Crime-fighting and wisecracking
"Wow, if that's the way you catch the bad guys, sign me up to get bust-ed," Deadpool said, walking out of the shadows, looking me up and down. I crushed the urge to look down to make sure my nipples were covered. Behind me, the bad guy stirred. I walked back quickly and flipped him on his back.
He smiled at me, trying to focus. "We gotta do this again sometime," he said, testing the zip ties. I looked at him sternly.
"We do this again and it won't be nearly as much fun for you. This was me being nice. You won't like it if I catch you again," I said flatly, pressing my boot heel into his groin. He stiffened. All over.
"I guess it's wrong that I'm turned on right now," he said.
"Yes," I said in exasperation. "Furthermore, you're not going to tell anybody about my clothing malfunction. If you do, this" I flicked the bulge in his pants with the toe of my boot, "will be a distant memory. Got it?"
"Yes," he said, looking panicked.
Then I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't have a burner phone to call the cops on the guy. As the next best thing, I dragged him out to the curb where he'd be easily seen from a passing car. I could hear Deadpool snickering in the alley, but he stayed put. I was in luck; a cop car flashed its lights and stopped in front of me. An officer stepped out and demanded an explanation, which I gave him. Minus a few unimportant details. There was a newsman doing a ride-along, noting the whole thing. As the officer put the mugger into the back of the patrol car, he came up to ask questions, finally handing me a carnation wilting on the pavement and taking my picture.
"Hey!" I said, blinking rapidly at the flash. I heard the doors close and the car roll away.
"Is is safe to come down?" I looked around and saw Spiderman on a fire escape of the taller building.
"Hey," I said, waving at him. He swung down and walked toward me. He stuck out his hand.
"Hi, I'm Spiderman," he said. I started to laugh, and Deadpool walked out of the alley.
"Don't recognize your dear old mom?" he said in amazement. "I'll grant you, she's gotten a lot hotter than when I met her. I had no idea what kind of assets she was hiding then. Wanna come and ride my unicorn, baby?" he invited me.
"Do you have an off-switch?" I asked him in exasperation.
"Right near the prostate," he winked at me.
"Emma?" Peter whispered, backing away. "Holy crap." I'd bet he was blushing.
"It appears to be an effective disguise," Deadpool noted.
"You can't go out like that," Pete whispered.
"I am fully clothed," I pointed out.
"Yeah, but...geeze!"
"She'll have guys lining up to be bust-ed by her," Deadpool cackled.
"Will you stop with that?" I asked in exasperation. Still.
"It'll be the largest mass surrender in history. Almost completely non-violent. She'll practically be the Gandhi of crime fighting," Deadpool continued, ignoring me.
"I made a miscalculation," I said flushing.
"Or two," he said, then his pervy manner dropped. "If, for example, you were accustomed to fighting in a group, you'll find that you need to change your tactics for one on one fighting. Not everybody's going to be overwhelmed by the amazing cleavage and dominatrix getup. You need to get better at jumping and work on your upper body strength. Take out your target as quickly as possible and don't be so concerned about damaging them. You might be strong for a woman, but unless you're hiding enhancements you're not telling me about, most men are going to be stronger than you and a lot of them won't mind working you over. I'd suggest you find an area of town where you can most effectively use your skills and stake it out, like Daredevil used to have Hell's Kitchen. You'll get a reputation that will dissuade some, and the good citizens seem to like the idea of a guardian angel." He patted my butt. "See you kids around!" And strolled off.
"I didn't know when I suggested you move here that you'd do the superhero thing," Peter said.
"That was an oversight, then," I said gently. "It's not like I haven't done it before."
"Yeah, but you were fully covered! And you had a team!" he burst out, and I repressed a laugh.
"And who's going to make the connection?" I asked, and I could see the comprehension dawn.
"Oh," he said. Then a more meaningful "oh," as he thought about the implications as far as visiting Avengers and my current desire to hide my activities.
"I still want to make a difference," I said gently, and after a moment, he nodded and dropped it.
"So what's your crime-fighting name?" he asked as we walked down the deserted street.
I opened my mouth and shut it again. "I haven't thought of one," I had to admit. "Shoot." I could see that there were several advantages I'd had working with a marquee team of superheroes that the street level ones didn't have--a carefully constructed persona, for example.
"That guy who was asking you questions is a new columnist at the Daily Bugle," he said glumly. "Colin James. Sensationalism. Read his column, he'll probably saddle you with something horrible, they hired him for his anti hero bias. You'll have to come up with something fast."
We chatted a bit more, then parted ways. I went back on the rooftops, but a few more hours of patrolling didn't net me any more evildoers. Quiet night. I went home. I had a lot of tactics to reconsider.
I expected not to see the newspaper column for a few days, but it appeared in the online version the next afternoon. I controlled my nerves and grimly clicked on the link.
"On my first ride-along with the police Tuesday night, we struck gold. Several criminals had been apprehended by the burgeoning population of superheroes, but one really stood out. A petty criminal, one Carl Ives, wasn't too concerned about his apprehension. He was too busy focusing on his captor, a hither-to unseen hero. Looking at her, I could see why. From the black leather boots that clung to her fishnet-clad thighs to the corset that showcased a trim figure, her appearance will probably lead minor criminals to submit to her brand of justice quietly and happily. Although most female heroes wear costumes that are tight and revealing, none so far have worn them with such a seductive awareness of their impact. The effect is almost the same as our calculated master (or mistress) villains.
"What saves this beauty from the tawdry use of her sexuality as a weapon is her demeanor. It's as if she sees her delectable curves as a simple diversion. They certainly distracted Ives, who only suffered a few bruises and a light concussion during his arrest and went into the squad car without complaint. When I asked her a few questions, her velvety voice was playful, almost sweet. Her demeanor is poised and mature. I didn't notice until later that she didn't actually answer my questions. I can't believe I didn't mind.
"Ives had this to say. "She dropped out of the sky and took me down. I don't really mind, though. Her tits look amazing. And she smells good, too." His companion in the back seat of the car, who had been subdued by the Punisher, was volubly jealous of his luck. The officer found the wallet of the man Ives had mugged, belonging to a father of three who had just been paid from one of his jobs. That was his rent money. The citizens of the neighborhood have acquired a guardian angel, it seems. I didn't get her name. I'm going to call her Poppy. Her beauty and grace are hypnotic and alluring...."
I snorted and quit reading. Looked like I had a fan, at least for awhile. My identity was surely safe, though. It didn't sound anything like me.
I was working on the solution to my...bosom problem. I was making a bolero of sorts that was shaped to fit over the girls and fastened firmly between them. The prototype kept everything in place; I jumped off the arm of the sofa and down the stairs to check. It was going to take some time to make, and I didn't want to go out every night anyway. Realistically, there isn't any way to prevent crime completely, and I was going to have to restrict myself to solo criminals anyway. Most of the ones in this city worked at least in pairs. And now they'd be alert for me. I thought about what Deadpool had said and worked on my tactics. Granted that he was hard to handle, but I had underestimated him. I owed him an apology.
Plus, I had other concerns. Foggy was closing on the loft space for my business this week, which meant that I had to get moving on that too. I was taking a couple of courses, one on enameling and the other on repousse and chasing metal.
And I'd heard from Thor. He was releasing Loki next month and would be bringing him to me. Thor had to go back to Asgard briefly and wanted to be sure to be on hand for a little in case we'd misjudged Loki, but Loki also wanted to stay for the birth of his nephew or niece. I told him that I wanted pictures, and updated him on the condition of Sigurd and Torburn; they were improving nicely. If I ever saw Baldur again, I was going to rip his nuts off with a wrench for what he'd done to them or caused them to do in protest.
I added swimming to my training; it was good for general overall strength and cardio, plus I liked it. It was nice to have something I enjoyed, since I also took up boxing. Not simply punching a heavy bag (I'd left that in the house in Seattle anyway), but relearning to hit somebody and take a hit. I needed to toughen up.
With all these changes, I was taking my time on big things. I wasn't going all out on opening my business, I was easing into a social life. Pepper had invited me to a few parties and I was making friends in the stratum of society that the news took notice of. I had managed to elude the cameras so far, but I didn't expect it to continue forever. Sooner or later, the Avengers would learn where I was. I was swimming when I wondered why it mattered, and I accidentally breathed in while my head was down. I had to stop, coughing and treading water, until my airway cleared, then started the soothing, monotonous strokes again and thinking. So what if they knew where I was? They didn't have the power to make me do anything. I was building my life. I'd finally figured out that I was moving slowly on this move because I expected to stay here for the long haul. I didn't need to rush to get projects done and rooms decorated. I had time to pick things up here and there. And I'd thought that one through without a therapist, thank you. I didn't have to be in touch with anybody from my past unless I wanted to. And I wanted to continue my friendships with Bucky and Thor and Sif. She'd Skyped to thank me for the baby quilt; she hadn't contacted me before, she said, because she didn't know what to say. I understood that. And I'd gone out on a couple of dates, one with a Wall Street lawyer who seemed intimidated by my ex-husband and a hedge fund manager who'd been insufferable. Right. Dating sucked. I'd forgotten. The main difference between the last time I'd really made a point of dating--college--and now was the restaurants were better. And part of my unenthusiastic response to the dates was that the bar had been put pretty high. Steve had his share of flaws, but he'd never been boring or relentlessly egotistical.
One bright spot was having Bucky turn up on my doorstep on another supply run. As always, it was wonderful to talk to him and he seemed happier. He was still feeling everything with the metal arm. I'd heard from Samuel that he was working on a sensor net that would provide better coverage. Once he got the bugs worked out, I might have to make a new arm to fully take advantage of the technology. Other engineers were working on better joints. Bucky was only in town for the afternoon, so we didn't have long for this visit. After he left, I had to acknowledge an attraction to him, but I doubted I'd ever act on it. His friendship with Steve was pretty much the lynchpin in his life, and I would compromise that if I acted on my attraction. I didn't want to hurt him, and to be honest, the time for hurting Steve was also past. I just wanted to move forward.
I asked Foggy to go ahead with the public filing for my business. I needed to get my business organized so I could start creating. It had started out as something to pass the time, providing a cover, but now I was really looking forward to the work. It was different from most of the things I'd ever done and I was excited to make something beautiful that wasn't for combat.
I came home after the last class in chasing and repousse feeling really good about it. I needed practice to become really good, and I had a stack of small copper blanks and the gravers. I'd signed up for private goldworking classes; I wanted to be sure that I was doing things correctly. I did not want to embarrass myself with shoddy craftsmanship.
I had to hurry now. There was a party I was going to tonight, a fundraiser for the public schools arts programs. Pepper and I were going to dinner first. I dressed in a great vintage black evening suit with my pearls and skyscraper heels and met her at the restaurant and we took a cab to the venue. We listened to a couple of speeches and arranged our donations before sipping our cocktails and socializing. She saved me from a too-persistent man seeking a date.
"I'm so glad I don't have to do that anymore," she murmured over the rim of her glass. "What was he so interested in?"
"Steve," I said ruefully. "Total fanboy, interested in acquiring something previously owned by his hero." She winced and was about to speak when a couple came up to us.
"Emma," Tony said. "Pepper. Have you met my date?" This was to Pepper.
"Constance," I said neutrally.
She stepped forward for a hug, but I stepped away and went for a fresh drink. Constance followed me.
"Emma," she said. I ignored her as I ordered a fresh drink, club soda with lime. "Emma," she tried again. "How long are you going to ignore me?"
"As long as possible," I stated.
"You've never carried a grudge before," she said. "About anything. We've been friends for so long."
"If we were really friends, you'd have found a way to let me know something was going on about Steve," I said quietly but viciously. "You'd have found a way to hint to me that something was wrong. You've talked to me about your clients before without breaking confidentiality. But you let me go into that...hideous...nightmare all alone. And I know why. You put your boyfriend over more than twenty years of friendship. Dicks before chicks. So I hope you're really happy with your dick, because that's what you've got now. And don't tell me I need to forgive or work through it. I'm entitled to my feelings, and I feel hurt and betrayed because it's a logical response when you're hurt and betrayed. It's not going away." I turned away from her hurt gasp. Pepper looked like her conversation was at least doing better. Of course, she worked with Tony.
"I'm off," I said to her, and we exchanged cheek air kisses.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said, and I nodded and ambled toward the entrance, feeling better than I'd expected to. Of course, I was leaving. I stumbled a little trying to avoid someone who'd stepped into my path and found my nose almost touching a very white shirt front. I tipped my head back and looked at a very stern-looking Bruce Wayne.
"Ms Harrington," he said, and released my arm where he'd steadied me.
"Thank you, Mr Wayne," I acknowledged.
"You look well this evening."
"Thank you." I took a final sip from my glass and set it down on the tray of a passing waiter. I returned my attention to Bruce just in time to see him try to cover up the study he'd been making of my cleavage. It was slight tonight, nothing like when I was Poppy. It was kind of weird, though. Wayne never really paid attention to women in public, even the ones he was seen with, and there were a lot of beauties on his resume.
"I'd like to take you to dinner," he said, and I blinked in surprise. We made arrangements for two nights hence, and I agreed to meet him at the restaurant. He offered to have his driver pick me up, but I declined politely. My dating experience lately had taught me to be prepared for a quick getaway. I wondered what he wanted.