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“Another dead soldier.” Clink. Glass on wood, and you know it’ll leave a ring. You stopped trying to keep track of your coaster hours ago. Just like you stopped trying to keep count of the bottles that keep piling up.
“Pretty sure that saying is only for alcohol.” Ortega grins, her eyes going soft as she looks at you. Oh no, you know that look. “Besides, we already have too many.”
“Had too many, you mean.” You survey the scene of empty cups, bottles, and shot glasses on the table before you, looking far too much like gravestones. You weren’t the only dead hero out there, but at least you came back. Or did you?
“That too.” She agrees, polishing off the last of her beer.
You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol running through your system, or the way her eyes sparkle when she looks at you, but it suddenly feels a few degrees too hot in here. Her leg pressed against your own isn’t helping either. It makes you feel like ants are crawling under your skin. Fidgety, but without anything to latch onto. Restless as the fire in your cheeks. Those too brown eyes of hers like twin suns you can’t bear to look at for too long.
It only takes a moment more before you’re pushing away from her again, pushing up from the couch, and pushing the knots in the pit of your stomach down. Walk towards the kitchen, just to give your feet something to do. Grab a couple more beers, the fancy kind that only Ortega likes, because why not? You could learn to like it. You tolerate her, after all; And it’s not like you haven’t stolen enough of her things already, one more is nothing to you. Pop the top as you start walking back, not bothering to keep track of where it landed. Chance a glance at Ortega when you hand her the other bottle.
You’re not surprised by what you find there, and you’re sick to death of seeing it. That sad look she wears around you sometimes, like she knows you’re thinking about fleeing the scene. The sight of it almost makes you bolt right then and there.
But, no. You don’t want to go. Not yet. Just a couple more hours. You promised her that, didn’t you? You can handle it. You only need a distraction. Anything else to talk about that’s not the conversation you can sense already aching to leave her mouth.
A question, that would do the trick. It rises to the forefront of your mind as you circle the coffee table, away from her. It’s one you haven’t dared to ask yet, but if a few beers and shots of tequila won’t loosen Ortega’s already slack tongue, then nothing will.
“Don’t tell me you’re still bothered by it.”
“Bothered by what?”
“You know who I’m talking about.” You give her a hard look. “The reason you’ve had that look on your face all night.” One of the reasons, anyway. “It wasn’t like you and him were the best of friends.”
“No, we weren’t.” The top of Ortega’s beer pops off, falling to join the rest on the table. “But he was still one of us, and it wasn’t a pretty way to go.” She stares back at you with a far too sober look. “You should know that better than anyone.”
You do. Far too well. You’re the one that dealt the final blow, after all. You also know that’s not what she’s referring to. The kaleidoscope image of glass shards falling around you like snow fills your head before you push it back down. Down in the dark where it belongs.
“I don’t like to think about it.”
“Neither do I.” Her face softens. There it is again, that same sad expression. The one that almost makes you look away.
“You know if you ever want to talk about it–”
“I don’t.”
“I figured as much.” She sighs, leaning back against the couch. “I wish you did.”
You shrug your shoulders, grimace as the beer hits your tongue– disgusting –and pace a few more steps. Pace until you reach the window, always the window, looking down at the street below. So familiar, as if you never left that room.
But no, it is different. This time you can feel the static-nothingness cling to the back of your neck like cobwebs. The ugly thoughts drifting away as you force yourself to look back at her again. There’s only so much white noise you can take, even if you find an irritating smirk plastered across her face once you turn around.
“Not to your liking?”
“You know it’s not.” You also know she would’ve gone out and bought you anything you asked for in a heartbeat, as soon as you said the word. “No one ever accused you of having good taste.”
“Hey! I like you.”
“Exactly.”
She laughs, and pats the couch cushion you’d vacated earlier. Like always, you’re helpless to refuse. Your tired legs breathing a sigh of relief once you hit the couch, shifting away in case she gets the idea you’d want a comforting touch, or even worse, her lips on you. Maybe you do, but you’re not going to let her know that.
She angles herself towards you all the same, her body so close that you can smell the alcohol on her breath. Or maybe that’s just your own.
“Herald told me, you know.” She’s looking at you, but you aren’t looking back. “About the roof. And the training.”
“Of course he did.” Luckily you aren’t trying to keep it a secret. Knew it couldn’t be with his leaky mind.
“I think he’s worried about you.”
“Of course he is.” You take another drink. “He worries about everyone.” Even the ones he shouldn’t. Especially the ones he shouldn’t.
“That’s true.” She admits, but there’s a hesitation there. Are you missing something?
“Why don’t you just come out and say what you really mean?” If it’s an argument she wants, then you’re more than willing to dance. That’ll give you the perfect excuse to escape.
“You scare me a little, sometimes.” The words come tumbling out of her mouth before you can react. “Do you think I don’t notice the way you act when you think no one else is looking? Like you’re–”
“Stop. I don’t want to talk about it.” Don’t want to think about it either. The past is over and done with. Dead like you should be. You can’t understand why she keeps bringing the same subject up. Doesn’t it hurt her too?
“You know how dangerous this city can be.” A pointed look directly at you. “And it’s only gotten worse since you…”
‘Since you died.’ You complete the thought in your head, though neither of you dare to finish the sentence out loud.
“You’re talking about Heartbreak, aren’t you? The new one, I mean.” It’s not hard to figure out what’s been eating away at her these days. It always goes back to that, doesn’t it?
“He’s not the only thing out there I’m worried about.” A sigh escapes her lips. “But yes, he’s one of them. I wish I knew what he was thinking.”
It’s a dangerous game pressing her for more information. One you haven’t played too often in this body, and for good reasons. Still, it could be worth it. You can be relatively sure there aren’t any recording devices in here, and with this much alcohol running through both of your systems, you might not get a better chance.
“What do you mean?” You ask, wishing for the millionth time that you could break through that thundercloud and read her thoughts.
“I mean, if Heartbreak is trying to send a message, then he isn’t making it very clear.”
Ouch. You might’ve been downright insulted if you were in that armor right now instead of Ortega’s living room, but you can’t be, so you take a sip of beer instead, and consider your next words carefully.
“What would you do differently, then? If it were you.” It isn’t the first time you’ve discussed a villain’s flaws before, but that feels like a lifetime ago; And you weren’t the villain being gossiped about back then.
“It wouldn't ever be me.” Her voice goes hard, knuckles tightening around the neck of her beer bottle. Golden liquid spilling down her chin as she takes another swig, and a rough hand moves to wipe it away.
You might’ve been mesmerized by the sight of her if your mind wasn’t already whirling, playing those last few words over and over again. Of course it wouldn’t ever be her, you believe that wholeheartedly. But then again, she isn’t broken like you, is she? Bits and pieces of vaguely human parts that you’ve somehow stapled together and managed to fool people into thinking is real. She never had to compromise her morals just to stay one step ahead and survive like you did.
But now isn’t the time to get lost in your own head, and this conversation is getting a little too serious for your taste. So you attempt to laugh off her serious tone. It’s not worth the price of any information you might gain. “Julia, it’s a hypothetical question. No need to take things so seriously.”
You move to get up, throwing a “I’m going to grab a coke.” Over your shoulder as you walk.
“I wouldn’t kill innocent people, for one.” You hear her voice call out as your foot hits the threshold to the kitchen.
You turn back to look at her, one hand resting against the door frame. “Accidents happen, you know that.” Lightning isn’t the most precise weapon to wield, after all. You’ve had a front row seat to that in the past. “And none of his victims were exactly innocent either.”
“You think that matters? What happened to those people wasn’t an accident. They were still—“
“Maybe that’s the message then.” You interrupt her, hand sliding down and away from the door frame as you turn to face her again. “That it wasn’t an accident. That everything happened on purpose, and not even you could stop it.”
Couldn’t stop it back then, can’t stop it now. A helpless snowball that won’t go back up the hill. You hope she feels as powerless as you did for all those years.
The silent stand-still goes on for a few more agonizing seconds, until eventually, you sigh, running a hand through your hair as you glance away. “Or maybe Heartbreak is just insane, and there are no reasons for the things he’s doing.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that. Not right now. Not yet.
“Do you want another beer?” You ask, already starting to turn back towards the kitchen.
“I think I’d better switch to tequila instead.” The corners of her mouth lift into a tired smile. “I’m not watching the movie you picked out sober.”
“You say that as if you’re not already drunk! And I found that movie on your shelves.”
“As you said, I have bad taste.” There’s the cheeky grin you know so well, making her laughter lines come out. “But you never know, you might like the ending.”
You know you won’t. You don’t dare hope for a good ending; But maybe, just maybe, you can pretend this won't end in disaster for a little while longer.