Chapter Text
The striking and bold supersuit of the hero known simply as Eclipse crept through the night, somehow blending and hiding in the shadows. In a city like this, it was hard to believe there were any shadows to hide in. The dull orange streetlights, the illuminated windows chasing them away, the noise that never stopped and made it feel permanently bright and bold. Behind an innocuous facade of a closed-down storefront sat the hum of technology that would never see civilian hands. It felt familiar to Eclipse, his ears adjusting as he slipped the helmet off of his head and breathed deeply. Sweaty dirty blonde hair stuck to his forehead, his breathing even and calm as he rolled his neck with a crackling echo.
“Not bad.” He announced to no one, stepping to the blank mannequin and slipping the helmet onto it. The rest of the suit followed, piece by piece, unbuckled and unclipped to find its resting place. Instead of Eclipse, now stood Nathan Bennett, black undershirt and shorts sticking to his sweaty skin. Kicking off his boots, one at a time, he left them to sit near the door.
“Play me some tunes in the bathroom.” He announced to the computer, in a jauntingly good mood as he stepped into the bathroom for a long shower.
Not long after, tugging on a sleep shirt on top of some sweatpants, whistling under his breath, he walked into the kitchen. Flicking on a lightswitch, he went straight to the cabinets to scrounge up some fuel. Before he could grab the handle, the hairs on his neck stuck up, and his instincts kicked in. He whipped around, his hand lifted to send forth a wave of energy…
And at the dining table, slumped in a chair facing him was Nightstrike.
“Oh, god.” He breathed out, his shoulder sagging. “Well. Okay, hi there kiddo.”
“Not a kid.” The figure grumbled out, the mask unmoving and cold.
“Uh-huh. How do you feel about olives and crackers?” He opened the cabinet, having turned back to take stock of what was in it.
“Don’t want ‘em.”
“Okay. Well, there’s some bread… I think I’ve got an extra can of jelly somewhere.”
“No.”
“Hm. Pasta?”
“Nate…I’m not hungry.”
“Oh. Suit yourself.”
That gave him pause. It wasn’t often the not quite young adult refused food. Hell, the first time he’d shown her the bunker, it had been because he wanted to make sure she had a good meal. The silence hung between them, growing more and more uncomfortable as the minutes ticked by.
He finished making himself a plate with a few items on it, finding his stomach grumbling and protesting its hunger the longer he worked on it. Walking to the dining room table, he used his foot to yank out a chair, setting the plate down and settling across from her. He knew, logically, it was just the mask, but the black blankness of it made him feel like she had simply…shut off. She wasn’t really moving, just sitting. It reminded him of the mannequin in the other room.
Crunching away at a cracker was the loudest noise in the room at the moment, and it was starting to get to him. It felt loud and disrespectful, like breaking glass in a church. Finally, the break that he needed, the reprieve showed itself when she shifted. To an untrained eye, the motion was nothing. A shift to get comfortable, something benign and dull.
The Nightstrike he knew didn't shift. Nightstrike was stiff for hours, completely rigid and still in the darkness. He had seen it on quiet nights patrolling, almost crashing into her solid figure, thinking it was a statue. One night that had been especially silent, he had been only 100 feet away from her, watching as Nightstrike was completely still for several hours.
He glanced over at her, and noticed something…interesting. Her left arm was hugged to her waist. His stomach felt unsettled, and he pushed aside the plate.
“Okay kid. What’s up?”
“I thought you gave me this…” She lifted up a key. “No questions asked.”
“I did. I just…”
I’m worried about you, Nightstrike.
“When you sulk around my kitchen table without saying a word, I think I’m entitled to ask why.”
“I’m not sulking.” She leaned back in her chair, a hitch catching in her breath that would have been missed by lesser ears.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Eh.” She let out a dismissive noise. “Boring night patrolling. I figured might as well come here to bother you.”
That didn’t sound right at all. Nightstrike didn’t do things “just because” or because she had a whim. She was careful and precise.
His eyebrows folded down, a thin frown creasing his face “...hey Nightstrike. Did you catch that burglary alarm on the scanners?”
“Hm? Uh, yeah. It had died down by the time I got to that side of the city.”
She was lying. Alarm bells went off in his head.
“Nightstrike…it’s just us. Take off the mask.”
“Nate, I’m not in the mood to-”
The movement he made next, jerking up to his feet with the chair scraping the floor, would haunt him. He was too rough, too aggressive to break through the wall she was firmly planting. His hand fisted into the collar of her armor, finding purchase and yanking forward.
“I wasn’t asking.” He growled. “Take it off.”
Too quickly, she complied, her hands covered in black, bulky gloves snaking up to pull off the cowl and mask combination. He let go, and her torso sunk back into the chair like a sulking child with an angry parent looming overhead.
Sunken in eyes, one filled with blood, dropped and refused to meet his gaze. She looked…bad, and that was coming from someone who saw violence and blood every day. Her left eye was sporting a nasty shiner, deep purpling around a red pool where there should be white, broken up by a brown iris much too old for her face. Blood seemed to stain the deep cracks of her lips, one side swollen from being bashed against her teeth. Blue and purple bruising seemed to chase itself on her jaw, and his eyes dropped as far as the collar of her suit would allow.
Gently, he reached up, and she refused to move as he tugged the collar down, revealing a ring of bruises around her neck in a horrifying necklace of black and purple. Her short black curls stuck to her forehead in a sheen of sweat, slick against her face. The silence held out between the two of them, making her squirm.
“Nightstrike…” He started.
“Don’t!” She sat up. “I don’t want your pity, Nate. I know damn well what happened. It looks worse than it is, it really doesn’t hurt.” She lied to them both, a feeble attempt that she was just begging for him to take at face value.
He shut his mouth, running his fingers through his still-damp hair.
“...you didn’t go out tonight, did you?” Nathan asked gently, trying not to come out as an accusation. The superhero business was one for the cover of night, something that the press could discover and praise over the next day. There was a silent pact between all heroes to keep to the semi-darkness of city nights.
When Nathan had asked Nightstrike how she balanced school and the hero business, not long after he saw her face for the first time, she had told him she was done with school. He wasn’t sure how to take that, if it was a lie or if she meant she had dropped out. Just like that night, tonight there was a silent understanding between them. He didn’t press too hard, and she tried not to snap back at him.
She swallowed, and for the first time, Nate saw Nightstrike with tears in her eyes. She had always been immovable, from the first night that her helm was ripped off in front of him, every time they had gone patrolling the night. Nerves of stone, never so much as a hitch in her step. Now she had wide eyes and a bloody face, afraid.
“You must think me pathetic.” She said softly, moving her head and her eyes, not sure what to do when tears started rolling down her cheeks.
“Kiddo, no.” He muttered, biting back his words when she stood, shifting in place like an animal about to run.
“I can do this. I swear I can handle everything.” She sucked down a breath. “It was just one really bad night, and you might not get it, but I can’t just leave. It’ll be okay by tomorrow. I can’t just walk away.” She repeated loudly, sounding very much like she was trying to convince him.
Nathan let his instincts drive him, and he stepped round the corner of the table to pull her into his chest. She fully sobbed, leaning into him, her forehead pressing just below his collarbone.
“Please stay tonight.” He said quietly. “Please, even if it’s just for tonight, stay.” Too often, he now realized, he had watched her leave out the backdoor too often, and now he was starting to piece together that what she faced…wherever it was she was going, was worse than the streets.
“I can’t-” “Nightstrike, please. I don’t beg, but please, please, just for tonight. Stay. As a favor.” He couldn’t let her walk away this time, going back to god knows what, the very thought made his chest hurt.
Nightstrike took a deep breath, and quietly agreed. Nathan could breathe again for a moment, and he stepped back with his hands on her shoulders.
“I’ve got a first aid kit.” He said seriously. “Do you want some help?”
“No, no.” She said dismissively. “I already cleaned up, my lip just rubbed…started bleeding again.” She waved the mask and cowl in her hands, referencing it.
“Okay kid. I think it best if you went to bed.” If it sounded patronizing, she didn’t mention it, just dipping her head. “Do you have underclothes?”
“Yes. Yeah…I can manage. I’ll come get you if I need anything.” Nightstrike said, trying to push away any other concerned questions. Nathan stopped himself from asking anything else, even if he wanted to ask about a few other issues she might come across while trying to get settled for a night.
She gently squeezed his arm before pushing it away from her shoulder. “Nathan…thanks.” He could hear everything that she was thanking him for. For letting her in, for not pressing more even if he wanted to, for giving her somewhere for the night.
As he watched her head to the quaint bedroom of this hideout, he just hoped that would be enough.