Chapter Text
The first time Clockblocker met Damselfly, he didn’t know that she was a she.
“Kid, am I crazy or are those butterflies speaking to me?” he asked, slowing, then stopping his walk, staring. In the middle of the park a swarm of butterflies was flying in a circle, forming in an arrow pointing at the ground, then returning the circle formation.
“You’re crazy,” Kid replied, looking around the butterflies. “They’re signaling for us to go somewhere. Clearly different from talking bugs.”
“Good to know,” Clockblocker replied, shaking his head. He cupped his hands and shouted, “Hey! We’re not going to move off our patrol route to get to you. Too many Wards have been ambushed that way and we’re not allowed to do it anymore. If you want to talk, we’re gonna have to ask you to come out to us.”
For a while the butterflies danced around aimlessly and Clockblocker was afraid he’d lost the new cape.
Then they fluttered away and massed by the tree line. Slowly, the flock moved towards Clockblocker and Kid Win, now somewhat humanoid. The waited patiently, and after a few short moments the butterfly-covered figure stood in front of them, every color of the rainbow and extremely indistinct.
“So you’re made out of bugs?” Clockblocker asked, tilting his head. “Transform into bugs? Control bugs?”
“Last one,” the new parahuman said quietly and (not for the first time) Clockblocker was thankful his mask hid his expression. Something about a walking tower of insects didn’t scream feminine to him but would you look at that, apparently the bug girl was a girl.
“You said you wanted to talk,” Kid said, picking up the thread of the conversation. From there was a pretty standard Wards pitch, altered when it became clear that bug girl really didn’t want to talk to her parents, then altered again when they were sure it wasn’t a case of abuse. After a while Clockblocker wandered off, found a soft-ish bit of grass, and relaxed into the ground.
Sometimes letting other people handle the heavy work was nice.
Too soon he felt a coolness cover his face.
“Is the bug girl gone?” he asked.
“No,” she said. Clockblocker opened his eyes and stared up at a thin figure, covered in spiders and centipedes and-
“Fucking hell!” he shouted, rolling away and coming up into a fighting stance. The bug-covered figure stumbled backwards, shrinking into herself. “Crap, sorry,” he said, opening his fists into calming hands. “Sorry. Just, uh-”
“Bugs,” she said quietly, remaining. “Normally I keep the scarier one covered by butterflies, but I sent them to a playground...” she trailed off. Clockblocker dropped one hand, the other going to rub the back of his head as he gave her a once-over. A few moths were resting in her hair, but other than that she only had crawly bugs on her, many-legged and blending in against her body suit.
“Right,” he finished lamely. After a short silence he sat down, turning to face the treeline. “So, do you usually walk around with an extra twenty pound of crawlies on you?”
“In costume, yeah,” the girl said, sitting down next to him. “I figured it would make the gangsters afraid to grab me. That, and I’ll always have some of the better bugs on me.”
Clockblocker pondered that. “It doesn’t bother you? The legs and crawling all over you and stuff?”
She shrugged. “I’ve got a lot of control. It’d be like being afraid of my own toenails.” A few more moths fluttered over, landing on her face. “That, and it’s kind of comforting. Like having a whole school of friends.”
Clockblocker nodded slowly. “Okay.”
A silence stretched on.
“It’s gross, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Gross, creepy, and more than a little scary,” he confirmed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you would make a terrifying villain.”
The girl shrunk in on herself. “Dang.”
Silently, Clockblocker cursed himself. “I mean, making it a color other than black, grey and brown would probably help.”
She shrugged. “I would, but I don’t know how to dye spider silk.”
“Spider silk?”
The first time Taylor met Dennis, it was in costume, and he still didn’t know her name.
“Hello,” she said quietly, looking around the room. “It’s nice to meet you all.”
It still didn’t feel real.
There was Kid Win. There was Vista. There was Clockblocker. Mythic figures, ones that appeared on trading cards, tee shirts, and were so far from the everyday drudge of life it was almost funny.
Now she was meeting them.
“Nice to meet you too, Damselfly.” Clockblocker stuck out his hand, his other coming up to give her a thumbs up. “Also nice to be able to call you something other than bug girl.”
“I never would’ve thought of it on my own,” she confessed, tentatively shaking his hand. “Kind of hard to come up with heroic-sounding bug names.”
“I feel that,” Kid Win said. “I mean, the bit about finding a name, not specifically about bugs.”
“Dork.” Vista stepped forward and gently punched Taylor in the shoulder. “Good to have another girl on the team.” The fist rested there, then dropped away. “Anyway, now that the hero introductions are over, want to do something fun?”
“Maybe,” Taylor answered, looking between the other three Wards. “What did you have in mind?”
“Sparring.”
“Video games.”
“Food.”
Taylor blinked at the sudden barrage of options. “Last one please.”
Clockblocker fist-pumped. “I’ve got this leader-thing on lock.”
“You really don’t.” Vista shook her head, taking one step across the room and dropping onto the couch, reaching for one of many different delivery menus. “Ward membership has declined fifty percent while you’ve been in charge. That’s all clearly on you.”
“Aegis and Gallant graduated, Browbeat left, and Shadow Stalker got reassigned,” Kid Win explained, beckoning Taylor towards the couch. “We might get reinforcements from other cities, we might not, but for now we’re kind of understaffed.”
“I am not a crook,” Clockblocker commented, flopping into a chair and throwing up two peace signs. “Anyway, since it’s your Wardsday, what do you want to eat?”
“Pizza,” Taylor replied automatically, hesitantly taking a seat.
Clockblocker nodded. “The diplomatic option. I give it my royal seal of approval.” He reached up, unfastened his helmet, and pulled it off, revealing deep-set blue eyes and a shock of red hair, promptly disturbed by furious scratching. “Ugh. Helmet hair is the worst.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Chris replied dryly, tapping a button on his neck. His visor retracted, revealing a surprisingly-young face. “It’s almost like the PR department deliberately gave you the most irritating costume in the world.”
“I wonder what you could’ve done to deserve it,” Vista added, pulling off her own visor and grinning broadly. “I mean, the only thing that immediately springs to mind would be if I made my hero name a dick joke before talking it over with branding, but why would you do that? It’d be stupid.”
“You’re all fired,” Clockblocker said solemnly, tossing the helmet between his hands. “It’s going to be hard defending the Bay from the various terrors that haunt it with only Damselfly to back me up, but it’s better than risking betrayal in the field.”
Taylor felt the weight of three sets of eyes. “I move to have Clockblocker back me up instead and rehire the ex-Wards?” she tried.
Clockblocker grabbed at his chest in mock-pain. “Even the rookie doesn’t respect my authority. Maybe I need to go to one of those leadership seminars.” He extended his hand again. “Dennis, by the way.” Taylor looked at it like she would a poisonous snake, then to the other two teenagers.
“Missy,” the younger girl said, shrugging. “You don’t have to share your name, not if you don’t want to.”
“Chris. Browbeat didn’t while he was with us, so there’s one hundred percent precedent.” The other boy lifted both arms helplessly. “It’s up to you.”
Hesitantly, Taylor took his hand. “I think I’m going to take a raincheck on the face?” she said. “I... don’t feel comfortable yet.”
Dennis nodded, pumping her fist twice. “Whenever you’re ready.”
When Damselfly first helped Dennis, he was completely unaware she’d done anything.
“Hey Dad,” Dennis said quietly, holding his father’s hand. “Sorry I couldn’t get here when you were awake. Duty called. Dang Nazis.” He chuckled, rubbing the withered palm with his thumb. “Only in Brockton Bay, right?”
“I saw Glory Girl today. Asked her to talk to Panacea. She’s the healer, you know? The real one, with no downsides. She doesn’t do brains, but I figure that if she could make the rest of you better, you’d have better odds. I know that sounds redundant, that of course you’d have better odds...” He took a breath, then shook his head. “She said she’d ask. No promises, they have rules about people approaching them for healing, usually don’t do that, but hey, I’m a hero.” He chuckled. “Gotta love nepotism. Probably not using that word right, but like, this is one hundred percent the shit they talk about when they talk about the rules being different for parahumans.”
He sat there in silence for a while.
“I really hate this, you know? The second-guessing, the constant what-ifs, the fact that every time I leave I don’t know if I’m going to see you again. I can’t stay mad, because if you die when I’m mad at you I’m just the worst. All these visits, they have to end the same way. With me saying thanks and hoping to God that I don’t get a call in the middle of a patrol telling me that the worst has happened, that they’re so sorry, that the whole charade will fall apart and people will start asking why I never told-”
He cut himself off. “That doesn’t matter, though.”
Another silence.
“I just really want to do normal stuff again.” His thumb stopped. “Go to the movie theatre. Play frisbee. Eat something together. Little stuff. The stuff I didn’t think twice about a few years back. Like, come on, how much does a guy have to do to get a bowl of noodles around here?” He sniffled. “Mom’s doing well. Really well, all things considered. Holding things together, making sure that everything is order, all that stuff. Pretty sure she’s crying now. I’m not stupid. She doesn’t let anyone else see.” He sniffled again. “No man’s an island, right? Well, she might be. Maybe part of it’s being a woman. I don’t want to reach out, don’t want to mess up whatever she’s got but...”
Dennis leaned forward, clutching his father’s hand to his forehead. “I’d really, really like a hug sometimes, y’know.” He swallowed. “Like, not in a weird way. Just a little ‘hey, I love you.’ Something small like that.”
Two floors down, Panacea put her hand into a bundle of cockroaches, converted them into a generic slime, and applied the sludge to a cut on the side of a dog. When she scraped away the excess material, the flesh was repaired.
“That was gross. Like, really gross.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you have anything less weird?”
“I have butterflies, ladybugs, caterpillars, pill bugs, and dragonflies? I try to keep those for the kids, though.”
“...what about rolly-pollies?”
“Do you mean pill bugs?”
“Whatever. Could you gather those up instead? I really don’t want to have to feel all those legs again.”
“I guess? Umm, if legs are the issue, would worms-”
“It’s not just the legs.”
The first time Clockblocker saved Damselfly’s life, the favor was paid back almost immediately.
He reached out, grabbed an arm, and pulled, dragging the two of them behind a car. His power flared into the vehicle, and a second later there was a groan of compressing, then rending, metal.
Once the cacophony died down, he slowly lifted his head, peering through the time-locked window. A great twist of steel was on the other side, along with a fractured windshield. After a moment, he recognized that the wreck was the remains of an ungainly truck that had lost three or four more engines than it was supposed to have, and that the white powder floating around probably wasn’t sugar.
“Squealer’s work.” He looked to the side to find the other Ward, now dressed in electric blue and black, staring forward beside him. “Either her or a lacky inside, and probably pretty badly hurt. We need to get inside.”
“Read my mind,” he replied, stepping out of cover and looking around the environment. “I’ll get the window open, you keep an eye out for anyone else.”
Damselfly nodded, gnats already spilling out of her backpack. They were hardly the fuzziest thing she had at her disposal, but they were unobtrusive and could cover ground fast. “Backup and the PRT are coming, ETA is six minutes.”
“Welp, time to set up.” Clockblocker pulled a short metal tube off his belt and swung it, extending the cylinder into a small crowbar. “Time to earn our paychecks.”
Clockblocker had gotten the door open, the driver (a random Merchant) out, and was in the middle of performing first aid when he felt the tickle of a bug on the back of his neck.
“Two gang bangers, both currently fighting their bodyweight in bugs.” Damselfly was staring off into the distance, a sign that she was concentrating very hard on something that a Ward was not allowed to do where the cameras could see. “One of them had a gun. Not a problem anymore.”
Clockblocker froze the gangbanger, then settled in for a wait. “ETA of the PRT and Emergency services?”
“Three and four minutes.” She tilted her head. “Another gangbanger just ran out of my range. I’m going to let them go.”
Clockblocker laughed. “You don’t have to sound so disappointed. We both almost died today. Let’s not borrow trouble.”
Damselfly looked at him, body still unexpressive. “We’re heroes. Borrowing trouble is what we do.”
Clockblocker lifted his hands. “There’s borrowing trouble and then there’s pushing your luck. We’ve won here, maybe we could win more, but if we mess up the two you have pinned down could get up and this one could bleed out.” The freeze wore off and Clockblocker tapped him mid-groan. “There’s a time and place to press advantages. One gangbanger isn’t enough to justify someone dying.”
Damselfly looked away, gnats collecting around her. “It still feels wrong.”
Clockblocker shrugged again. “It also feels wrong not to blingk when someone tries to punch you, but when you get into a real fist-fight for the first time oh boy do you want that feeling gone.”
“What are you complaining about? You can just tap them and win.” Her voice went up at the end though, and she turned back towards Clockblocker. “I feel like you picked a bad example.”
“Like you’re one to talk, Miss ‘cover myself in spiders so the muggers don’t grab me’,” he shot back, jerking his chin at her. “Say, how did that whole thing go over with the PR department?” From there the conversation devolved, and when the PRT finally showed up to collect the criminals the two of them were laughing freely, only the accompanying chorus of crickets and occasional suddenly-silenced groan cutting through the mirth.
The first time Clockblocker and Damselfly reunited, it was unexpected.
“Good to see you again, Clockblocker,” she said, reaching out a hand as the teleporter behind her disappeared in a scream of fire. “Strike team deputy, huh?” Her costume had become more elaborate, adding in a patterned shawl and short dress, along with a small backpack.
“You take in one iteration of the Butcher and suddenly everyone wants you to do their work for you,” he said, gripping her forearm and nodding once, then letting go. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“They said you needed firepower, and I was the easiest to dispatch.” Something clicked and a few dragonflies slipped out from under her shawl, bright blue and far larger than anything nature created. “So, what’s the problem?”
“Problems, plural,” he corrected, turning to look at the innocuous warehouse and walking towards a gathering of capes. “Problem one is a huge number of trafficked individuals, problem two is the tinker using them for slave labor, problem three is a trio of powered minions that we haven’t been able to figure out quite yet. Also, you’re not in school anymore?”
“Skipped a year. College now,” she answered absentmindedly. “I don’t have class for another three days and got ahead on the homework. Who else is here?”
“Scour, a blaster who shoots high-pressure water laced with rock, Brava, a combat thinker who enters slow-time and moves a little faster, Ajax, a brute with enhanced physiology and throwable forcefields, me, and Vista,” he rattled off. “We’d normally wait for some people better suited to the task at hand but there’s a clock ticking. Locus wants to be paid a grand per hostage, then get a presidential pardon for her actions.”
“There’s a female bug-themed cape trying to operate in the state of Illinois,” Damselfly stated.
Clockblocker nodded. “I know. It sounded stupid to me too, but apparently Locus is an international problem. Used to be the dictator of Venezuela, got deposed by a generous application of lasers and strangers, and apparently kept going north until her money ran out.”
“And she’s here now. I’ve set up, by the way,” Damselfly finished as the circle of capes opened up. One woman was dressed in a red zorro mask and an Italian ren faire outfit, complete with a rapier and somewhat ruined by the pair of revolvers under each shoulder. Another man had his arms crossed, the pink coral of his armor clashing with his ebony skin and the furrow in his brow. A second man was bared to the chest, with only an artfully placed knot of rope preserving his decency and a full-face mask reminiscent of greek statues.
Vista sighed theatrically as the two of them approached. “Welp guys, time to pack up. Damsel ‘I’ve got this’ Fly has shown up. Show’s over.”
The near-naked man glanced between the two girls. “I assume that’s an inside joke. Are we allowed to be in on it?”
“I count forty hostages, all with some sort of tinker tech on the back of their heads,” Damselfly said, looking at each group member in turn. “Currently there is no regular human muscle that I can detect, and I’m getting a feel for the costumes of the enemy parahumans as we speak. And it’s from a training exercise where I tried to fight everybody else on the team at once.”
“That sounds really stupid,” the ren faire woman said cheerfully.
“It was.” Damselfly took a step back, nodding to Scour. “I have feelers on every human in the warehouse, and after a few minutes I should be able to give you a rough sketch of their costumes.”
“We wait for that and a few minutes of Thinktank analysis,” Scour said. “Once we have that, we can make a more concrete plan. For now, everyone introduce themselves. Focus on hard limits and common scenarios, then think about synergy.”
“We’ve worked together in the past,” Clockblocker added, rapping his fingers lightly against one of Damsel’s shoulderplates. “Vista too.”
“A regular reunion,” Vista commented dryly.
“Brava. I can literally dodge bullets.” She nodded at Damselfly. “Say, I don’t suppose you have any spider silk?”
Damsel laughed, even as she reached for her utility belt. “You have no idea.”
The first time Dennis and Taylor had sex, it was communication.
For the longest time, Taylor stood there in sunshine, staring at the gravestone. All the flowers were red and gold, but the marker itself was a dull grey, too innocuous to fit. It was a memorial chosen by the parents, by his girlfriend. They figured that Chris wouldn’t want anything too flashy. That he’d prefer to blend in and be forgotten.
It took a lot of control not to punch them in their red-rimmed eyes.
Eventually she grew aware of a person walking towards her. She could’ve bitten them a few times, slipped fleas into their hair, little things that would still be enough to deter most people. She could’ve slipped a fly down his throat (it was a him), wriggle a worm into his socks (he was wearing boots), or applied some small insect-based misery that would ruin his day.
Taylor let Dennis come up behind her.
“It’s fucked, you know?” he asked. Loudly.
She didn’t respond.
“Like, I kind of get how you could think that he was content with where he was. If I squinted. And only looked at what he said to the people who didn’t spend a lot of time with Valiance. I mean, he wouldn’t want them to cut down on his hero time, not if it was fun, and after a while it’d become routine.”
“It’s wrong,” Taylor said quietly.
“It’s so wrong we’re going to have to literally scour a city clean for him.” Dennis knuckles popped even as he droned on, monotone. “We’re going to have to ensure zero percent crime for a full fucking week, and we’re going to have to do it in Detroit because why would a guy with more promise than anyone else go somewhere safe to build his shit? No, let’s go to the most hostile city in North America, with the least funding and biggest problems, and let’s try to make that work.”
“It was working!” Taylor shouted, words tinged with a buzz.
“It was fucking working,” Dennis said, voice stable. “He was so good at his job that people started actively gunning for him, and eventually they tilted the odds so far out of his favor even Chris couldn’t bullshit his way out of it. It still cost them!” he shouted, fire slipping into his voice. “Seven of you fuckers went in, two came out! Shrike? Jackalope? We’re coming for you! There’s a pair of cells in the Birdcage with your fucking names on them!”
The two of them went silent, letting the words echo across the otherwise-empty graveyard.
“You and he used to be a thing, right?” Dennis said casually.
“We broke up on good terms when he transferred,” she replied. “No bad blood.”
“Good.”
They stood there for a while longer.
“Let’s get dinner,” he said.
She turned around, walking past him. “Steaks.”
After they ate, she invited him up. They undressed carefully, kissed, then went to bed.
The hardest question Dennis ever asked was to Taylor, and it came with a hint of disaster.
“Who’s Missy bringing? Anyone?” Taylor sipped at her tea, enjoying the autumn breeze as summer in Brockton Bay came to a close.
Dennis shrugged a seat away, holding his coffee in both hands and savoring the smell, eyes closed with delight. “No idea at all. She’s kinda dropped off the radar of late. Still in New York with the transport division, still spoiling for a fight. I have no idea how the youngest one of us is the most violent, but I blame Piggot.”
Taylor clucked her tongue. “It’s bad luck to speak ill of the dead. She wasn’t that bad.”
Dennis’s eyes shot open “She’s dead!? How?”
“Medical complications,” Taylor said. When Dennis gave her a doubtful look, she rolled her eyes. “Dennis, not everything is an Elite plot to destabilize the PRT.”
“You don’t get to say that until you talk with Lisa,” he countered. “She has a lot of very convincing cork board of photos, thumbtacks, and colored strings.” When Taylor didn’t respond, he turned towards her. “Something wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” Taylor replied.
Dennis laughed. “We’re so good at adulting we drink coffee. Let’s not let wounds fester.”
She sighed. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
Dennis stood up, took two long steps, then sat down next to Taylor, placing a hand on her knee. “Never.”
Taylor turned away, hiding her face. “I’m jealous.”
The silence stretched on.
“Of Lisa?” Dennis asked cautiously.
“I told you it was stupid,” she muttered. “I’m a grown woman, getting jealous of another grown woman who is spending time with you.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid.” The hand moved from knee to empty grip, two set of calloused fingers intertwining.
“Well I do,” Taylor said, nails clutching into claws. “I know she’s basically ace. I know I can trust you. I know that you’re probably talking about some scene you and her had when she was explaining a mission-critical piece of information to you and you’re just reimagining it for comic effect. I know all that.” Her voice rose. “I know that, and I can’t stop my stupid brain from wondering if you’re just stringing me along, if I really got this lucky, and when the whole damn house of cards is going to come down. Whenever something goes wrong, horribly wrong, I feel a little relieved. Vindicated. That’s when things make sense, and when I can stop thinking so much and just do. This,” she said, shaking their paired hands. “This is have no idea how to handle. I just go along with whatever works and hope that it keeps working because one day the hammer is going to fall and...
The rant ended quietly, with red half-circles in the back of Dennis’s hands and a silent shudder. Slowly, Dennis turned to look out over the front lawn, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.
“Taylor, do you know how afraid I am of you?” he whispered.
She whipped her head around, eyes wide. “Afraid?”
“At first it was the entirely rational fear of spiders,” he said, staring off at the grass. “Still is, kind of. Like, I don’t think you get the level of terror a writhing mass of cockroaches inspires in your average human. All I know is that when I first saw you cut loose I was so fucking scared that I had nightmares for a week.” He glanced to the side. “I got over it once we had spidersilk costumes, but it’s still creepy.”
She punched him in the shoulder. Lightly. “You suck.”
“Then I was scared that you were going to leave,” he continued, pulling her hand into his lap and taking it with both, gently rubbing her palm. “They claim that there’s more to leadership than raw power, and that’s true up until you realize that first you have to have the power, then you learn the rest. You have team-leader power. Division-leader if you use bugs from wet tinkers.” He shook his head. “I freeze things.”
Taylor blinked. “Your hand.”
Dennis looked down at the divots in his skin, then shrugged. “Nah, it’s good.” He gave her wrist a small squeeze. “It’s going to take more that a few scratches to push me away.” He paused. “You mind if I finish? I promise I’m going somewhere with this.”
Slowly, Taylor nodded, squeezing back. Carefully.
“Anyway. Leading. For a long time I sat there, felt sorry for myself, and moped. Then Chris told me to put my big boy pants on and I started thinking about how to pull myself up. That’s where the gloves with deployable thread came from, where I began to toy with the idea of a portable shelter, and why I started carrying rope and batons everywhere. You went from strength to strength, I worked my ass off to keep up, and the status quo was maintained.”
He took a breath, then let it out. “Then I died.”
Taylor pulled her hand clear of Dennis’s hands and put it around his shoulders, shifting her seat to get closer. For a minute, they sat in silence, remembering.
“See, that was where I woke up, I think,” he said quietly. “Like, I’d seen people die before. Some I knew. But when you go to sleep, then wake up in a pool of goo and get told that someone tore off your head? That felt so weird I don’t even have words for it. One-shot deal, no transhumanism yet, pure luck that the Lady of Shades was in town. If things had gone even a little bit differently, I’d be in the dirt.”
A breeze rolled though, gently tugging dark hair across Taylor’s face.
“I have spent a really, really long time thinking about how to keep things the same. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, too. Thing is, nature doesn’t like stasis, and I can’t freeze the universe.”
“Have you tried?” Taylor asked.
Dennis heaved a heavy sigh. “No, Taylor, I haven’t tried to keep the earth from spinning, but if you think it’s a good idea I’ll give it a shot.”
She chuckled, he smiled, and they sat in silence. In the distance, police cruisers howled, dogs barked, children cried, and the world went on.
“Anyway, this is a really long way to say I’m scared of you. Of your power, of losing you, of not being around, basically every possible fear that could be related to you rattles around in my skull on a fairly daily basis. I told Dean about this, and he started laughing like crazy.”
“Jerk,” Taylor said, dropping her head to Dennis’s shoulder. “Should I put worms in his shoes?”
“Nah, he gave good advice,” Dennis said, dropping his head onto hers and digging around his pocket. “He told me that from his perspective, I was in love.”
Taylor froze.
Dennis pulled out a velvet box, roughly the size of a coaster. “I have no idea how it happened, when it happened, but that explanation makes a lot of sense. You make my heart race when you enter a room, I rarely stop thinking of you when you’re gone, I’ve done all sorts of stupid shit to try and make you laugh, and that’s not even thinking about the mind-blowing sex-”
“Dennis, if this is a joke, fucking stop,” Taylor whispered, a gentle buzz rising behind it.
He held the box between them, still looking over the yard. “No joke. Promise.” After a moment, “Please.”
Slowly, Taylor took the box, clicked it open, and looked inside. After a moment she closed it.
They sat in silence for a long time.
“You know I can’t wear that in public,” she said.
Dennis turned to the side, a skeptical look on his face. “Why not?”
“Insect-themed jewelry?” she asked incredulously.
Dennis covered his eyes with one hand. “Is it that bad?”
Taylor groaned. “It’s pretty. Really pretty. But it’s also as subtle as neon sign.”
Dennis sighed, pulling his hand down his face. “I can take it back, get something else. I just thought-”
“No, I have an idea.” Taylor opened up the box again and pulled out the necklace.
Silver, with blue stone inlaid along the length of the dragonfly’s abdomen. The eyes sparkled, bright sapphires that took in the late afternoon light and magnified it, with two outstretched wings made of mother-of-pearl and veined with silver.
Taylor leaned forward, slipping her arms around Dennis to close the chain behind his neck. “There. Problem solved.”
Dennis blinked, instinctively pulling Taylor into a hug. “Did you just put your engagement rocks around my neck?”
Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not really, no,” he said, leaning his head down. “Also, is this a yes?”
Taylor tilted her head back and kissed his chin. “Yes. Yes it is.”