Chapter Text
Graham has never been a fan of cliches, so when five shifty-looking figures suddenly block his movement every which way, the first thing he does is roll his eyes.
"All right there, lads?" he asks calmly, keeping his hands visible. Three of them shift their stances -- experienced fighters, then. The other two seem like their bark is worse than their bite, and Graham keeps his focus on them.
It's obviously not a matter of whether they will attack, but when. He decides not to insult their dubious intelligence by offering up his wallet.
May as well have a little fun, then.
"You're as repulsive as a monkey in a negligee." The one with the heavy gold bicycle chain around his neck snarls at him, and Graham bites back a smirk. He turns to the man with the large, black sunglasses and poorly-hidden knife strapped to his thigh. "How about you? Would you like to be buried, or cremated?"
They rush him almost at the same instance. Graham quickly tracks their movements, calculates their route and time of impact, and plans the four steps he'll need for these clowns to hit each other instead of him. He turns on the balls of his feet, dances lightly around the punch aimed at him by Mr. Neckchain, and hears a yelp from behind. He whirls around to find Mr. Sunglasses on his back on the dirty floor, with a garbage bin obscuring the upper half of his body. A groan indicates he's still alive, but Graham is more concerned with whatever seems to be grabbing the attention of his assailants.
At first he thinks it's another thug, come to help his friends out. The man is shabbily dressed, baggy clothes that scream 'gangster', only made worse by that thing he's wearing to cover his face. It looks like an overlarge sock, with two holes cut out because the fabric is too thick to see through. But Mr. Neckchain is sending him such a menacing glare, Graham can only deduce that this fake gangster is the tosser of the bin.
The other three are showing signs of preparing to enter the fray, so Graham grabs the tacky golden chain and tugs its wearer towards him. The air goes out of the man with a satisfying little choking sound, and he wraps his arm snugly around the neck in a chokehold. He watches the mysterious newcomer while his victim struggles. The three remaining men are circling him carefully, sometimes obscuring Graham's line of sight. Occasionally, he notices objects come flying towards the thugs. He wonders if the newcomer has companions somewhere. It surprises him a little that they won't reveal themselves to help their friend, however -- he's only dispatched one so far, and as Graham lets the man in his arms fall to the ground, one of the remaining three grabs his maybe-friend by the arm and twists it backwards. The other two are moving to his other side. Graham sighs and gets to work.
He leaves the masked man to deal with the monkey latched onto his arm, using their distraction to make quick work of the other two. No finesse after all, he thinks mournfully. All they know of fighting is how to make people think they know shit about it. He lands a final right hook on number two's nose, and watches with satisfaction as he stays down.
A strangled sound reminds him that there used to be five goons once upon a time. The last idiot standing has the masked man in a chokehold, and Graham watches as the stranger tries and fails to land a headbutt that would loosen the hold. He's just about to step in himself when a fairly large brick comes flying out of nowhere, hitting both men in the head. Graham's would-be saviour stumbles, but his attacker goes down like a ton of bricks.
"Some friends you've got there," Graham mutters. The masked man shoots him a strange look then turns around -- no doubt searching for the rest of them, Graham thinks with a self-satisfied grin. That grin quickly fades when he sees the smear of red by the man's eye. He moves quickly, and the man turns around with a wild look but seems incapable of making a quick escape. Just as well; Graham really isn't in the mood for a chase.
"You're bleeding," he says, "let's take a look at that, shall we?"
"Wait!" the man protests, but that doesn't stop him from pulling the stupid mask off.
He notices the eyes first. Clear blue, the sort a man could spend quite some time gazing into while imagining all sorts of things he really shouldn't be thinking about now, considering they only met five minutes ago. They look quite fearful at the moment, and he tries on a reassuring smile. "It doesn't look too serious," he comments, finger skimming gently along the wound. "One of your hidden friends should take you by the ER and get it looked at just in case, but I doubt you'll need stitches."
"I-- That won't be necessary, I'm fine." There's a husky quality to his voice that Graham likes instantly. The man keeps avoiding his gaze, staring at the floor, his hands, the wall, the unconscious bodies littering the street. His obvious discomfort makes Graham take a few steps back, but it doesn't seem to help much. He wonders if he's just shy, but considering he launched himself into a fight without so much as a hello or a by-your-leave, that doesn't seem likely. Perhaps a criminal then, Graham muses. That would explain the mask, and it's an idea that reinforces itself when the man jumps at the sound of sirens.
He casts one last look at Graham before taking off at a run, and Graham utters a curse. "You forgot your sock!" he yells, but the man either doesn't hear him or doesn't care. With a sigh, he stuffs the torn, bloody thing into his pocket and waits for the cops to arrive.
So much for relaxing tonight.
"And you just let him pull your mask off? Honestly, Richard." The line is punctuated by a heartfelt sigh, and Richard flushes a little and averts his eyes. "This'll sting," he's warned, and it does a little, but Lee has gentle hands and it only lasts a moment. "There, all patched up," he finally declares. Richard smiles his thanks.
"Sorry for dropping in out of the blue."
Lee snorts softly, already busy cleaning up the small mess. "I'd be happier if you'd just drop by for a nightcap instead of needing medical attention. But," he continues as he heads towards the bathroom, "don't think I'm done with you yet. I still don't understand how they managed to get the better of you."
Richard winces a little, because he's familiar with that particular tone of voice. While Lee busies himself with putting away his first aid kit, he quietly puts the kettle on. His head still feels out of sorts, and even though he's aching for a stiff drink, tea seems like a better option at the moment. Lee raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything until they've settled down on his plush couch.
"I know you remember the basic rules of survival, so what the hell happened?"
Richard sighs. "They were already surrounding him when I arrived. I didn't have much time to think of a stealthier approach." He takes a sip of the honey-sweetened chai, letting the warmth spread through his weary body. "And it's much harder to aim correctly with someone on your back."
Lee rolls his eyes. "That doesn't mean you aim for your own head."
"It seemed like the best option at the time?"
Lee sighs explosively, and Richard lowers his eyes with a mumbled apology. "Just be careful, okay? I'd rather not find you at my door with a serious injury next time." He lightly bumps their shoulders together with a quirk of his lips, and Richard warmly smiles back. "You should stay here tonight. I don't think you have a concussion, but better safe than sorry."
He thinks longingly of his own bed for a moment, but knows Lee is right. He does feel slightly off kilter, not that he'll admit it out loud. So he just nods gratefully and lets the warmth of his friend's smile wash over him.
They sip their tea in silence for a few moments. Other aches are slowly making themselves known to him, and his body is sinking into that state where he's only vaguely aware that he's still conscious. It seems like too much effort to put his teacup down, and he could easily fall asleep in under five minutes. But then Lee says, "This is a good opportunity to get you a new outfit," and he jolts wide awake.
"Not this again." He places the half-empty cup back on the table and regards Lee with a small frown. "There's nothing wrong with it."
Lee rolls his eyes and mutters, "I beg to differ," under his breath. "You need a better mask anyway," he adds a little louder, aiming for a reasonable argument. "That mask was horrible, I'm almost glad you lost it."
Richard sighs. "That's a very tactful way of saying I fucked up."
"It's not that bad." Richard snorts, and Lee squeezes his shoulder. "Okay, okay, we don't know yet. But let's not jump to the worst case scenario right off the bat."
"The police must've questioned him, and it's not as if he has any reason to hide the truth from them."
"Yes, but you're not in the system," Lee points out. "It's really unlikely they'll find you, even with a physical description or a sketch. And if they do, you know what to say."
"I was with you the whole night." Richard dutifully repeats their well-rehearsed alibi. "We had a CSI marathon, you cooked pasta, and I spent the night on your couch after a little too much wine."
Lee grins wickedly. "More's the pity."
It's Richard's turn to give him a friendly shove. "Come off it, Pace. We both know it isn't me you're interested in." Lee smiles a little crookedly and pushes himself off the couch, leaning over to tousle Richard's hair and plant a kiss on top of his head.
"Stop worrying and get some rest. Omelet for breakfast?"
"You know anything is fine," Richard mumbles and lets himself slide down until he's horizontal, adjusting the blanket and sinking into the soft pillow with a soft sigh. "Night, Lee. Thank you."
He drifts off without hearing Lee's reply.
Pain spread through his shoulder and down to his arm as he stumbled backwards with a barely audible gasp. The thief's smirk was sharp, switchblade spinning between his fingers. Richard raised his right hand and tried to pull the knife towards him. The knife wobbled a little and the thief quickly adjusted his grip. Blood was rushing loudly through his head, his uneven breathing sounding loud in the silence of the alley.
The thief seemed to suddenly make a decision. He pointed the blade back at Richard and took a few steps forward, and Richard thought, so much for being a hero.
"I hope I'm not interrupting." The voice came from somewhere above them. Richard tried to look upwards and instead found himself falling back against the wall as his knees finally gave out. His arm felt cold except for where the blood was running down -- not a good sign, he was sure.
The thief had turned around as soon as the newcomer had spoken, but he hadn't figured out that it was coming from the roof. The man landed silently on the ground, a little to their side, and all Richard could do was stare.
The man must have noticed his wide eyes and gaping mouth, because he skimmed a hand slowly over his strap-clad torso with a wink. "Like what you see?"
The silver costume gleamed faintly in the dim light, the cape falling gracefully down his back. The trousers were tight and revealing, and his chest was uncovered except for two thick straps criss-crossing it, holding the cape in place. Long, silky blond hair was artfully arranged over his shoulders, and an exquisite mask that looked like it was made of spun silver obscured most of his face.
Richard could only nod. "Your costume is amazing," he admitted, because what wasn't to like? The man seemed pleased by his compliment and his smile grew.
A snarl from the momentarily-forgotten thief interrupted whatever he meant to say, however, and the smile quickly became a frown. "Didn't your mom teach you not to interrupt when people are talking?" he asked with a wave of his hand.
"Listen here, you fucker," the thief began, and then surprisingly clamped his mouth shut.
"Much better," the other man said, obviously pleased. "Now, let's see. What was he doing, anyway, aside from giving you a hard time?"
Richard blinked and tried very hard to concentrate. "Tried to steal a woman's purse," he said, but it sounded slurred. He blinked, and suddenly the man was at his side, peering at his arm and tutting.
"This doesn't look good." A cool hand felt up his forehead. "You're a bit too warm for my liking."
His hand shifted until only the palm was pressed against Richard's forehead, the fingers spread over the top of his skull. At first, he felt nothing, but a sudden jolt of energy made him gasp. The man removed his hand with a pleased smile. "That's better. Now then," he said as he turned back towards the thief Richard had failed so miserably to apprehend, "what to do with you?" He sidled up to the criminal, skimming a finger beneath his chin. "I think you should really turn yourself in."
"'Course I will," the thief said, and Richard blinked, almost sure he'd misheard. But the thief handed his knife over to the other man and walked briskly out of the alley.
"Shouldn't we follow him?"
The man merely shrugged. "No need, he'll find his way there. Besides, we should take care of that wound now. It looks pretty nasty."
Conscious of the way he was still leaning against the dirty wall, Richard subtly tried to straighten his posture. "I'm fine, truly. Whatever you did helped. I'm sure I can take care of this myself."
"Don't be ridiculous." Richard frowned. "I live nearby and I have a very good first aid kit."
"I'd really rather--"
The man sighed. "Look, I could force you to come, but I'd prefer not to. Arm wounds are difficult to take care of by yourself, and besides," his eyes twinkled as he smiled, "I haven't seen you before, and I am dying to know what it is you can do." He held out his hand. "I'm Lee, by the way."
Richard glanced at the hand and back to the stranger with his warm smile. Tentatively, he offered his own. "Richard."
The greatest advantage of using Ian's studio as a base of operations is that nobody gives them a second look when they enter. Ian has models traipsing through at all hours of the day, in all states of dress, undress and weirdly dressed, and even though it felt wrong at the beginning, Richard quickly got used to just walking through the front door as if he belonged.
They stopped at a bakery beforehand, and when they walk in they're instantly surrounded.
"What did you get?" Martin asks while Aidan quickly divests them of the box.
"Be careful with that!" Lee protests, but it falls on deaf ears. Richard shrugs off his coat and smiles his thanks when Martin reaches for it. A happy shout reaches his ears, and he can see Lee's small smile from the corner of his eyes.
"Didn't we have this three weeks ago as well?" James asks, but Lee just shrugs. Evangeline plants a kiss on his cheek, already halfway through a piece of tiramisu, and Lee jokingly makes a grab for her fork.
Her eyes instantly narrow. "You may be my favourite for buying this, but don't for a minute think that means you get to steal bites. Go get your own piece."
"Did you leave any for the rest of us?" Martin grumbles, heading over to peek into the box. Richard follows, eyes seeking out the tea set that's always at hand. He pours himself a cup of Ian's excellent earl grey, sighing a little at the first sip. They can keep their baked goods, he decides, as long as they leave him the tea.
"Are you quite done squabbling over desserts like little children?" Ian dryly asks. It has the desired effect of everyone finally settling down on the chairs and Ottomans scattered around the studio. Richard finds himself a chair out of the main circle they form by instinct, preferring to hide himself partially behind James. Lee shoots him an annoyed look from across the room, but Richard only hunches further in his seat and studiously sips his tea. "Shall we start with Aidan, then?"
The young man in question grins and puts his plate down in favour of picking up his rucksack. "I'm still working on the trackers, but I think I finally fixed the communicators," he begins, digging a slim, black case out of his bag. "It shouldn't cause any problems like it did last time."
Richard still remembers that incident. He hadn't used the communicator himself, but Martin hadn't been able to hear properly for days after the accident. He runs his thumb over the small gadget when one gets passed to him, and reluctantly puts it around his ear, half expecting it to blow up at any second. Instead, Aidan fiddles with a small device, and soft strings of classical music float to his ears. The sound is clear without being obnoxiously loud, and the studio is filled with appreciative murmurs. Aidan preens under the praise and turns the radio or whatever he's using to broadcast off again.
"It has a pretty long range, so we should be able to communicate without any trouble. There's a second piece," he holds up a wrist strap, "that contains a dialling pad. Our frequencies have been programmed already, in alphabetical order."
"Do I get four frequencies, then?"
Aidan rolls his eyes. "You're just one person, Eva."
Evangeline pouts. Her hair suddenly becomes short and blond, eyes shifting from amber to blue, voice huskier and taking on an Australian accent. "What if someone is looking for me? I wouldn't want to let them down."
"I'm sure we can all live with the disappointment," Martin dryly remarks, and Evangeline turns back to normal before blowing him a raspberry.
"Dear Lord," Ian mutters, and Richard hides a grin behind his teacup. "Can we please move on before I expire of old age or, more likely, boredom? Any incidents we should know about?"
Lee raises his eyebrow expectantly. Richard pretends not to see, and tries very hard to become invisible (a power he unfortunately lacks). But he should have known Lee wouldn't let it go.
"Richard got made yesterday."
The studio falls entirely silent, and Richard finds himself the centre of attention.
"What happened?" James asks, turning sideways on his Ottoman to face him.
Richard squirms a little in his seat. "I came across five men accosting a civilian. I stepped in after the fight had already started and...my head got injured, after which the civilian pulled off my mask."
"Fucking hell," Martin mutters. "Did the cops get involved?"
"I left as soon as I heard sirens. I don't know what he told them. The mask must have some blood on it, though."
"Richard, think carefully before you answer this." Ian pauses, pale blue eyes piercing and all-knowing, and Richard's heart thuds loudly in his chest. "Did he see you use your powers?"
It's a question he's been thinking about since the encounter. It's one thing to be a normal man lending a hand. It might earn him a few interviews with the police officers, perhaps a fine of some sorts -- he doesn't really know. But being able to move items with mere thought is sure to land him on some scientist's table, where his head will be probed, prodded and cut into repeatedly until they find out what makes him tick.
Or so Lee claims. Richard tends to think he's seen one too many science fiction films.
"He said something about my friends not coming out to help me," he finally says. "I think he assumed someone else was throwing things around."
The sense of relief that floods the room is almost tangible. "That's something at least," Evangeline smiles. "Just knock the victim out first next time."
It causes loud laughter and serves to dissipate the lingering vestiges of tension. They briefly discuss the rising crime level in Martin's district, and the meeting quickly winds to a close. Richard excuses himself soon after, heading for the front door and, hopefully, finally, home.
He's shrugging into his coat when Lee taps him on the shoulder. "I know you're not going to let me give you a makeover," he says, and Richard snorts a little at the mere notion. "At least go pick out a new mask." He hands Richard a smart-looking business card.
"Trusting me to make the choice on my own?"
Lee grins. "You're a big boy. Keep in mind though, if you end up choosing something ridiculous I'll be buying you a new one." Richard raises an eyebrow. "I'm supposed to meet Luke, or else I'd come."
"Going out or staying in?"
"Probably out. I don't know if I'll make it back tonight, so try not to get into any trouble, okay?" There's a hint of real worry beneath the teasing exterior, and Richard smiles warmly at his friend.
"I think I can manage that."
Spoken too soon, he thinks wryly as he follows the shadowy figure through narrow alleys and across empty streets. The new mask feels scratchy against his skin, and he's suddenly glad he opted to go for the one only covering the top half of his head. He'd only just stepped out of the store when he heard a scream. He barely had time to duck into a dark corner to don the mask. As it was, he arrived to the sight of someone holding his hand over a woman's mouth, pressing her against a wall.
He'd reacted by quickly aiming a small rock at his head. It had hit his mark, but the man had run off before he could do much else. And so he'd followed.
The man in front of him turns left and Richard rushes after him. He digs through his pockets, hoping to find something he can use as a projectile. His wallet, his cell, Aidan's new gadget -- nothing that would do enough damage to slow him down. He pats his left pocket, feeling something metal prod against his fingers.
His keys.
They would have to do.
He fumbles them out as he makes a sharp right. The man is already slipping around another corner and Richard speeds up. He makes the turn, spots the man straight ahead, and unleashes the keys.
They fly towards the back of his head in a straight line, and Richard watches with some satisfaction as they collide. The man lets out an agonized yell as he slams into the wall he'd been heading towards. His fingers cling to the bricks as Richard comes closer, and he manages to somehow claw his way around the corner. There's a muffled thud, a groan, and he comes tumbling backwards, falling arse first to the ground.
The sound of footsteps stops Richard in his tracks. He turns, flattening himself against the wall and trying vainly to still the loud beating of his heart. The footsteps stop and the alley is quiet for a brief moment, until the silence is shattered by the soft tinkling of metal against metal.
I must have legendary bad luck, Richard thinks mournfully. He closes his eyes for a moment, considering his options. He could manipulate the keys out of this newcomer's grasp, send them somewhere safe until the coast is clear. Never expose your power to anyone you can't see, because you won't know what danger lies on the other side, Ian's voice reminds him. Even months after hearing the rules for the first time, Richard can't get them out of his head during critical moments. He suspects Ian uses his oral hypnotic suggestion to make sure nobody ever forgets them, even though that breaks the second rule: Don't use your powers on your allies.
Suppressing a sigh, he steps out of the shadows.
The newcomer turns around at the sound, Richard's keys dangling from his fingers. He raises them in a sort of salute. "Did you drop something?"
Something nags at the back of his mind, something important that he's missing. He takes a few steps closer, alert for any signs of danger. The light in the alley is so dim he can only see vague shapes. He reaches out for the keys, steeling himself for a tug of war. But the man lets them go easily, and Richard draws back.
"Good throw, that." The man's white teeth gleam. "Do you play?"
It's such an odd question under the circumstances that Richard is left floundering. The man comes towards him, neatly stepping over the knocked out wrongdoer. His hand reaches into his pocket and Richard stiffens, but he doesn't draw a gun. He taps the item a few times until the screen lights up, illuminating his face.
The nagging becomes more like a punch, and Richard feels a right idiot for ignoring it.
He shakes the keys somewhat inanely. "Thanks for these. I'll just be going now." His feet are taking him backwards without him consciously deciding on anything, but once his brain catches up he decides they have rather the right idea. The only way to escape from this is by getting away from him as fast as he possibly can and, with that thought, he turns around.
Something snatches the back of his shirt, neatly preventing him from running off. "Not so fast," the man says.
Richard grits his teeth and pulls away, using his mind to give the fabric an extra tug. It snaps out of the man's hand almost violently, and he quickly turns around. The man is watching him keenly, eyes narrowed suspiciously, but then he suddenly smiles. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere," he says, chuckling. "Is this a habit of yours?" Richard stands stock-still, wondering what to say to best extricate himself from the situation he's found himself in, when the man adds, smooth as anything, "Not that I mind running into you."
Richard blinks, opens his mouth and snaps it shut again.
"I like your new mask." Richard touches the itchy cloth self-consciously. The man's eyes drift to his mouth and linger there, and Richard fights the urge to slap his hand over it.
He takes a step back. "I have to--" he begins, but stops abruptly when the stranger purposefully strides towards him. He retreats until his back hits the wall. The man stops in front of him and plants a hand next to his head. He leans in closer, crowding Richard and giving him a good look at his face. He looks-- normal, really, not at all like a mad stalker or someone Richard should be afraid of. There is some grey in his beard, but it makes him look dignified rather than old. The color of his eyes rather reminds Richard of shale, though they are less rock-like than his muscles, which are currently neatly preventing Richard's departure.
The man lifts a finger and, slowly, traces the bottom edge of the mask. "I always thought Antonio Banderas was rather dashing in that film."
Months of exposure to Lee has taught him a little bit about recognizing flirting when it's directed at him, but nothing at all about how to deal with it coming from someone he doesn't even know. The man seems to find his sudden discomfort amusing, if the widening grin is anything to go by.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Richard says helplessly, and the man chuckles.
"So you wear his mask without knowing who Zorro is?" The finger stills on the bridge of his nose and starts to trace a part downward. Richard's heart is beating a mile a minute. He swallows nervously, and notices how the man tracks the movement of his throat and then his lips. He leans in, and Richard's mind instinctively pushes back.
It shouldn't work. He's tried to manipulate people before. He and Lee once wasted an entire afternoon where he tried to make Lee shift to the other side of the couch. He'd moved the couch more times than he can remember, along with the pillows and even Lee's shirt (just once, but it was very memorable). But Lee had never budged.
And yet, the man flies backwards as if punched, and crashes into the opposite wall with a loud thud and an even louder groan. Shock keeps Richard rooted in place. The man isn't moving, and for a few moments, Richard feels the weight of the world come crashing down on his shoulders. But then he hears a soft, obviously pained, "Fuck," and decides that since the man is obviously well enough to speak, this might be a good opportunity to run.