Everything's Fine.

So, here's the first little 200 patron ficlet, Anathema ended up in the lead. Bit of a November mood going on here, be warned.

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Hoots should have closed an hour ago, but it's a special night, so while the doors are locked, the lights are on. Dim, private, the table near the back out of sight and out of mind.

Only three guests, Owl is doing bookkeeping behind the bar, or, as everybody present knows, probably preparing her next strike. Running a business is secondary to being a vigilante; that's why she keeps the bar open late, just for them.

You never know when you might need a favor from the Rangers.

"So what would you do if you weren't a hero?" Sidestep, also a vigilante, tucked into a corner with his mask rolled up, skin and bones under the oversized coat, all legs and elbows.

"Hell, I don't know," Anathema pushes his leftover chicken towards him and watches as he digs in with all the hunger of a growing teenager. Hard to peg down the age on that one. One moment it's little brother vibes; the next, he takes down a murderer as brutally as if he'd been doing it for decades.

"Could be a firefighter," Julia suggests, by far the drunkest of the three, alcohol not mixing well with exhaustion. "Not like you'd get hurt." Most of the bottles on the table are hers, though Anathema suspects Sidestep is equally sloshed. Just more jittery about it.

"Pays shit," Sidestep chimes in, mouth filled with chicken. "Unless you go corporate."

"I could get my own television show," Anathema says, lightening the mood before it turns sour. This should be a celebration; they beat the bad guys. "I could taste-test all the things people want to eat but can't because it would kill them."

"You mean like poisonous plants?" Sidestep frowns; this is too weird for him to contemplate.

"No, like which industrial grade cleaner has the nicest bite. Or which acid is the sourest. Like people do with those lethally hot chilies."

"Chili doesn't kill people," Julia mumbles, eyes simmery in that particular way that tells him that he'll have to help Owl cart her out and call a cab before long. "I know they keep talking them up, but seriously, people here are just wimps." She rests her head on her arms, half-draped over the table. Sidestep deftly grabs one of the bottles threatening to fall over. 

"Nothing kills me 'tega, that's the problem." The words are out before he can stop them, and he hides the grimace by finishing off his drink. 

"Hey, what do you mean, problem?" Trust Sidestep to notice, hard to know what those eyes see behind the mask. 

"Nothing, you're drunk." A short laugh, looking at the bottles. "You both are."

"And you're not," Sidestep points out. 

"I can't be, remember?" Such an easy thing for people to forget.

"You're right, that does suck." He looks down at Julia, whose breathing has evened out. There's an awkward twitch to his mouth, and for a moment, Anathema thinks he's about to reach out and pat her back. Instead, he takes a sip from the rescued bottle.

"Guess she was more tired than she thought," Anathema rubs his face, still feeling too alert.

"She spent last night staking out the alley, remember? Even her batteries gonna run dry eventually."

"So did you." It's hard to judge exhaustion with half the face covered, but Sidestep doesn't look like he's about to collapse.

"I'm used to functioning on little sleep," he says evasively. 

"Comes with the territory, I suppose." Is he on something? Anathema is not sure, he hasn't got that impression, but it would explain a few things. Taking another sip of tequila, he tries to remember the signs, what to look for. How it felt. It's increasingly hard to recall. Like bad dreams, forgotten.

"They shot you in the head." Sidestep bites his lip, a familiar gesture. "Did it hurt?"

"It didn't feel nice." Pain. It was getting harder to remember what it felt like; his body was getting more used to muting the warning signals. No use for them, other than as remembered traumas. "I guess I should have been more careful."

"It's hard remembering I don't have to save you." A frustrated gesture, is he angry at himself for something? Did he think he had failed when the shot hit home?

"Nobody needs to save me anymore." Anathema laughs, but there's no mirth there. 

"You wanted that." The words are too sure of themselves, Sidestep once more picking up what everybody else is missing. "Someone to save you."

"Life doesn't work like that." Maybe he could get drunk if he really tried. But he knows it won't happen. Quitting everything cold turkey once the boost drugs had stopped ravaging his system had been hell.

"I know," he says, scratching his arm, is there a half-healed wound under there? Impossible to tell through the skinsuit. "Why do you let people do that?"

"Do what?" Anathema frowns; once again, Sidestep is half a step ahead of him in their conversation. Maybe that's why he likes him. 

"Think everything is perfect. That you got what you wanted when you got boosted."

"It's easier that way. Who wouldn't want to be invulnerable?" That was the problem with having powers everybody wanted. Nobody saw them as a problem. Nothing could hurt him. Didn't need to eat. Didn't need to breathe. Or drink. Didn't get sick. Couldn't be poisoned. Skin that couldn't be cut. Bones that wouldn't break.

Lucked out. Beat the house. Won the lottery when it came to being boosted.

Yeah. Right. 

"I wouldn't." Sidestep shifts in his seat, careful not to wake Julia. "People could do anything to you."

"Yeah." No, that is why Anathema is so fond of Sidestep. Because he gets it on a level that nobody else does. The ugliness of people. "But not anymore." He picks up a chicken bone, cradling it in his hand as it starts dissolving. The acrid smell is horribly familiar yet soothing.

"Hey!" Owl's distant voice, raised enough that they can hear the annoyance. "No stinking up the bar, Themmy!"

"Sorry!" Anathema waits until the remains are inert once more before wiping his hands with a napkin. It goes faintly yellow as if it had got too close to a flame, but that's all. He's got excellent control these days.

"You took it twice, didn't you? The boost drugs?" Sidestep takes another guess, too close to home.

"I did," he admits. "Nothing could hurt me, had nothing to lose."

"Did it help?"

"Yeah." 

They both fall silent after that, a comfortable feeling. Grounding. It's a weird friendship this has turned out to be, but to Anathema, it feels almost effortless. Like there's no need to explain or hide. On some level, Sidestep gets it in ways that Julia, bless her heart, doesn't. And, he hopes that whatever Sidestep gets from this in return is equally valuable. Even if it's just a surprised laugh now and then, taken off guard by his own capacity for mirth.

"I would,"  Sidestep mutters, not looking directly at Anathema. 

"What?" Once again, he's got no idea what the subject switched to.

"I would save you." He bites his lip hard as if expecting to be laughed at.

"There's no need to anymore," Anathema says, hoping his smile comes off as grateful. What a thing to tear up over, but there's no mistaking the sincerity. "But thank you."