dancingwithflames

[dancingwithflames]

the society pages

Hello! I don't typically advertise my AO3 work on tumblr, but wanted to share it here this time just in case anyone is interested!

This is an Enola Holmes one-shot that I began writing in December 2021, and have finally finished! It follows Tewkesbury's POV as he and Enola navigate being on the brink of scandal when someone writes an article about them kissing at a soirée.

I hope you all enjoy!

Here is a little snippet:

“Enola and I attended Lord and Lady Dunham’s summer solstice soirée together last night, yes.”

“Ah, the soirée of the year. Anyone who is anyone was there, were they not?” Mycroft hummed.

“I believe that is what they said.” He said noncommittedly, and, because he could not help himself, added: “I am sure your attendance was gravely missed, Mr. Holmes.”

“I would never find myself at such a frivolous event.” Mycroft scoffed, tilting his head. “Though that being said, it is quite interesting that you chose to go along with her on your arm, hm? Why is that?”

“On the contrary, it would be more accurate to say I attended the event on her arm.” He jested, then became serious when he met Mycroft’s ever-growing sour gaze. “What do you wish for me to say? We attended the event as friends. Or are we not allowed that sentiment simply because we are of the opposite sex?”

The rest can be found here!

[dancingwithflames]

 i know the end

The stage was suffocatingly still as every viewer at home awaited the beginning of the press conference. 

Unmanned cameras rolled, their red recording lights blinking steadily. But the podium remained empty. 

Their leading man was late, a feat previously thought to be impossible. 

Director Edwin Graves had never sought the spotlight, never yearned for the authority now thrust upon him. He was a man built for the shadows, for the quiet efficiency of bureaucracy. But tonight, the world demanded a figurehead, and Graves, with his stoic demeanor and unyielding resolve, was the best they could offer.

His delay was palpable, a few agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity. He had always been precise, almost to a fault, and the whispers across the nation surrounding his tardiness had already begun—speculation, concern, the gnawing fear that even the most steadfast might be breaking under the pressure. But Graves wasn’t breaking. Not in the way they feared. He was merely… reassembling.

He had arrived at the building mere moments ago, his footsteps echoing down the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors.

The news of his wife’s death had come just before he left his office—a sterile phone call from a hospital administrator, delivered with the same cold efficiency he had always admired in others. "I’m sorry, Director Graves. There was nothing more we could do." 

He stood there, the phone pressed to his ear, as the world seemed to tilt slightly off its axis. 

Laura had complained about a tickle in her throat a few days beforehand. A tickle.

He didn't even remembered how he’d reacted when she told him. Had he advised her to take it easy? Told her to be careful, considering the rise in casualties from the unknown virus circulating? Had he said anything at all, or did he merely hum an acknowledgement and continue working on whatever it was that stole his focus?

He'd only allowed himself to spiral in these thoughts for a moment. The grieving would have to wait. He had a job to do. 

Graves should not be here, walking into this conference room, yet this is exactly where he needed to be. 

Now, as he stood at the podium, the weight of his loss was an invisible anchor pulling at his every word, every gesture. His hands, normally steady as a surgeon’s, gripped the sides of the podium as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. His gaze, hardened by years of service and sacrifice, was fixed straight ahead, avoiding the piercing glare of the studio lights and the imagined eyes of millions who were watching, waiting, clinging to his every word as if they could somehow stop the tidal wave that was about to crash over them.

Graves cleared his throat, a dry, rasping sound that echoed unnervingly in the silent room. He wasn’t here to comfort; he was here to inform. To issue orders that would save lives, even as the cost grew unbearable.

“We have received reports,” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife, “of further spread of the contagion in the outlying regions. The measures we have taken so far are no longer sufficient.”

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in, though he knew full well that they would do nothing to calm the rising tide of panic. This was not a time for hope or reassurance. This was triage, a desperate attempt to stanch the bleeding of a world in its death throes.

“The President has authorized the full enactment of martial law, effective immediately.” His voice, steady as ever, bore no trace of hesitation. “This will be enforced by the National Guard and local law enforcement. All citizens are to remain in their homes. Failure to comply will result in immediate detention.”

As he spoke, a fleeting image flashed in his mind—his wife, pale and still in the hospital morgue, the life drained from her by the same sickness that was now spiraling out of control. 

Would he even be granted the opportunity to view her body? Would he ever see his wife’s face again?

He pushed the horrifying thought away, burying it deep beneath layers of duty and responsibility. There would be time to get these answers later, if there was ever a later. For now, he had to focus on the task at hand. “The disease is highly contagious. It spreads through close contact, and recent reports suggest that it may be mutating. We are investigating these claims, but until we know more, you must assume the worst.”

There was no tremor in his voice as he delivered the warning, though he knew what it meant. The whispers had already begun among his colleagues—rumors of the infected exhibiting violent, erratic behavior, of a few strange reports from field hospitals where deceased patients weren’t staying deceased. But these were unconfirmed, nothing more than hysteria... Yet even in his unshakeable pragmatism, Graves couldn’t completely dismiss the fear that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

“The government is doing everything it can to contain the outbreak, but we need your cooperation. This is a matter of survival. Yours, and everyone else’s.”

The words came out harsh, stripped of any pretense of kindness. Graves was not a man of comforting lies; he was a man of brutal truth. And the truth was that the situation was dire, that the world was on the brink of something no one fully understood, something dark and twisted that had crawled up from the depths of humanity’s worst nightmares.

He could feel the weight of his own exhaustion, the crushing burden of being the one to deliver these decrees, the final orders before the world fell into chaos it would never recover from. He was a messenger of doom, and he knew it. But there was no one else to do the job. No one else who could shoulder the responsibility with the same cold detachment, the same willingness to sacrifice everything, even his own humanity, for the greater good.

“The food distribution centers will be operating under strict guidelines. You will be informed when it is your turn to collect supplies. Do not attempt to gather outside of these times. Do not hoard. We are all in this together.”

He almost choked on the last line. Together. The word had lost all meaning in the face of the disease. Everyone was alone now, isolated by fear and the invisible threat that lurked in the breath of every stranger, the touch of every surface. The concept of togetherness was a cruel joke, something he could no longer afford to believe in.

For a moment, he faltered, his gaze dropping to the podium. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her face again, imagining her lifeless eyes staring back at him, accusing him of the unforgivable sin of surviving when she had not-- And of not caring for her in her most dire time of need. The grief threatened to swallow him whole, to drag him down into a darkness from which there would be no return.

But he couldn’t let it. Not now. Not ever.

With a slow, deliberate breath, Graves forced himself to look up, to meet the eyes of the cameras once more. The man behind the mask was gone, buried beneath layers of duty and resolve. All that remained was the Director, the man who would do whatever it took to see this through, no matter the cost.

“Stay inside,” he repeated, his voice like iron. “Stay safe.”

There was no closing statement, no offer of solace. He simply turned and walked away from the podium, leaving the room as silent and cold as he had found it. The broadcast ended, the screen going black, leaving the world to digest his words in a darkness that was far more than just the absence of light. 

Outside the studio, the night was eerily calm, the city streets empty, save for the occasional figure scurrying home before curfew. The air was thick with the scent of impending defeat of a society that had once believed itself invincible. Graves stepped out into this world, the weight of it pressing down on him like a physical force. The end was no longer a distant threat; it was here, clawing at the edges of reality, waiting for the moment to strike.

[dancingwithflames]

Masterlist

Here is where you can find links to all of my writings thus far!

Hero x Villain:

an unwanted touch -- A hero grapples with taking the life of a politician at an event after being attacked. She calls Villain to help.

villainy and heroism -- Hero is pregnant, and she and Villain must decide where they go from here.

the inevitable end -- Hero and Villain talk as the world is about to end.

Misc.:

the queen's news -- The Queen is with child. The King grapples with a secret that questions the babe's paternity.

i know the end -- The Director must push aside his grief to get his job done as a virus threatens to destroy the world as they know it

AO3.:

the society pages -- Enola Holmes/Tewkesbury. Enola and Tewkesbury stand on the brink of scandal when a report that they shared a kiss at a soirée is printed. Through a talk with Mycroft, his own jumbled thoughts, and Enola herself, Tewkesbury must confront what this means for their friendship... and their future

[dancingwithflames]

the queen's news

The news spread like fire across the castle.

The maids shared the information in wistful, relieved whispers. The Royal Guard dispersed it as a precaution, knowing heightened security would be needed once their adversaries became privy to the knowledge. The King’s advisors drink full glasses of wine and ale in vexation after learning of it, knowing they would now not be able to make a widow out of the King for the fourth time when the public became aware that Queen Estelle had sired an heir for her husband. 

A feat the previous three had not managed before their heads landed themselves on a pike. 

King Valentin marinated in the information of the supposed fruitfulness of their labors as he was dressed. He disregarded the felicitations from his steward and the gracious smiles of the maidservants as he traversed the grand corridors toward the formal dining room. She was already there when he arrived, disdainfully dismissing the anxious attentions of her ladies-in-waiting with a flick of her hand.

“I assure you I can sit on my own.” She sighed, then eyed him skeptically as he sat to dine. “Good morning, Your Grace.” 

His crown sat heavy on his head, but his posture never relented. Food appeared in front of him, yet he ignored it in favor of returning a dubious stare of his own. 

“My Queen,” The King acknowledged, jutting out his chin. “I understand congratulations are in order.” 

She cocked her head to the side, raising a quizzical brow. 

“Aye, Your Grace. With the arrival of Spring, we shall welcome a babe of our own.” 

The King leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest, watching her. The Queen did not squirm under his unrelenting stare. In anything, his eyes only appeared to give her confidence. 

“At long last, an heir to the Crown. It is such a miraculous blessing that I so scarcely believe it.”

She smiled mirthlessly, understanding his words. Her eyes slipped away from his to survey the room. The nameless faces of their servants dutifully averted her gaze, yet he sensed their watchful eyes on their every move, their ears attuned to pick up on every breath they took. They were not alone, and each word they spoke would be broadcasted across the castle in whispered gossip before their meal was completed. The Queen sensed this, surely, as a moment later she spoke:

“Leave us. I should like a private moment with the King to celebrate our most fortunate news.” 

The room cleared in an instant, leaving them alone. Silence sat between them as they watched one another, waiting for one to say something. Finally, breaking their competition, he spoke.

“When our marriage was arranged, we talked of the importance of siring an heir to the throne.” King Valentin explained. “Maybe I unjustly assumed the heir would be mine.”

The Queen had the audacity to appear affronted, her eyes widening and a flush of indignation rising to her cheeks. Her lips parted slightly as if she were on the verge of an undignified retort, yet she maintained an air of regal composure as she thought, her posture unwavering despite the palpable tension in the room.

“That is a treasonous accusation you place upon me, Your Grace.” Queen Estelle scolded. “Surely you have proof of my infidelity, then? Because I am sure the maids who change our linens would attest to your enthusiasm in sharing my bed these past months.”

The King twisted his features, his barely-concealed anger at the verge of breaking the surface. His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white as he fought to maintain his composure. Valentin's eyes blazed with a cold, calculating intensity as he stared at his wife. The glint in her eye was all-knowing, and he sighed in contempt.

“Have you always known?” He whispered venomously. 

“Have I always known what, husband?” Queen Estelle retorted coyly, stretching out forward. Her elbows sat on the table, her chin pressed into her hands. 

“Do not toy with me.” 

The Queen sighed, removing her chin from her hands. She smirked as she stood from her chair. Slowly, patiently, she walked along the table until she stood beside his seated figure. Forced to look up at her, his glare intensified. 

“There were others before me. Not one, not two, but three wives that did not bear you children. Not even a whisper of the loss of Royal fruit or a stillborn babe. And your whores? How many of them have been sent away to avoid a discovered bastard? None.” Queen Estelle revealed, clicking her tongue. “You have proven your proficiency at performing the marital act so we know the problem does not lie there– No, Your Grace, the women have never been the problem.” 

“Estelle–” The King began, but she cut him off.

“Your seed is barren, not their wombs.” 

A tense silence followed, heavy and suffocating. The King's face reddened with a mix of shame and fury. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his lips. Estelle continued, her voice now laced with a cold determination. 

“It is a tragedy that they died for your misfortune, but I refuse to share their fate.” She said, shaking her head. “I have done what I must to ensure my safety.” 

“I can just as easily reveal your ruse. Your head could be on the end of a pike by the end of this very day if I desired it.” He retorted.

The Queen laughed, infuriating him. 

“You shan’t do that though, hmm? Because you hear the whispers, too. You feel the tension brewing. You are the only living member of your house left. Your subjects are wary of the absence of an heir, but your enemies rejoice in the knowledge. You are weak without this child– The whole kingdom is. It is only a matter of time before someone makes an attempt on your life to get that crown on your head.”

The legs of the chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood to his full height, towering over her. She had gone too far–

The Queen held her hands out in a placating manner. 

"I do not attempt to threaten you,” she replied calmly. "I only speak the truth. Our legacy depends on this ruse. Our people must believe in the legitimacy of this heir, and that can only happen if you accept this child as your own flesh and blood. I took care in finding someone of your likeness to ensure the babe would hold a resemblance. You must play your part lest you risk losing everything you have fought so hard to protect." 

The King’s hands trembled with the force of his suppressed rage, but already it dimmed in the reality that she was correct. Executing her while the public believed she with his child would only further strain the rumors. If he was to secure himself against his precarious position, he had little choice but to concede. His eyes met hers, a reluctant acknowledgment of her victory.

"Very well," he said through gritted teeth. "But do not think this will be forgotten, Estelle. One day, you will answer for this deceit."

The Queen smiled, a cold, triumphant smile. "Until that day comes, Your Grace, we shall both play our parts to perfection."

She turned to leave, but he caught her forearm. 

“What of the child’s real father?” He asked quietly. “Will he be a problem?”

“Trust that the man shall be, and remain, a non-issue in our future.” She said simply. “I made sure of it.”

Queen Estelle pulled her arm from his grasp, reaching forward to take his chin in her fingers. She leaned forward, kissing the corner of his lips. 

“Finish your breakfast, Your Grace.” She said, pulling back. “The whole Kingdom may well know of our child by the time you are done.” 

With that, turned and gracefully left the room, leaving King Valentin to seethe in her victory. 

[dancingwithflames]

the inevitable end

The sky was bright now. So, so bright. 

Hero stared at it, bitterly reveling at how the radiating hues of reds, yellows, and oranges looked back at him tauntingly. Arrogantly, even. The sky begged for him to challenge it, to challenge the bleak reality that lay before them. Hero took a hearty sip from the bottle in his hand in response, legs kicking out from under himself to hang over the edge of the roof he sat upon. 

The news reports began running a week ago. Every station blacking out their respective programs simultaneously to play the same broadcasted message at once. The gist of it: A meteor was coming, and there’s nothing they can do about it. 

Bullshit, Hero had said. Across the world, billions of others were thinking the same thing as he. 

A week ago, they could afford to have confidence like that. There was still the ability to be vain, to be smug over the trajectory of their mortality. They could believe in hope and the ability to save the world. But, that was a week ago. That was before scientists across the world released their findings in droves, their reports and speeches chock full of complicated language and dismal outcomes. Before the Heroes Association publicly assembled their forces, a guise that Hero learned was for the masses to retain their dwindling beliefs. Their reasoning for calling them together had nothing to do with finding a solution and everything to do with keeping the calm until the end came. It was before crime rates skyrocketed. Before civilians started overthrowing their governments. Before the death toll of the desperate and scared began to rise. 

Before, before, before. 

Hero was not confident anymore. How could he be? He knew the truth. This was their extinction event. This would be the reason humans ceased to exist. Why they would be reduced down to being a blip in Earth’s vast history. He didn’t tell civilians this, though they asked. Even if he weren’t contractually obligated to keep his mouth shut, he wouldn’t tell them. In his line of work, Hero pondered his own death often. But, civilians? They shouldn’t have to, and he refused to be the reason they might. They watched the news, they saw the reports. They could come to that conclusion on their own, without his input on the matter. He took another swig from his bottle. 

“Is the answer to saving the world at the bottom of that bottle?”

Even in his inebriated state, Hero recognized the voice. Keeping his eyes toward the sky, he held the bottle out to her silently. She took it, and a moment later, she sat down on the ledge beside him. Through his peripheral vision, he could not help but note that she wasn’t wearing her suit. Just as he wasn’t. There was little reason to keep one’s identity a secret anymore, though it hadn’t taken the world ending for the pair to figure out the face that lay behind the mask. That had been their years of animosity, along with obsessive curiosity, that drove them to find out that information. 

“We both know a bit of whiskey won’t be our saving grace, Villain.” He murmured, finally turning to look at her. 

Her black hair was shorter than he remembered, now bobbed with choppy bangs. The oversized flannel she wore over her shirt and shorts was familiar, teeming with use and love. It used to be his. An article of clothing lost in the fight of their unconventional friendship. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. He knew, because he could coax a real one out of her on occasion. Her real smiles were worn wide: teeth and dimples and crinkly eyes proudly on display for the world to see. This smile was decidedly not that, but he still took what he could get. She pulled the bottle to her lips, taking a tentative sip before going back for a bigger one. Villain passed the bottle back, humming. 

“So this really is it, huh?” She pondered, turning to face the skyline. “No tricks up your sleeve?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid.” He responded quietly, sipping. 

Silence stretched out between the two unlikely friends as they passed the bottle of liquor back and forth. Hero spent much of that time staring at Villain, but his gaze could not help but extend back out toward the sky. It blazed brighter than it had before. A beautiful sight. A terrifying one. 

“We don’t have much time left.” He whispered at last, meeting her eye. “If there’s someone you want to be with before it happens, now may be the time to…” 

“Are you asking me to leave?” She asked, holding a hand to her chest in mock offense. “You don’t think I’m good enough company for the end of the world?”

“I wouldn’t want to presume to think that you wished to be with me when it all happened.” He admitted quietly, shyly clearing his throat.  

“I’m right where I’m meant to be.” She replied, nodding. “Are you?”

There weren’t many people in the world that Hero truly valued. He had no family, and he found there were few people whom he called a friend that would call him one in turn. But, Hero knew that Villain was one of those people. They were meant to be sworn enemies, but Hero had never regarded her as such. 

“Yes, I’m right where I’m meant to be.” He assured her. 

“Good.” She said, smiling at him. Really smiling. Teeth, dimples, crinkly eyes, and all. Hero could not help but grin back at her. Villain held out a hand, and without thinking, he took it. Warm light cast itself across her face, reminding him of what was to come. Despite this, contentment ran through his veins. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed his back. 

Together, they watched the end descend upon them. 

[dancingwithflames]

Villainy and Heroism

Someone was staring at Villain. 

This was, arguably speaking, not a new experience for him. Villains were often prone to gaining the attention of the masses while they were suited up. By now, he was no stranger to this. The scornful eyes on the back of his head from citizens, lingering glares from the folks at City Hall, and frightened glances from children before being pulled away by concerned guardians were hardly a new occurrence to Villain. However, he couldn’t help but feel that this inkling of attention wasn’t quite as negative as it would be by the people of the city. No, this was something else. 

A cursory look around the alley found that he was alone, but he would hardly let his sense of sight decide whether or not he was truly by himself. He silently tuned into the energies flowing around him, from the occupants of the neighboring buildings to the construction crew that was working half a mile away. Between all of these, though, he felt the familiar energy of his watcher wash over him. He smirked slightly, surprised that she had ventured over to his neck of the woods when he had no true nefarious acts planned for the evening. 

“Hero,” Villain called out, “you can come out now.” 

Nothing happened at first. Then, from within a shadow that Villain hadn’t even taken notice of before, Hero emerged. To his surprise, and delight, she was standing there in her civilian attire. Dressed in a jumper and pair of old ripped jeans, with her long, wavy hair flowing down around her, Villain was once again reminded that Hero might be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. It didn’t matter how many times he was graced with the presence of her face unadorned by her mask, his heart still skipped a beat each and every time.  

“Villain.” Hero whispered, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, her arms folding across her chest. 

“I can’t say I was expecting to see you tonight.” He said, not paying much mind to the chaotic shifting happening within her aura. “I’m afraid I have no plans of robbing a bank or taking a politician hostage tonight.”

“Villain.” Hero repeated, still moving toward him. Villain was still too caught up in his excitement to see her to realize she wasn’t acting quite like herself. If he weren’t so absorbed in simply staring at her, he would have realized her emotions were frantically moving between panic and stress almost interchangeably. 

“Not that I’m not excited to see you, my lo–”

“Stop.” Hero blurted, finally reaching him. “Please, just stop for a minute. I– I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Villain’s giddiness drained out of him at once, and his powers silently came to life. He felt stupid the moment her overwhelming emotions found him. With a small wave of his energy sent outward to notify him if anyone outside the alley got too close, Villain’s hands reached out for Hero at once. He placed them on her upper arms, glad that her emotions settled slightly and that she hadn’t pulled away from him. 

“What?” He asked, giving her arms a small reassuring squeeze. “What’s wrong?” 

Hero cleared her throat, glancing away from him. “Um… Well..”

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me anything, alright?” He said, rubbing up and down her fabric-clad arms. She turned back toward him, the crispness of her gray eyes never ceasing to amaze him. She drew in a breath before letting it out. 

“Okay,” Hero nodded, her gaze becoming more even. “Okay.”

He waited patiently, rubbing her arms as she prepared herself. He felt her emotions even out, becoming more similar to that of when she was saving the city: calculated and calm. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Villains' hands ceased their movements at once, if for no other reason than the fact that she had managed to catch him off guard. He recovered quickly, his hands moving to rest upon her shoulders. He could sense her nervousness and anticipation for his response begin to boil over, and he wasn’t one to leave her to her thoughts and emotions for long. He cleared his throat and then he smiled at her. 

“A hero and a villain making a baby together.” He mused quietly, taking her in. “What will the world say?” 

Hero’s shoulders deflated beneath him, her face crumbling. Her arms uncrossed, settling over the hands he had on her.  

“What?” He asked. 

“If my bosses had anything to say about it, nothing. The Alliance of Heroic Entities have asked me to… take care of things. Quietly. They found that it is in my best interest to not raise a child when I am in the ‘prime of my career.’ Their words, not mine.” 

“Oh.” Villain whispered, anger silently brewing below his skin. “That’s not very progressive of them.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is.”

“Do they know? About us?” He asked quietly, watching her. “Is that why they are… Adamant?”

She shook her head. “No. They asked, but I... declined to answer. Refused to, really. I couldn’t exactly say that the father of my child, the man I love, is one of the top villains in the city, could I?” 

“You would likely be in a jail cell for treason right now if you did.” He murmured, squeezing her shoulders. She simply nodded her head in a silent agreement. Silence lapsed between the couple for a long moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

“What do you want?” She asked, bringing him away from his thoughts. “Because I want us. I want a family and a life and a future with you. What do you want?”

There was no need to think. No need to hesitate. He knew. He’s known for a long time. 

“I want you.” He said. “I want you and I want this baby. More than anything, Hero. But…”

“But…?”

“The Alliance of Heroic Entities.” He said simply. “They don’t have the right to make decisions for you, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try to anyway. Especially when they find out about us, and you know they will.”

“I know.” She affirmed. “What do we do?”

“We would have to leave the city.” He whispered. “For a life together, with our child, we wouldn’t be able to stay here.”

Hero thought about this, seemingly considering the Villains words. “If we did… We would have to leave behind who we are. The hero and the villain couldn’t come with us. The Alliance would be able to follow us if we did.” She whispered, and her hands moved off of his hands to rest over his cheeks. His moved as well, finding their way to her waist. 

“Would you give up heroism for me?” He asked. 

“Would you give up villainy for me?” She asked.

“Yes.” They replied in unison. 

[dancingwithflames]

An Unwanted Touch

TW: Violence, Death, Blood, SA/SH mentioned briefly. 

There was a constellation of blood spatter on Hero’s cheek.

 Crimson in color and irregular in placement, the blood found its home there mere minutes before and had yet to be wiped away by the very hands that caused it to be there in the first place. Those same hands now began to shake, trembling so viscerally that they made the carefully placed bracelets on her wrists clink together harmoniously. If Hero were to look down upon herself, she would know that blood adorned her green ballgown in a similar fashion. But, she didn’t look down. At least, she didn’t look down at herself. Instead, her eyes were fixated on the body on the floor. 

The lifeless, cooling body of Politician. 

She tries to think back, to remember how the night had gone so terribly wrong so quickly. The gala had been a nice, albeit contractually forced, occasion. She had donned her nicest dress, posed as her Civilian-self beside Politician for pictures when deemed necessary. They didn’t work directly together, but she was a civil servant at City Hall when she wasn’t wearing a mask and chasing down villains so their paths crossed enough for her to be roped into associating with Politician at the gala for his reelection. That was when it started, she reckoned. 

It was never spoken about openly, but there was nary a person that hadn’t at least heard the whispers that followed Politician. His coy smiles. His insistent one-on-one lunches. His flirtation comments. 

His wandering hands. 

Hero, like many, was privy to Politician’s lingering glances and non-consenting hands placed upon elbows and backs and knees in his office or elevators in passing. She never liked it, and had raised concerns over it. To the mayor as a civilian. To the Hero’s Association as a hero. But she had always been brushed off, her comments cast aside as if she were speaking absurdities. 

She wasn’t speaking absurdities tonight. She wasn’t absurd when she felt his hand dip further and further down her back with each click of a camera, though it was unbeknownst to the photographer himself. She wasn’t absurd when he jokingly whispered in her ear at the bar of how lonely his bed would be tonight with Mrs. Politician tucked away on a trip to her mother’s. And, she certainly wasn’t absurd when he had found her taking a breather in an alcove tucked away from the festivities and had kissed her before she had even finished greeting him. His kiss was hard, insistent. His tongue had slid past the barrier of her teeth, his hands roughly digging into the edges of her hipbones when she hadn’t responded as he hoped. 

She may have been in a beautiful dress, her hair glossy and makeup done up nicely. She may have looked like her Civilian-self tonight, but she was still Hero underneath it all. She still had powers, and in a terrifyingly quick second, they had overcome her. It is almost ironic, really, how one human man had done it. She faced villains every night with a level-head. Rule-breakers. Thieves. Deviants.

 But Politician made every carefully crafted wall of self-control over her powers fall in one fell swoop. In a flash, she had pushed him away. Fight or flight taking over as her hand had wrapped around the discreetly placed dagger in her dress before her power of precision had taken care of the rest. He had slumped to the ground, his eyes giving away that he had made the connection that she and Hero were one in the same before it was over. 

 Now, here she stood, trembling in the aftermath of it all. 

She didn’t know what to do. As a Hero, she should run for help. But Politician was already beyond needing it. She could find a cop, there were many in attendance tonight, and confess what happened. But, the city officials had refused to acknowledge Politician as anything less than perfect while he was breathing. Surely, they would refuse to do so now that he was dead. A chill went down Hero’s spine as she realized what would happen. She would be arrested. Her account of the evening would be destroyed, misconstrued and torn apart in favor of Politician's reputation even after he had taken his last breath. Her identity would be revealed, her powers restrained as she was shipped off to one of the various places filled to the brim with people she helped put there. 

She wouldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t. Not for this. Not because of his actions. 

 In a fit of desperation, she scrambled for her clutch that had landed on the ground at some point during the altercation. Her breaths were hard, borderline hyper-ventilation, as she located her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, looking for the one she seldom called but held on to for safe-keeping. She had seen him here tonight, laughing with government officials and donors alike. She had thought it ironic, earlier, how loved he was in his civilian form. The crowds adored him in his tuxedo, but despised him in his suit. It hadn’t always been that way. Once, he was loved in both. But he had made his choice just as she was making hers now. She hit dial, hoping beyond anything that he would pick up. One ring. Two. Three. She almost gave up hope when–

“Hero?”

“Villain,” Hero breathed out, “I need your help. Something ba…  Something bad happened.”

There was a pause. Then, “where are you?” 

Hero rattled off her location, refusing to tell him anything beyond that. Before he could ask further questions, she had hung up the phone and tossed it back into her clutch. Villain was there, seemingly moments later because of his super speed. Villain, for his part, didn’t go running and screaming when he saw her standing over the body of Politician. His eyebrows simply raised while a sigh escaped his mouth. She met his eye, belated tears now coming to her. 

“He..” She started, but the words failed her. 

“Well, fuck.” Villain said when she didn’t continue, draining his drink in one last gulp. “Let’s take care of this before anyone else sees, huh?”

So they did.