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Payback took rotational shifts for their patrols. How or why Vought decided to organize it like that, Soldier Boy wasn’t sure. He’s the one who set the schedule, though, so everyone thought the whole thing was his decision. He let them believe that it was.
He also thought he was being careful. But if anyone looked too closely at the calendar, they’d notice something: he and Oracle were paired up more than anyone else.
And that was not just a coincidence or rounding error. He’d made a haphazard effort to obfuscate it. They never went out on consecutive days. But Countess was infuriatingly perceptive.
In the central meeting room, she took one look at the weekly itinerary tacked to the bulletin-board and said, “You and Oracle are going out together tonight again?”
Soldier Boy shrugged. “If that’s what it says, that’s what it says.”
“You set the damn schedule, don’t you?”
The others in the room snapped their heads between the two of them comically.
Countess was always insolent. Always thought she could question his authority. Probably because she was the oldest besides him, and she’d been doing this for over a decade already.
“You have a thing for her or something?” Her tone was mostly joking, but there were barbs in it.
Soldier Boy’s temper spiked.
“What’s it to you, sweetheart?” he sneered. “I already told you, you don’t have to be jealous. There’s plenty of me to go around.” He glanced at the others. Everyone’s eyes were glued to him. Everyone-but-Oracle. “So what if I don’t wanna spend my night with a screeching harpy talking about chimps the whole damn time or a literal fucking peeping Tom? Can you really blame me?”
Tommy stiffened. He didn’t expect to catch a stray, apparently.
One look at Oracle confirmed she had no qualms about being paired with Soldier Boy so often. Her face was stoic, neutral, but the way she set her jaw and held her shoulders back was evidence enough she’d go toe to toe with anyone who dared to question her about it.
“Whatever,” Countess eventually surrendered. “But if you get to choose, then I want to go with Noir.”
Soldier Boy’s expression transformed into one of surprise. “Is that so? Well, I hate to break it to you, doll, but this isn’t a fucking democracy,” he snapped.
Countess flinched as he took a threatening step towards her.
He pointed at her chest, vengeance smoldering in his olive-green eyes. “And you know what? For that? Now you’re with Swatto. Mindstorm, you’re with Noir.”
Everyone knew Swatto was the worst partner to have on patrol. He was a slippery, yellow-bellied dick who would sell his own mother to Reds for a dime bag. And he had a habit of flying off without his teammates.
One of Countess’s eyebrows arched beyond the reach of her mask. “Really, Ben?”
“You better believe it, babe.”
She huffed a breath of displeasure through her nostrils, but she didn’t speak again for fear of inciting an even worse punishment.
***
Soldier Boy could (and did) drop in on Oracle at her apartment virtually any time he liked. So, you might be wondering, why did he also need to partner with her on patrol?
The answer was complicated.
For one, he’d been telling the truth when he said he preferred her to the others – but not for the reasons you might suspect. With Swatto or the twins or even Mindstorm, there was always a pressure to act. To perform. Whether they were delivering justice or not, that was surely debatable, but they were doing something. And, in his defense, this was before, before things became truly unhinged and the collateral damage far outweighed any ounce of good they managed to scrape together with the three brain-cells and sheer maelstrom of power between them. Because without Oracle, without her foresight, it was just… chaos.
And second, more simply – and as shameful as it was to not-admit, even to himself – he would take all the alone-time with her he could get. It was good to get a change of scenery every once in a while, to spice things up a bit.
And yes, of course he knew there was a whole wide world full of drop-dead-gorgeous women. But one just happened to be perpetually within arm’s reach, on his fucking team. And he hadn’t gotten everything he wanted from her yet. Not that one last thing, the most biblical, fundamental one of them all. But not for lack of trying. And he would try again. And again. Until he got it. He was always up for a challenge. Hell, he liked a challenge. And he always, always got what he wanted in the end.
Plus, he could sample the others whenever he wanted, and he very much did. But if you’ve gotta go out on patrol, why not have some eye-candy around?
***
Vought had a fleet of company-issue patrol vehicles. Wide, jet-black 1979 Crown Vics. No branding or labels in case they needed to be repurposed as getaway cars.
When the sun was setting and it came time for their shift, he and Oracle took the elevator down to the parking garage with the others. Most of the employees had since left for the day, and it was unusually barren and cavernous. The click-clack of Countess’s heels ricocheted off the concrete walls.
Sully was there waiting for them – a pudgy, middle-aged man who was tasked with managing the inventory and maintaining the cars. He handed them the keys, and then they were off.
The thing about New York was that there was always traffic. He and Oracle were headed to the Bronx. It could take over an hour to get there.
They were in the dog days of summer. Even as the sun started its vanishing-act behind the jagged skyline, the expanse of pavement sizzled in front of them. Soldier Boy rolled the windows down to let a cross breeze in, and the car filled with the echo of horns and squeaky brake-pads. Despite the heat, he used one hand to light up a Marlboro Red and relished the zing of nicotine going straight to the pleasure centers in his brain.
Oracle sent her seat back, removed her leather boots, and kicked her feet up on the dashboard. She had definitely become more comfortable around him in the recent months. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to cool down – their uniforms were oppressive. Hers, especially. Starting from the zippered V-neck of her catsuit, she was fully covered.
He caught her wiggling her now-free toes out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re lucky this ain’t my car, dollface.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “Like you would care either way.”
He leered at her crookedly to keep the cigarette from falling out of his mouth.
“I’m not one of those fucking foot-fetish freaks.” He sucked his teeth, his distracted gaze lingering on her terracotta-colored toenails. “But yours…”
While he trailed off, she took the chance to change the subject. “You think the others are getting suspicious?”
His good humor began to melt away. “I don’t give a fuck what they think,” he bit. “And you shouldn’t, either.”
She was silent, head aimed straight ahead.
“It’s just Countess,” he went on to fill the void in conversation. “She’s always fucking watching.”
“You think she’s sweet on you?”
He shrugged blithely and pushed a ribbon of smoke out from between his lips. Then, his devilish smirk began to reemerge. “Would it bother you if she was?”
They were at a red light, and he took the opening to snap his head in her direction so he could study her reaction. Her lips pulled into a thin line and a knot formed between her eyebrows.
When she didn’t speak, he knowingly teased, “It would.”
He kept the cigarette between his lips, hands free, and switched his left hand to the steering wheel so he could use his right to chuck her affectionately under the chin.
She shoved his hand away. “Don’t.”
“Aw, don’t give me that sourpuss, sweetheart. It’s the same as I said to her. There’s plenty to go around.”
He could see her jaw working as she processed his words.
“I hate it when you do that,” she said eventually.
“Do what?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know.”
“I’m just joking around, doll. Christ, don’t be so fucking sensitive.”
“You brought me out here so you could what? Taunt me?”
“If I’d known you were gonna be such a bleeding-heart priss, I wouldn’t’ve.”
She harrumphed through her nose and removed her crossed feet from the dashboard, leaving behind one dark spot where her right heel was.
“And anyway,” he went on. “You know why I brought you out here.”
His hand found its way to her thigh. She was scorching hot, even through the fabric of her uniform. His hand traveled north, and then…
She swatted him away again.
“I’m not in the mood. Not anymore.”
He removed his hand and used it to adjust the crotch-area of his own pants. His protective cup was hitting him at an odd, uncomfortable angle all of a sudden.
“Cock-tease,” he muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re the one who started it,” she bristled.
He slammed the brakes. She jerked forward dramatically, throwing a hand out to brace herself against the dashboard. No seatbelt. No need for one, when your bones are strong as steel.
“Didn’t see that one coming, did you?”
Although she was blind, she still managed to send him a look that could’ve turned a weaker man to stone.
“Alright, sheesh,” he said finally. “I take it back, okay? Let’s just forget I ever said any of that and start over.”
“You know we’re supposed to be working, right?”
“Working, shmerking.” The grin reappeared. “Hasn’t stopped you before.”
He knew from the now-familiar color of her cheeks that he was finally breaking through.
Soldier Boy wound through the streets of New York, maneuvering the car like he was steering a ship. By the time they finally reached the Bronx, it was fully dark out. He parked in a lot somewhere near the zoo, where Oracle’s super-hearing could pick up the distant growls, squawks, and yips of the animals. It seemed to be pretty deserted. As deserted as you could get in the greater New York City area, at least.
He had been chain smoking for nearly the entire duration of the ride, and tossed his last cigarette nub out the still-cracked window.
With that taken care of, he shifted his attention to Oracle. He reached across the center console and dragged his hand up her thigh again. Her quad tensed, but she didn’t push him away, either. He took that as a sign of encouragement.
Next, he leaned in close, until his lips were inches from the shell of her ear. He was sure the smell of Marlboros was overwhelming to her – hell, it was overwhelming even to him.
“You know you're the only one around here who doesn't make me want to fucking shoot someone,” he purred, voice rich and syrupy as molasses, dripping with intent.
He knew these words would be like catnip to her, and he watched closely as his prediction manifested. The vein in her long, elegant neck fluttered as her heart-rate quickened.
He cupped her face and dragged his thumb along her jawline. He continued to watch, eagle-eyed, as her plush lips parted to draw breaths in faster in an attempt to increase the concentration of oxygen in her bloodstream.
He brushed his own lips against the thin skin beneath her ear lobe. No more than a ghost of a touch, at first, but he could feel her pulse pound even faster. Then, he kissed the spot in earnest, savoring the sweet-salty taste of her on his tongue.
That was when she really reacted.
She turned her face into him, finding his lips with hers. The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was needy, urgent, and unbidden. It deepened instantly, like all the verbal sparring before this had actually just been foreplay.
She started to climb across the center console, her sense of modesty malformed due to her lack of sight, but he stopped her.
“Wait,” he breathed into her hair, which was pushed away from her face by a thick, stretchy headband. “Back.”
He didn’t give her a chance to reply. He opened the door and raced (as much as Soldier Boy ever stooped to race, anyway) around the front of the car to extract her from the passenger side and usher her into the backseat. Before he could get the back door open, she stood on her toes to meet his lips again. She dragged him forward by his vest, pinning herself against the hot metal shell of the car.
Her desire must’ve made her stop thinking straight.
“Don’t want anyone to see,” he mumbled into her mouth.
He reached behind her and forced the door open. She laid across the row of seats, still drawing him forward as he wedged his knee between her legs. He dropped down on top of her. He continued to just kiss her, his mouth leaving a hot, wet snail’s trail on all of the skin exposed by her catsuit. Then, his fingers found the zipper between her cleavage and tugged down. This gave him much-needed access to continue his expedition.
Her hands tangled into his hair, the only part of him that was really exposed, while her hips rutted up into his. It was an involuntary movement that caused a guttural groan to break free from the back of his throat. His own pelvis pressed back, guided by the same basic, animalistic instinct.
“Won’t you let me, Mads?” he questioned, breath breezing over her overheated skin, and he immediately hated how desperate it made him sound.
“You know I can’t,” she panted, eyes screwed shut as she continued to arch into the planes of his armor.
His hand slipped into the front of her suit, still gloved, but his fingertips were free.
He pulled back slightly so he could glimpse her expression as he touched her, but didn’t yield more than a couple of inches between them.
“You sure?”
“I want to,” she said, and he could tell. She gasped as he worked her like he was an expert in what she needed – which, maybe now, he was. “But you know why I can’t.”
He tsked without a single pause in his movements, eliciting a sound that was dangerously close to a whimper from her.
“Damn fucking shame,” he said, but his own voice was hoarse.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
She unfastened his pants and pushed his cup to the side. She put her whole body into it, causing him to eventually lose track of what was doing what and just enjoy the sensation of her firm flesh and tightly coiled muscles grinding against his.
But then she stopped abruptly. Her head shot up from the leather seat, nearly bashing against his.
“Do you hear that?”
He nipped at her ear, urging her along impatiently. “I don’t hear a fucking thing, doll,” he rasped.
“I definitely heard something.”
Lucidity was returning to her voice, displacing the lust, and he couldn’t have that. He tried to slip her suit over her shoulders, his tongue flicking over her breast as the other hand continued to move frantically.
“It’s just the fucking animals,” he hypothesized, his words muffled against her skin.
“No, I–” she protested, but it was cut short by a moan. “I-it wasn’t.” Now, a high-pitched squeak. “Ben, we-we re-ally should-n’t–”
“Shouldn’t what?” he goaded. Sweat was beading along her collarbone and her muscles were buzzing in anticipation. He could tell she was on the precipice.
“W-we’re su-pposed to be he-lping – ah, fuck – helping people, saving – god-dammit – li-ves.”
Now he ceased abruptly and sat back on his heels. “You want me to stop?”
“Fuck!” she whined.
He stared down at her with a wicked grin. The headband was long gone, vanished into the abyss of the dark car. Her hair, which appeared black in the dim lighting, was like an uncontained oil spill on the seat behind her. Her whole face and decolletage were flushed red, either from the friction of his beard or some sort of heat rash. All the windows in the car were fogged up and dripping with condensation.
“You said you heard something,” he said with mock-seriousness. “Use your powers, princess. See what it is.”
She threw her head back and closed her eyes. At first, he thought maybe it was just an unvarnished demonstration of her frustration.
But when she opened her eyes again, she said, “Mugging. Someone’s going to get shot, Ben. We have to go. Now.”
The words let them were on the tip of his tongue. But he swallowed them down like bitter medicine. She would not appreciate hearing that. She was still drinking the Kool-Aid. And if they had any chance of picking back up where they left off, he would have to play his part for a rare occasion.
She closed her suit up with an audible ziiip that rang out through the humid car. The residual smoke from his Marlboros still clung to the interior, mostly masking the heady scent of arousal that would’ve otherwise been all-consuming.
He stuffed himself back into his uniform, wincing at how hypersensitive and discomforted he was, and got back in the driver’s seat.
“Lead the way, sweetheart,” he drawled, lacking urgency.
She pointed through the windshield. “Three blocks straight ahead.”
He peeled off, tires skidding on asphalt. He floored it the whole way there. And, sure enough, someone was getting robbed. There were two men holding a man and woman at gunpoint. They were momentarily blinded by the headlights as Soldier Boy drove right onto the sidewalk behind them.
Then, they took off running.
Soldier Boy fucking despised foot pursuits. So he took out his Colt and fired several rounds into both of their kneecaps with laser-sharp, superhuman precision. The gunshots were deafening at close range, though not wholly foreign in a neighborhood like this. There was an explosion of blood as they both crumpled like paper dolls.
In the nearby buildings, lights flicked on as people ran to their windows to witness the commotion.
Soldier Boy trod over to the assailants at a leisurely pace, then kicked their guns out of reach. The metal scraped across the pavement and out of the sphere illuminated by the overhead streetlights.
“Well, well, well,” he mused. “What do we have here?”
After checking to see that the victims were unharmed, Oracle jogged to catch up with him.
“A couple of would-be murderers, huh?”
Both men were writhing and moaning in an ever-growing puddle of inky blood.
“Say, Oracle, how’s it work, doing time for crimes you didn’t have the chance to commit yet?”
His tone would’ve led others to believe this was a practiced, rehearsed routine between them, even though it wasn’t.
“A judge and jury can’t convict you of a crime you didn’t actually commit,” she replied.
“You hear that?”
“Please,” one of them begged. “Take the cash. Take the fucking rings. Just take it all back.” He began to empty his pockets and throw money and gold jewelry at their feet.
Soldier Boy continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Where’s the justice in that?” He glanced at Oracle, a canine grin continuing to expand across his face. “Nah. There is none. So what do you say we take a little payback on behalf of these fine folks you were going to rob and murder in cold blood?”
He stepped on the other man’s hand, crunching the bones in his fingers like they were nothing more than a couple of matchsticks beneath his boot. The man let out a roar of agony.
“Please,” he repeated. “We didn’t mean to hurt anyone, please, just–”
“Don’t kill you?” he finished, sounding bored. “Well, here’s the thing. My only other option is to bring you in. And that’s a whole fucking headache that I don’t feel like dealing with right now. I mean, the paperwork alone–”
“Ben,” Oracle interrupted. “Let’s just call the cops and get out of there. They’re not going anywhere.”
But Soldier Boy was already fired-up, sexually frustrated and annoyed. He cocked his gun and aimed it at one of their heads. He slid his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he deliberated.
Oracle didn’t dare to touch him. Not in public like this.
The figure held his sickeningly disfigured hand out over his head and cowered pathetically, stammering out pleas in between sobs. He couldn’t be more than eighteen. Barely old enough to be tried as an adult.
He noticed a wet spot begin to form in the center of his jeans, mixing with the viscous crimson blood.
“Did you just fucking piss yourself?” Soldier Boy burst out, mingled disbelief and disgust threading his tone. He let out a low whistle. “Je-sus.”
He lowered his gun and slid it back into the holster on his thigh.
“You’re lucky,” he said. “I’m feeling generous tonight. No death penalty. But it’ll be a miracle if you can ever walk normally again on those shattered fucking kneecaps.”
Oracle bent down, feeling around in the blood for the cash and jewelry. She collected it and brought it back to the victims, who were standing by watching in horror.
Someone in one of the neighboring buildings must’ve already called the cops, because only a short while later they arrived to take them in. They had no sympathy for the muggers either and roughly shoved them into the back of a police cruiser even though they were in clear need of medical attention, what with their patellas being popped like grapes.
Oracle and Soldier Boy got back into their Crown Vic and left the scene. Wordlessly, he drove them back to where they were posted before.
“Shouldn’t we call the Legend, let him know what happened?” Oracle questioned once the car had stopped.
“That can wait.”
He leaned across the center console and resumed what he had been doing before they were so rudely interrupted.
Oracle’s hand came to his face. A coppery smell invaded his nostrils as she smeared blood onto his cheek.
“Doll,” he stopped her, holding her wrist in his hand. He twisted it and examined her palm. “You’ve got blood all over your fucking hands. Here–”
He intruded on her space even further as he reached across her body towards the glove compartment. He opened it to reveal a rat’s nest of miscellaneous items, some of which included napkins. He tried to use them to mop the blood off her hands, but it mostly just left behind rust-colored flakes. Then, he angled the rearview mirror to get a look at himself. He licked his thumb before wiping the blood off of his cheek.
This time, Oracle was the one who bridged the gap between them.