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It’s a boring gig. Mob stuff usually is. Intimidate a few guys, ice a few more. Only follow orders from the boss, don’t get caught in any mutinies, never tell anyone your rates. It’s the kind of shit Cameron could do in his sleep. He’s bored out of his mind when the guy they’re conducting business with says he has a “peace offering.”
Now, in this type of work, a “peace offering” could be anything from an informant to a free pass to operate in their territory to a million dollars in cash to a wedding cake. No matter how things shake out, if he doesn’t pay attention he’ll lose his payday, so he shifts his stance and pretends to care. Cameron only starts expecting shit to get ugly when they toss a body bag on the floor. Everyone else does, too, but the other guy doesn’t look concerned as they fumble for guns.
“Caught him sniffing around your turf,” he says as someone else unzips the bag. “Figured I’d take out your trash for you.”
Cameron steps closer to his employer, letting the air around them chill a bit. Someone kicks the open body bag, drawing out a pained-sounding noise. Informant, then. Not a problem for him, at least.
Then they turn the bag over and dump Houman out onto the floor.
He’s… Jesus, he looks bad. More cut and bruise than person. Fuck, is that a bullet hole? Isn’t there anyone designing costumes with Kevlar these days? Or, shit, if they are, how close range was he? Last time Cameron saw a superhero that looked this bad, it was Hourman again. Back when he took a spear for Artemis.
By all rights, he shouldn’t care. He should let his current boss shoot Rick in the head and be done with the whole affair. No one will know he was part of it unless somebody brags, and the mob tends to be good at keeping things locked down when it comes to capes. Hourman will turn up when someone pulls his waterlogged body from the river or fishes him out of a dumpster a few miles away, the world will mourn, and Cameron won’t have to think about him or Liberty Belle ever again. Let the debt between them die on this floor right now.
Unfortunately, Cameron’s not that kind of guy.
Okay. Think fast, because they’re all already pulling out their guns to aim at Hourman’s skull, and Cameron doesn’t actually want his brain to get turned into paste.
He leans over to the boss, making sure to telegraph his suspicion. “I’ve seen Hourman up close,” he says. “I don’t think that’s him.”
The guy who dropped Rick on the ground looks at him doubtfully. “...Really?”
“Yeah, he’s got the costume,” Cameron acknowledges, “but there’s just something about him that’s off.” He kneels down, pretending to think. Rick and Jesse all but broadcast their real names from the top of the Empire State Building with their faces to match, so they’re not leaving him in the best spot. But… He pulls out a few strands of Rick’s hair and inspects them critically against his palm. “Oh, yeah. There we go. The real Hourman’s a blond, he just dyes his hair because he thinks it makes him look cool. This guy’s roots aren’t showing.”
Cameron thanks Neron that a lifetime of bullshitting has made him able to deliver that kind of lie with confidence.
“Well, either way, he was sticking his nose where he shouldn’t have been,” the guy who dropped Rick says, shaking off his disappointment at not having delivered the prize pig he thought he was with remarkable speed. “I’d be happy to take care of him for you.”
Oh, shit. “I’ve got it,” Cameron volunteers. “I mean, what do you pay me for if not icing trespassers, right?”
Cameron looks at his actual boss on this job for approval. He probably wouldn’t take kindly to Cameron getting directions from his business partners. But he nods and gestures to the guy who showed up with Rick. “We should talk,” he says. “Your gift is more than appreciated. Icicle, take care of it.”
Cameron shoots a thumbs up and a grin that he hopes comes across as genuine and goes to “take care of it.”
“T,” Cameron hisses into the phone when he hears Artemis pick up the phone. “Someone pulped Hourman.”
A pause, then—“Where are you?”
“Mob gig,” Cameron says. “New York proper. I’ve got him out in an alley, told the don it was some guy playing dress-up—oh, shit, he’s waking up.”
Hourman—Rick’s stirring with a groan, fingers clenching and unclenching in twitchy bursts. Blood drips down his face in fresh spurts, staining his teeth when he grimaces. Only when his arms weakly raise does Cameron realize that he’s trying to activate his powers.
“Hang on,” he tells Artemis, dropping to his knees next to Rick’s head. He doesn’t bother putting Artemis on speaker, just popping her into his pocket. He puts his hands on Rick’s wrists, holding them down to the concrete. “Dude, don’t do that.”
Rick scowls, eyes opening. “G’off me.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” Cameron says, looking at his drastically different sized pupils. “You’re really whacked out, man. It’s me, okay? Icicle? I’m gonna try to get you out of this, but you’ve gotta listen to me or you’re dead.”
Rick tries to glare through the blood. Cameron’s not sure if he understands a single thing he’s saying, which is… not great, to say the absolute least.
“Just sit tight and don’t move,” Cameron instructs. “This is going to feel a little weird, okay? Just roll with it.”
This isn’t Cameron’s first rodeo when it comes to stabilizing potentially life-threatening injuries, at least. It’s not even his second or third. Occupational hazard. Rick hisses in discomfort and squirms but luckily (or maybe not luckily) doesn’t have the strength to start fighting him off. Ice creeps over any injury Cameron can find, sealing gashes and knitting to itself to stop them from worsening. It won’t save his life, Cameron doesn’t think, but it’ll keep him alive for now as long as he gets medical attention soon. There’s also nothing Cameron can do about the brain damage. Who knows what kind of concussion Rick’s got right now?
Ah, right. Tigress is in his pocket.
He takes his phone back out. “Sorry, babe. It’s not looking great. Had to pull a Gotham.”
“That bad?” Cameon can practically see Artemis raising her eyebrow. Neither of them particularly enjoy reminders of how he had to ice a bullet wound in her calf. “I’ll get my gear.”
“I’ll send you where he is. I’ve got to get back inside. I’m gonna put some trash on him,” Cameron says, half talking to himself. “Just signal when you get here.”
Rick doesn’t fight when Cameron starts piling nearby debris on him, which could be a good thing or a bad one depending on if he’s still because he understands that he needs to stay discreet or if he’s actually too weak to move. Cameron’s especially worried about how his lower body hasn’t moved at all. Not even a little kick or scuff. He knows what that might—might—mean.
What kind of mercenary is he, caring about shit like that? Bill’s probably rolling over in his sleep somewhere. Maybe he could make it selfish; if he saves Rick’s life, that could fulfill his debt to him for taking that blade for Artemis. For bringing the Tachophixyl to them. For not saying anything about the tears frozen to Cameron’s face in the mountains.
Yeah, right. Where one debt is erased, three more spring up to take its place.
God, he hopes Artemis gets here soon, or things are going to end badly for everyone.
“He doesn’t look good,” Artemis agrees, looking at Rick laid out on the couch. She’d been able to find a place for “rent” (meaning a borderline illegal Airbnb knockoff scheme) so they didn’t have to haul Rick back to their current apartment.
“I know,” Cameron says. “Nasty head injury, too. He was on a whole other planet when he woke up.”
“He’s lucky they only shot him once, and not in the head,” Artemis remarks. “Think we can get his clothes off without killing him? He’s soaked from the ice.”
“If he dies from hypothermia after all that, Belle’s going to hang me in the middle of Times Square,” Cameron says despairingly. He bends down to start obligingly stripping Hourman before a thought occurs to him. “How do we even get this thing off?”
Artemis rolls her eyes at him and gets to work, peeling off his cape, then his boots, then his socks, before finally tackling the main suit. Cameron’s ice seals come off with them, leaving the wounds exposed to the open air. It makes Rick start rousing again, shivering and groaning as he comes to. Artemis firmly pushes him down by the shoulders, which reassures Cameron that she has some confidence in his stability.
“Stop that,” she says. “Do you want to bleed to death?”
“Ow,” Rick whines. Oh, yeah, that slurring is bad fucking news.
“How does this keep happening to you, man?” Cameron sighs. “T and I are going to stitch you up, but you’ve gotta stop putting yourself in these kinds of situations.”
“Doesn’t… Doesn’t happen often,” Rick mutters, vaguely insulted. “Not my fault… criminals keep… Where’s Jesse?”
“I’m sure she’d love to be here, but it was my gig you interrupted, so you’re stuck with us,” Cameron says bluntly. Maybe more so than necessary.
“...Work for the mob?” Rick tries to look at Cameron and ends up squinting roughly to the right of him.
“Guy’s gotta make a living somehow,” Cameron says. “I’m just hired muscle. They want me to be a gun they can point at whoever pisses them off, only I’m also the big sign saying not to piss them off. It’s easy money when you’re pretty like me.”
“And you’re damn lucky he was there,” Artemis adds after shaking her head when he called himself “pretty.” She inspects the bullet hole sluggishly bleeding onto the white couch. “He saved your ass. The least you can do is not judge us for how we stay alive.”
“Yeah,” Cameron chimes in, not really all that upset. “I could have left you on the floor and fucked off forever. You’re welcome.”
Rick tries to huff and ends up just wincing. “F’n. Thanks.”
“The good news is you’re stable,” Artemis announces a minute later. “The bad news is you’re stuck with us until I think that won’t change if you try to walk out of here.”
“Jess could get me t’Mid-nite,” Rick says. He tries to rub his forehead. “Head’s killing me. Think I have concussion…”
“Try the mother of all concussions,” Cameron says.
Rick’s eyes flutter closed briefly. “Yeah. Think someone kicked me in the head?”
“Happens to the best of us,” Cameron says. Or at least it’s happened to both him and Artemis.
“Gotta call Jesse,” Rick says. Despite that, he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to move. “Prob’ly worried sick.”
“You remember her number?” Artemis asks. From her tone, Cameron can tell she’d be amazed if Rick is able to remember his own name.
Rick screws up his face and then blearily rattles off ten digits. “That’s hers or mine,” he says. “I think it’s hers.”
“We’ll call when you’re in better shape,” Artemis says. Cameron doesn’t even remember the numbers, but Artemis has a mind for things like that. It’s why she and the Thinker get along so well. “How did they even catch you?”
“Tail end of my hour,” Rick rasps. “Jumped me fifty-seven minutes in and held out until my time was up. Don’t think it was on purpose. Not that smart.”
“Definitely not that smart,” Cameron agrees. “I convinced them they had the wrong guy.”
“Th—” Rick cuts himself off with a hiss of pain. “Fuck.”
“Sorry,” Artemis says. “Frostbite’s supposed to be distracting you.”
Rick gives Cameron a hurt look. Cameron shrugs. He was. T always lets him talk her ear off when she’s sewing him up. Bill is less tolerant of it, which is why he bailed back in the day whenever Cameron got so much as a scraped knee.
“It’s, uh—” Rick twitches and jerks his head with a sharp inhale. “It’s really starting to hurt.”
“Pain means you’re alive,” Artemis asks briskly.
“It really hurts,” Rick gets out, starting to squirm. Cameron can see the sweat shining on his face. There’s some panic building in his eyes, too.
“That means you’re really alive,” Artemis snipes back. “Snowflake, come hold Hourman still so he doesn’t accidentally stab himself.” She holds up her tweezers. “A headlock should work.”
Rick’s not fast enough to get away before Cameron follows orders and grabs him, although he doesn’t opt for a headlock. It’s more efficient to hold Rick’s back to his chest so he can’t crawl away. Obviously that’s why he does it. And if Rick lolls his head back so the back of his skull is resting on the crook of where Cameron’s neck meets his shoulder, so what? It’s because he knows he doesn’t have the strength to fight back and hold his own for thirty seconds, much less win.
“Cold feels nice,” Rick acknowledges through gritted teeth after a moment of white-lipped perseverance through Artemis’ ministrations. “But can you please just—just say something, I can’t—”
“Oh,” Cameron says. He hadn’t realized he was still supposed to be doing that job. “Uh… okay. Did you catch the game last week?”
“You watch sports?” Rick somehow manages to sound incredulous.
Artemis snorts but doesn’t let her hand jostle. Cameron glares. “Hey, don’t stereotype.”
“No, you’re right,” Artemis tells Rick. Her eyes glitter. They’re a deep, beautiful brown, and Cameron wonders if Rick’s taking the time to properly appreciate them like he should. She says they’re just like her mom’s. They match, a little. Her with her dark eyes and him with some of the lightest the human body is physically capable of having. “But he’s learning.”
“I’ve always liked basketball,” Cameron protests. “You just turned me on to all the other stuff.”
“He didn’t even like hockey,” Artemis says. It probably sounds scornful to Rick, but Cameron can tell she’s just teasing him.
“If you’re both done, I asked you a question,” Cameron says. He doesn’t dare prod Rick and accidentally aggravate his injuries.
“Sorry,” Rick mumbles. “Didn’t see it. Busy helping Dad remodel the garage. He wants me to have an art studio. Think he’s trying to make it up to me for all the macho stuff when I was a kid…”
“You do art?” Cameron asks. “What kind?”
“Now who’s stereotyping?” Rick tries to joke, but it turns into a pained hiss. “Mostly—painting, drawing. All visual arts. No good at theater stuff, and Dad didn’t like it anyway. When are you going to take the bullet out?”
“Now,” Artemis says, and pulls.
Rick makes a broken sound and thrashes in Cameron’s hold. Even without his hour, he’s strong when he’s got adrenaline coursing through him, and Cameron has to fight to keep his grip.
“Done,” Cameron says when Artemis holds up the slug. “You’re lucky you only got shot once.”
“Yeah, lucky,” Rick wheezes, his face slick with exertion. “Fuck, I don’t even remember them shooting me.”
“Brain damage will do that to you,” Cameron says sagely. Without his permission, his hand comes up and starts carding through Rick’s thick brown hair, which is currently clumped with sweat and blood. “Seriously, dude, you’re lucky you didn’t get turned into ground beef.”
“I feel like I did.” Rick tries to shift and Cameron adjusts them both accordingly. “I don’t think this ever happened to my dad.”
“Yeah, I think I’d remember if I held him down,” Cameron says flatly. Rick snorts and then goes silent for a few minutes. Just long enough for Cameron to start getting (ugh) concerned. “Hey, sport, don’t go fading on me.”
“Don’t call me that,” Rick complains. “Just… feels… what you’re doing is…” He swallows. Cameron can’t see his throat bob, but he’s close enough to hear it. “What you’re doing feels nice. With my hair. Keep it up.”
“I won’t call you sport if you don’t give me orders,” Cameron bargains, but he keeps petting his hair. Might as well give him something nicer to focus on than what Artemis is up to.
Rick swallows again. “Where’s—how’s—”
“She’s good,” Cameron says, successfully guessing what he’s going to ask. He’s not saying where she is, though. Not because he doesn’t trust Rick—wait. No, he doesn’t trust Rick. Of course he doesn’t. Dammit. He just also doesn’t want it getting back to anyone else. And that’s “anyone” including the Chambers-Tylers. Right? “Just started saying her first words.”
Rick grins, a surprising expression on such a battered face. “Yeah? What are they?”
“‘Mama,’” Cameron says, then puffs up a little. Rick’s back shifts against his chest. “But ‘dada’ was her second, and now she says all kinds of stuff.”
“She learned how to say ‘snow’ so she could tell him to make it for her,” Artemis says as she pulls out some gauze patches.
“Aww,” Rick coos. He’s slurring a little less now. That has to count for something. “Ah—Ti—T. How long until you’re done?”
“You’re doing great,” Artemis says, which is not an answer.
“That makes me feel so much better,” Rick grumbles. At least he’s feeling well enough for sarcasm. “Are you sure we can’t call Jess?”
Artemis ignores him. Cameron doesn’t, because Rick is trying to twist his neck to look at him pleadingly, but he still tries for about thirty seconds. “Look. She’s probably busy. I know you’re her husband, so she’ll drop whatever she’s doing to come save you, but you’re probably out of the woods. All she’d be doing is rushing you to a hospital, right?”
“I like hospitals,” Rick says. “They give you pain medication.” His mouth twists up in a little grimace like he said more than he meant to say, although Cameron doesn’t actually know what he might have let slip. “And if you’re going to say they ask questions, they do, but Doctor Mid-nite won’t.”
“He should,” Artemis says idly. “Like why you were stupid enough to get in a fight when you knew your hour was almost up.”
Cameron knows her too well to think she’s actually reprimanding Rick. The thought strikes him, suddenly, that she likes him enough to pretend otherwise. There are some people Artemis openly admires, like her dad and the Thinker. The ones she loves fiercely, with all the fury of her feline namesake, like her mom and Isabelle. Then there are the people dangerously close to her heart that she has to pretend haven’t nestled themselves there. That’s where Cameron is.
He didn’t realize that’s where Rick was, too.
(He had something of an idea for Jesse, though. Artemis had made her a permanent part of their lives, when she insisted on their baby girl’s name. No surprises there, at least not anymore.)
“They attacked me,” Rick objects. “And… people could have needed help…”
“Right now meaning you,” Cameron points out. He’s still stroking Rick’s hair. Artemis never lets him play with her hair unless she’s so badly injured she can’t bring herself to care.
“Better me than an unlucky civilian,” Rick says. “They don’t get to have two big softies patching them up.”
He yelps when Artemis pokes him, hard, on one of his new bruises. Cameron nods sagely. “Softie,” he says. “That’s how I’d describe her, too. Just a big, cuddly pile of warm fuzzy feelings. That’s T, all right.”
“Keep talking,” Artemis says sweetly. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to test out my new taser.”
Rick tries to smile, face still drawn and sweaty. He breathes heavily through his nose for a few seconds. “I, uh. I didn’t mention it, but. I don’t think Jesse would come pick me up, anyway.”
“You been sleeping on the couch lately?” Cameron snickers as Rick repositions himself slightly so it’s easier to look away from Artemis’ task. He stinks like blood and super-suit sweat isn’t a good combo but there’s, what, mint shampoo all the way down under it? Huh.
“Hah.” Rick goes quiet. At first Cameron thinks he’s too overwhelmed by pain to speak as he gasps out little breaths in his arms. But then he realizes the guy’s just deliberating with himself, like there’s a secret he shouldn’t be telling them. He’s been talking about Jesse too fondly for there too be that much trouble in paradise. “Not that. She’s… Her powers…”
“Don’t tell us anything that’ll get you in trouble,” Artemis says without looking up. It’s genuine. Unsurprisingly for Cameron. Maybe surprisingly for Rick. She disguises it with a, “Wouldn’t want anything getting back to the underworld. Loose lips sink heroes.”
“You won’t tell,” Rick says with utter conviction. He rolls his eyes up so he’s looking at Cameron, albeit with strain. “Jesse’s powers. They’ve been—been—shit, that hurts—acting up since she got pregnant.”
Cameron’s jaw drops. Artemis raises her eyebrows, and he doesn’t miss the fierce joy and pride in her eyes for someone who they’re supposed to hate. Cameron realizes a second too late that he shouldn’t be shaking the shoulders of someone in Rick’s condition, but he manages to stop himself after the first yelp of pain.
“That’s great!” Cameron whoops. He looks around at the bare-bones apartment around them. “There’s no champagne here, is there? We didn’t bring our own.”
“Didn’t expect you to,” Rick says wryly. “You’re, uh. Actually, you’re the first people to know, aside from my parents and her mom.”
That…
Cameron is briefly stunned speechless. Artemis is still hard at work, but from the way her fingers briefly pause, he knows she feels the same. Oh. So this is—mutual, then. Between the two of them and Rick and Jesse. Because they could still totally try to sell this as repaying the debt they owe, the way he considered earlier, even if neither of them want to. But Rick wants to keep the road open. Which is a monumentally bad idea, obviously, and a damn appealing one all the same.
Artemis makes the decision for them. “You were the first people who found out about Isabelle.”
“Not really the same thing,” Rick points out. He sounds much more with it than he did when he first woke up. “You didn’t want to tell us.”
Artemis concedes the point with a shrug. Cameron brushes his fingers through Rick’s hair again. “Well, I guess we really have to make sure Belle gets you back in one piece now.”
“Guess you do.” Rick’s eyes sparkle. “So, are you gonna let me call her?”
“Dirty pool.” Cameron gets out his phone, though. “Any clearer on whether that number you gave us earlier is hers?”
“I think it’s hers,” Rick says. He shifts to push more of his weight against Cameron. Artemis is pretty much done, but she stays bent over him. Cameron knows that look she’s got. It’s the way she looked at Rick when he saved her life and Jesse told her to make sure he kept breathing and the way she looked at Cameron when he told her he wanted her in his life for good before they found out Sorrow didn’t think he owed them peace after his freedom. Her personal brand of loyalty. “Do you remember it?”
“T does,” Cameron says, and Artemis repeats it back for him without breaking eye contact with Rick. Cameron dials it but waggles his finger at Rick before pressing call. “This pregnancy better be real and not just you trying to pull a fast one.”
“You got me,” Rick says. “I’m trying to make you let your guard down so Jesse can run in here and whisk me away to the land of overbearing doctors pampering me.” He pauses. “Seriously. Why didn’t you want me to call her?”
I wanted to hang out with you. I kind of missed having you around. We can take better care of you because it’s us and we handle our own.
“Speedsters draw attention,” Artemis says. “Couldn’t risk the chance that someone from my snowflake’s job had tracked us here and was waiting to confirm their suspicions that we kept you alive. And we’d have to pay extra to clean up scorch marks.”
“Right,” Rick says. He closes his eyes. Cameron’s hand is starting to hurt from petting his hair. Ugh, the things he does for Hourman. “I guess… You’re done, right?” He can’t see Artemis nod but she does it anyway. “So I guess maybe I could wait a little longer.”
“You still shouldn’t fall asleep,” Artemis says, sharp.
“Not my fault your snowflake’s comfortable,” Rick says, smirking. He cracks his eyes, looking up at Cameron through his lashes. “Although a little bony. Tell him to pad his suit more.”
“Really? After all the kindness I showed you? Remember, I could dump you on your ass in the street right now,” Cameron threatens, poking the back of Rick’s ribs as he puts a fresh ice dressing over his new stitches and onto some of the worse-looking bruises. “No one would ever know. The JSA would find you facedown in an alleyway.”
Rick doesn’t take him seriously for a second. Just laughs and snuggles closer.
Shit.
Cameron could really get used to this.