stark kept his mouth shut after he saw our foundation’s logo, and they apparently passed because no one stopped them for autographs or photos or anything .
Then Luna and I went to work, flashing the fancy platinum cards as we went. We basically bought out the stock of at least four stores and supplied easily a couple dozen shelters with their necessary supplies. Stark earned his brownie points today, trying to keep up with and/or trying to match the funds we spent, emphasis on the try. Not even Tony-Goddamn-Stark can keep up with Luna and I on a Shopping Trip™.
All of Luna’s Soulmates earned their brownie points today (and Bruce, bless his heart) ferrying bags and bags back and forth across stores to various delivery people and then racing back through stores or in a few cases up and down city blocks to catch up to us.
At one point Luna looked up and said, “I could have sworn I had more Soulmates than this.” Apparently she had sent off an Avenger Soulmate with a “Take these to ______ shelter for me, would you?” due to the similar color of their hoodies. Which was well and good because the shelter still got their stuff, but Luna would rather the Soulmates stay close by—note to self: ask Luna what happened while I was away to make her more amenable to the whole ‘Soulmate’ thing in the first place. Which prompted her to magic up T-shirts for all of them that read “if lost, please return to Luna”. And then a shirt for herself that read “I am Luna” across the front . . . and on the back, “If I am lost, please return to Rin.” for the express purpose of the look on her Soulmates’ faces when she turned around. (Tony actually Googled “ways to legally change your name” or something like that upon seeing her shirt.)
Later on, Luna and I exchanged a look and we each deliberately threw something fragile in random directions—but there was no crash. Those superspy Soulmates of mine (and Sam, bless his heart too for trying to keep them in line) had decided to tag along (aka “spy”) on us (me) and were doing an excellent job at staying out of sight of the whole group . . . except as I snarkily told them, “Sneaking up on a telepath is impossible,” before I thrust bags into their hands. (Except Bucky, Steve or Sam would take the bags from me and then hand them off to him—he wouldn’t come anywhere near me. And Clint, I actually had to set the bags on the ground and back away before he’d pick them up.)
“For charity,” I had said and even the Black Widow herself stared at me with eyes that had I been anyone else might have made me weep, but still took bags to their designated delivery person without complaint. Or any word actually.
The three spysassins (spies and assassins, a friend taught me that one) actually didn’t say a word to me the entire day.
Sam managed to catch me for a few moments and apologized for a bad second impression and asked for a do-over which I accepted, considering that the fault for this whole situation could technically be laid at my feet—there had to have been a better way to have those conversations than squishing them together in an info-dump, but I didn’t see how except having each conversation individually, with each individual Soulmate and that wasn’t fair either.
Bruce and I managed to exchange a few more words when I asked him how he was the one who ended up at my door that morning. He told me that he and Sam flipped a coin to see who would come apologize to me and who would attempt to run damage control with the rest of my Soulmates. “So who won that one?” I asked him but we were both distracted by yet more shopping and I never did get an answer to that one.
Luna and her Soulmates weren’t on the best of terms yet (because oh man can that woman hold a grudge) but they were getting there, flirting at every handoff (when her fellows weren’t actively looking like they were gonna keel over because of the work we were putting them through) and just overall being cutesy.
It wasn’t what I wanted for myself, nor had I ever wanted that with previous partners, but now that all my Soulmates were right there, I knew who they were and everything, and yet three of them wouldn’t even look at me.
And that . . . hurt, I think is the right word—with the emotional depth and breadth of a teaspoon, I am clearly not the best judge of emotions, or even of having them.
Intellectually I knew it was early days, and with the exception of the long “need-to-know-possible-consent-issues” talk, I hadn’t really even had a full conversation with any of them. I was gonna need time, but considering who and what I was, and the lives my Superhero™ Soulmates lived, time was one of those things I wasn’t sure I’d always have.
But it was not in my nature to give up either, so patient I would be, space I would give, the whole thing. Which was exactly what I tried to do after we strolled into the Tower; if the majority of my Soulmates weren’t comfortable with me in their space, then I shouldn’t go there. Unfortunately Luna said that Pepper wanted to talk to us about Thanksgiving, which was right around the corner, so come up for a bit I would.
At the very least though, I wouldn’t ride the elevator with them. Squishing into a narrow metal tube with people who weren’t comfortable in my presence was one of those ‘not good’ things I was supposed to be avoiding. (Though, when I considered how dead on their feet the Avengers were, I don’t think they would have noticed.)
Plus telepaths and enclosed spaces with lots of people weren’t always the best idea anyway, so like a mature adult, I challenged Luna to a race up the stairs: levitating and flying respectively. One of the Avengers outright groaned when we (“both too ‘perky’ for our own good considering the ‘beating’ we laid down on them”) got ready.
With shouts of “On your left” and “on your right!” we set off, and damned if we didn’t beat the elevator up to the 80th –whatever floor—
Where we ran right into one Director Nick Fury and Agent Phil Coulson (oh fuck! We’ve been discovered!) in the common area who stared at us and then stared at the elevators when they opened up to reveal the exhausted Avengers, stumbling out with aching muscles and bleary eyes.
“What the fuck did you do to my Avengers?”
“I’m pretty sure that by definition, they’re technically our Avengers.”
“What?!”
“Oh don’t you start that with me again!”