Star Dust (A Paladin Adventure)

My mind went blank. "What the hell?" I said, then shook myself. Brad looked a little taken aback.

"Can we talk about this inside?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"No. But have a seat out here." I gestured toward the chairs on the porch. He sat on a chair. I sat on the railing. Loki loitered in the doorway, very quietly.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Brad began.

"Some," I said waspishly. "Go on."

"I've known about you for a long time," he said quietly. "Sort of. When I had my first girlfriend, Dad sat me down and told me that I had to be careful with sex, to always make sure there was protection, two kinds if at all possible, because sometimes it fails, and not to have sex until I was ready for the responsibility that comes if you get somebody pregnant. Then he said he'd gotten a woman pregnant and had run out on her, and that I needed to be a better person than he was." I sat there and looked at him. "It was a shock. He said that he didn't even know if he had a son or a daughter out there. It wasn't what I expected to hear. I didn't know what to say or do."

"It's rather convenient that you show up now, when she's rich and well-known," Loki said, gliding out of the doorway to stand by me.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Brad asked in bafflement. "You look just like Tom Hiddleston."

"I'm Lawrence Lord," Loki said, frost etching his words. "Emma is my aunt. A few times removed," he added, looking down at me. I almost laughed. "She does not need my protection, but she has it anyway, and it is best to discover motive from the beginning."

"A few years ago, when Captain America got married, there were pictures of them in the media. I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack. He said 'she looks so much like her mother.' So I've known your name for a few years. But Dad is dying. Lung cancer. I thought you might want to meet him," he said to me. "It's kind of now or never."

"Smoker?" I frowned, and Brad nodded. "Any other diseases that he has?"

"High blood pressure. He's on a statin," Brad looked baffled.

"Quick and dirty medical background check for that side of my genetic material," I said briefly.

"Oh. Grandma had diabetes, Grandpa died about ten years ago of a stroke," he said politely.

"Ok, thanks," I said, and stood up.

"That's it?" he asked.

"Yeah. Your dad isn't my dad. He was just a sperm donor to me. When he left my mom, he left her vulnerable to nasty innuendo. People called her a slut to her face and me a bastard. Growing up, it was like we carried a mild but communicable disease, all because that man ran. My grandpa utterly loathed him until the day he died. My grandma who never had a bad word to say about anybody swore with a surprisingly rich vocabulary at the mention of him. Why on earth do you think I would ever want to meet him?"

Brad's cheeks stained red. "He's dying. I wanted to something for him. He regrets what happened."

"Regrets." I laughed shortly. "He may have had you conned into thinking he's a decent person, but he isn't. He could have found us at any time; we never moved. He could have paid child support, lived up to his obligations. Sent a birthday card now and then. Been a real man. He could have Googled me and sent me an email. He didn't even have the guts to do that. As far as I'm concerned, he can just rot from the inside out. And I hope he suffers."

"He is," Brad said shortly.

"Who are you?"

I looked over to see Bucky walking with purpose to the porch, Steve not far behind. Brad's face went white.

"Apparently I have a half-brother." I crossed my arms.

"Really. Any other half-siblings?" he barked, and Brad jumped.

"I have a little sister. Emily." I hated her at once. Her name was too close to mine.

"Why are you here?" Steve, this time. His voice was pleasant, but his biceps flexed menacingly as he folded his arms.

"Our father is dying. I thought she might want to meet him."

"Don't let him guilt you into anything," Steve said to me immediately. Bucky flashed a feral grin.

"You should be more worried about what she'll do," he corrected Steve. "I can picture her showing up to the funeral in a nice dress. Red, or maybe something bright and pretty. Someone asking her disapprovingly who she is. 'I'm his illegitimate daughter.'" He barked a laugh. "That's if she'd bother. Does your mom know?" he snapped at Brad. His hand flexed and there was the sound of grinding metal.

"Bucky, stop," I said, and put a hand on his metal one. "If you break it, I'll have to probably make a new one, and I'm not set up for that right now."

"You made his arm?" Brad whispered.

"Yeah," I said, distracted, and examined the hand for damage. "Looks ok."

"She's quite brilliant," Loki said into the silence. "And I don't say that lightly."

The silence stretched out. "Well, I can see where you meant well, but I'm afraid that your mission of mercy has just gone splat," I said finally.

"I guess so," he said, standing up. "Well, thanks for meeting with me," he said, and offered his hand. We shook briefly, and Brad started up the walk.

"The next arm you make for me, do you think you could build in a gun in one of the fingers?" Bucky said brightly.

"No," I said in exasperation. "Gun barrels need to be straight, and your fingers flex. You know this."

"Poison dart? Tazer?"

"No, and no, Bucky. You could probably kill somebody with your eyebrows when you frown, you don't need any more weapons," I admonished him and sighed as the gate closed behind Brad and he hastened off. "Now, everybody, stop the menacing posturing. I appreciate the support, but I think I made it clear that there's no family reunion gonna happen."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he'll be back. Or that sister of his. Might as well use my reputation for something good," Bucky said. Looking around, I was torn between gratitude, laughter, and wanting to tear my hair out.

"Now that the Winter Soldier knows who he is, he should be properly cautious," Loki agreed.

"He knows that she has people watching her back," Steve said finally. "He'd be stupid to do anything."

I had to remember to shield when Loki pressed his fingers to his forehead. "So, Bucky, when do you close on the house?" I asked, and drew him to the door. I made popcorn and we all talked for a good long time. I didn't go out that night.

I put the sperm donor out of my mind aside from the lung cancer, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes and stroke; I emailed my doctor at the clinic about it and tried to forget the whole thing. I concentrated at work and sent Loki to the GIA campus in New York to inquire about their programs, especially their professional development programs. He was gone most of the day, which was fine with me. He was being overly solicitous. I know, I know, he was being nice and considerate, and it felt good to feel that caring, but enough was enough. He came back in the late afternoon with all kinds of information, including some program information on jewelry design for me. We went home, and had dinner. Later that night, I was in the mood to kick some minor league villain ass. I geared up and swung out of the window.

I had successfully thwarted an attempted break in at a mom-and-pop small grocery store around eleven, but otherwise I was coming up empty. I retreated to my high point to see if I could see more. Not really. It was a quiet night. I stood and stretched, walking over to the door to the stairwell to go down.

"Calling it a night already?" Batman's gruff voice came from behind me.

"I'll go around for a little longer, but it seems to be a quiet night."

"Good. I'd hate to kiss and run," he said, and while I was puzzling that one out, he untied the bottom of my mask. The modulator dropped out, and he raised an eyebrow to me before handing it to me and leaning down for a kiss. It was pretty spectacular; just the right amount of command. I may have underestimated Bruce/Batman. He nipped my lower lip and licked where he'd nipped before going in for more, deeper. I was surprised to find my nerves lighting up like a pinball machine. His hands ran over my body and I pressed against him. My shoulders hit the wall of the stairwell as he delicately slid one of the straps off my shoulder and kissed his way along my shoulder and up my throat to ravage my mouth again. I felt his fingers peeling down the cup, kneading my breast. I groaned--

And he was jerked back. I blinked, then put my costume to rights as quickly as I could making sure the voice modulator was in place. Batman was down and Catwoman was standing over him, her whip in hand. She looked over at me. I felt a little thrill; she was my first encounter with a name villain.

"Ah, yes, the latest media hero darling," she said. Her voice was as sexy as mine, but it was natural. Although a little snarly, just now. "Our boy is quite a playboy," she told me. "He's always got eye candy on his arm for public consumption, but in the night, when the bad girls come out to play, that's what he really lives for. There's Poison Ivy; she's playing house with Harley, so she's off the books for now, and Talia al Ghul--" she giggled daintily at my start of surprise. "Yes, she's his daughter. There have been his flings with the normals--they always end badly--and a few of your ilk, the heroines, but they never last either...he always comes back to the dark. It's where he belongs. With me, to be precise." She stalked toward me. A couple of black cats joined her. I crouched down and held out my fingers. "Kitty," I said, and one of them permitted a pat before rejoining Catwoman. I stood and she looked at me in surprise.

"I usually consider myself to be a cat person , even though I have dogs now," I said, and she reevaluated me.

She leaned against the wall. "A lot of heroes are love-'em-and-leave-'em," she said in a more conversational tone. "Harley says they're hedonists because their life expectancy isn't all that great. Mind you, she likes to get her freak on with the Joker, so she's got a pretty good insight into all that. The villains are the same way, but they do like things a bit darker, just in case you're inclined to sample the other side. That one--" she flicked her fingers at Batman--"is really the perfect compromise. He's got a dirty mind and the muscles to back it up, but unlike the villains, you never have to worry about the really painful nipple clamps or the probability of domestic abuse."

"Good to know," I said.

"I like your costume," she said. "But bustiers are hard to manage in a fight. I'll never understand how Wonder Woman does it. She probably intimidates it into staying up. Now, generally, the bad girls wear body suits and the good girls wear bustiers, but there's some crossovers, especially with the X-Men, but then that whole crowd is a little more ambiguous. And the Black Widow, but of course she used to be really bad news. The bonus of the body suit is that you can use the zipper to regulate your cleavage and it really does help in the winter if you're showing less skin. You could attempt a compromise with something like a zip-front leotard. Easier to pee in, too." I nodded, seeing the possibilities in what she was saying.

"It would be easier if you could wear a bra, too," she went on, briefly cupping my breast thoughtfully. "You're doing a great job with what you've got, but a Wonderbra would really be a boon. Unless you want to get implants, which frankly, I wouldn't advise. There was one villainess a few years ago who did, but one popped in a fight and she quit the business. You have a nice figure, anyway, athletic and trim."

"Thanks. Yours is perfect," I sighed.

"Aren't you sweet! You might want to try leather; it would play in well with your sex kitten image and it's more durable than spandex, plus if you structure it and layer it, it can help support cracked ribs. But I'd avoid patent leather; I tried that and it just shows every little scratch and graze. I don't have the time to make a closet full of costumes, you know? Day job."

"I agree," I said. "You don't want to spend all night working and then come home and sew. You never get out that way."

"Exactly. You--"

"Are you ladies going to chat all night?" Batman was on his feet, arms crossed over his chest.

"Just a moment, be patient, pet," she told him. "Now I'm no killer, I go in for the sparkly things in life, but the other girls aren't so chatty or...sane, really. So if you encounter them, I'd back off if I were you. Ivy might like you, she's always complaining about how there aren't enough plant-named supers around." She kissed my cheek and sauntered away. "I'll be around, maybe we can talk more sometime over coffee. When the Batman isn't around, that is."

I wiggled my fingers goodbye. "Good night, Catwoman. Batstiff." I winked and he rolled his eyes. Catwoman let out a silvery peal of laughter and they left. I took the stairs down, contemplating what she'd said about the advantages of a costume change.

The next day I went to a Tandy's store and bought some lovely supple leather as well as thicker, more durable leather and a kit to learn how to tool leather. And some heavy-duty snaps. I didn't want to peel off my whole bodysuit just to answer the call of nature. With my luck, that's when a baddie would jump me.

I spent a couple weeks researching patterns and learning how to produce patterns on the leather. It's harder than it looks, so I reverted a bit and made an outline drawing of poppies, executing it in aluminum. Leaves came down from inside the hip to just to the pubis, curved stems climbed the ribs, and the uppermost poppy grazed the underside of the cup. There were mirror images on both sides and it looked pretty amazing. The sleeves were long and I'd tried to use the embroidery function of the sewing machine to put poppy flowers on the cuffs, but the leather was too much. I had to use metal ones there too. I shaped the zipper pull like a seed head, but unless you looked closely, it just looked like an oval. I found a plum satin pushup bra with black lace detailing. Catwoman was right; it looked much better than the corset. I kept the fishnets, added gloves for winter, and changed to boots with a low wedge heel and traction. The utility belt was carefully shaped so that it wouldn't obscure the metal design and I made the pouches on it more streamlined and discreet. Loki liked the costume but thought I was going to freeze in it. I pointed out that I could always exchange the fishnets for thicker tights, and he shook his head in disbelief at my optimism.

"I move a lot," I pointed out. "Physical activity should keep me warm."

One thing he did that I loved was to enchant my mask; as long as I wore it, I spoke in Poppy's voice. I was glad not to need the voice modulator any more.

It took a few days for one of the roving news reporters to run into me. On the superhero page, I got a full-body photo of myself, standing hipshot for the camera. The comments were very positive.

One night around Halloween, I ran, almost literally, into Hawkeye. He was lost. "Hey, can you point me in the direction of an all-night grocery store?" he asked. He was speaking too loud. I showed him where it was, and watched through the windows as he went to a rack and started flipping through batteries. He selected a package, then took out a hearing aid and replaced the battery. I retreated. I never knew he had hearing loss. I wondered if the other Avengers did. Besides Natasha, of course.

Bucky closed on his house and held a housewarming party to which both Loki and I were invited. I went, of course. Loki didn't; he had started a night class at GIA to help him become a better salesman. I took cookies and a present in the form of a thick, knitted throw for the sofa in pretty blue heather. I stayed for an hour, then left. Interacting with all the Avengers was a strain. I went patrolling and took it out on a few petty criminals and a guy Deadpool told me had ties to the underworld. I tied him up, sat straddled on his lap, and waved my vial of perfume under his nose. I'd gotten it strong enough that it worked fast and I didn't need to wear it. I ignored the guy's erection--it happened a lot when I used the perfume--and got some really relevant information. I told Deadpool about it the next time I saw him.

"Right. Shit's goin' down, Delicious. You'll want to stay high, out of range of the bouncing bodies and odd limbs flying by. First there will be utter carnage. Then cake! You can come with if you want to stick around. Maximum effort!" And he was off. I took his advice and stayed up. It was my first experience with his healing factor. It was nauseating and pretty terrifying, all in all.

I tried not to freak out when he showed up after the fight. "Well, that was as much fun as a sandpaper dildo," he said. I tried to smile. "That's why I wear red," he said, groaning. "So the bad guys can't see me bleed. And the babes in leather don't run screaming."

"Is there anything I can get for you, Deadpool?" I asked politely.

"Nope, it all grows back. Wade."

"Wade where?"

"It's my name. Wade Wilson. I think. I don't know that I remember everything from before the treatments right."

"You sure you don't need anything? Stitches, pressure bandages? Swift and efficient medical intervention?"

"Ain't no doc who can fix this," he said. "Did someone say, "Chimichanga"? Never mind. That was just the sound of my skull and brain healing. Tell you what I could use, though. Tacos. You have any idea how hard it is to find a joint that'll serve a guy in a mask and bandolier? They won't even let me into Taco Bell!"

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I came back with a couple boxes of tacos from Taco Bell. I figured healing like that would take a lot out of him. "You're surprisingly cool for an Avenger."

"I'm not a Avenger," I said calmly.

"You were, though. Believe me, I am never wrong about the bodies of people I'd bang. You were that gal with the big knife on a stick." I closed my eyes. "Banging Captain America, too. That's quite the team up. But seeing as how you just bought me tacos, I suppose I can keep that information to myself." He took of his mask to eat. I kept my face calm and pleasant. "And just for that, I'll also stop imagining you naked and screaming my name."

"'Preciate that," I said. I waited until he finished, then stuffed the trash in the bag. He stretched and yawned. "Well, I'm off, Mrs America. Or if your ex was a captain, what are you? Private America? Privates? No, you were bust-ed from the ranks. I crack myself up," he said. I rolled my eyes and went home.

And I almost got there. I was walking up the street when I heard screams from inside a house. It was Bucky's house.