Work Text:
The whip-snap electric lash flew past him, missing by a few inches as The Middleman moved out of range. He had his gun out but didn't want to use it. He was outnumbered two-to-one and no backup was coming, but it was manageable. Barely.
He holstered the weapon and flicked his attention between The Mastermind and his sidekick, Hula. They were terrible names, and it was hard to take them seriously at first. Wendy would have kept up a steady mockery of their opponents if she were there.
The Mastermind was armed with the standard ray gun, but Hula had a hula hoop that struck out with a lightning bolt lasso. From the rise in temperature being near it, The Middleman knew he didn't want it wrapped around him. He picked up an empty oil drum from the warehouse floor, tossed it at The Mastermind, and watched as the guy fell down and stayed there.
Both he and Hula paused. After a few seconds it was clear The Mastermind was out cold. The Middleman smiled grimly at the even odds, and the woman circling around him frowned. He didn't blame her. It was unnerving to enter battle with a partner only to be left alone when he or she was taken away. He was not yet used to not having Dubbie at the ready.
“Nice. The formidable Middleman can throw stuff,” she sneered.
Her dark, curly hair hung lushly down her shoulders, reminding him of Wendy. Her voice was deeper, and worn down like a smoker's. Her slim, fit body was encased in silver latex boots, skirt, and shirt. Her black gloves were the only part of the ensemble that hadn't been cut down to reveal more skin. The black silk mask covered her entire face. Not even her eyes were exposed. It was thin enough to see the shape of her expressions, though, and she wasn't 100 per cent confident.
“I prefer non-lethal methods, Hula,” he told her, moving in concert as she tried to angle closer to him. “But I won't hesitate to use more force when I'm sure it's necessary.”
The constant swirl of the hoop around her waist was distracting. The Middleman tried to reason with her while The Mastermind was silent.
“You're new, and perhaps you made a mistake working with The Mastermind. I understand that. Your crimes have been fairly minor; lookout on a few thefts. If you testified against him you might not even go to prison. Surrender and I'll put in a good word for you.”
She chuckled cruelly, and the hoop sent out a wide slicing glow that burned his arm. He hissed and dodged behind some crates, reaching for a stun grenade. Before he set it off he saw her shrink the hula hoop down to hang on her waist like a belt. His gloved hand came up and covered his eyes, the grenade went off, and then there was nothing.
When The Middleman peeked out he saw no one on the floor or fleeing. The drum he had thrown was kicked off to the other side of the room. Hula had saved her evil master. He sighed and did a quick BTRS scan just in case there was a clue to follow.
A week earlier he would have said The Mastermind was a caped wannabe with no more dangerous plan than being alarming so he could get on the news. The new sidekick had changed everything for the worse. Two local technology firms had been burgled, and random supplies were taken. It was unclear what The Mastermind intended to build, but his plans were suddenly both elegant and effective.
“Ida, I'm coming back and I'll need a dressing for my arm,” he said into the Middle watch. “I don't think we can consider The Mastermind a minor threat anymore.”
The android's perm bounced as she shook her head. “Women ruin everything. Get back here fast and we'll get you patched up.”
He used autopilot so he could apply pressure to his arm, which was bleeding steadily. The smell of his own burnt flesh made him ill. The absence of Wendy was harshest in his downtime, especially in the car. Her banter was often unhelpful. Her work ethic waned from time to time. She would be the one who stood looking over his shoulder as Ida fixed him up, making yucky faces and telling him how he should have blasted all the bad guys, even if they were cookie-making elves at their day jobs.
Ida met him in the garage, her face screwed up as she pushed a broom through the mist on the floor. “What the hell is this stuff, boss? There's no reason for the garage to have low-lying fog,” she complained.
“It's harmless. Please hurry with that first aid kit. I need to get back out and look for Hula,” he replied.
She made him go all the way to the infirmary before stripping off his jacket, then studied the wound. “I thought it was The Mastermind?”
The Middleman braced himself as his burn was disinfected and coated with ointment. Ida had long since stopped being fussy about humans flinching as she bandaged them. With his arm wrapped shoulder to elbow, he changed clothes and reviewed the Real-Time Situation logs.
“So you think the love of a bad woman made the caped incompetent a success,” Ida asked. “Figures. You can't add a pair of boobs without doing something to the mix. Like you and the princess.”
“Please, don't. Discussing my personal problems is difficult and I don't need the distraction.”
He turned his back on her concern, and leaned closer to the video monitors. Hula looked so familiar in some of her movements. The altercation had been mostly stationary, but even the way she shifted her weight was tickling some part of his mind. He watched her feet, her hands, her use of the hula hoop, and wondered how it was so clearly something but his head couldn't work it out.
“You didn't retire her jersey,” Ida said firmly. “You haven't hired someone to replace her. I have to say I don't get the doom you've been wearing.”
His head shook emphatically before he realized he was trying to ignore her. “I wronged her and she won't forgive that.”
For a moment on the video, Hula's face was frozen in a way that made her look like Wendy, but the next frame was the stun grenade's explosion. He wanted to see Wendy so much he was seeing her in the work. Hula didn't sound like her, or act in any way Wendy Watson would condone. He made a mental note to triple check his intuitions until he was feeling less heart broken.
He wondered when that would be.
She climbed up the fire escape and crouched on the balcony, listening for Lacey. Wendy had started lying pretty heavily and since she'd stopped feeling bad about it she didn't even explain where she went at night. She was fired and hadn't even looked for a new job. A part of her was still hoping The Middleman would apologize. She could barely speak to him, her voice choked with tears she wasn't crying.
“Screw him,” she mumbled. She slipped off the silly boots and pulled a pair of jeans down from the clothesline. Once she had ass coverage she unzipped the tiny skirt and rolled it up. It was a sad commentary that her entire uniform could be stashed in one of her boots.
It was a sadder commentary that when she wasn't getting dumped by doorknob art students she was dumping perfectly nice musician/executive assistants and getting decimated by the nicest guy she should never have dated.
When she closed her eyes, Wendy's stomach started flipping uneasily. Her stupid hands reached across the bed for someone who wasn't there. She had nothing but time and space.
Wendy pulled down a shirt to wear, stowed her new uniform in a backpack, and climbed in the window. She listened to the faint hum of her hula hoop of death with bitter satisfaction. She'd never wanted to be a hero or to fall for one. It made her feel like a fool.
“Hey,” she greeted Lacey.
The blond jumped up from the couch and stared. “Dub Dub! Where did you come from?!”
The moments when she hated her friend's innocent knowledge of the world were almost daily, but Wendy smiled like things hadn't been crushed. There was no need to look pathetic.
“I came in while you were in the bathroom, I guess, then I took a nap. So what do you want to do tonight?”
The suggestions all ran together, but it didn't matter. She couldn't spend time with The Middleman and she couldn't paint. Her old friends were strange, idealistic, young people she didn't trust. She was barely real. He didn't want Wendy Watson. She was just trying to give him what he'd asked for.