An Awkward Conversation (Chen POV) (Patreon)

A small one from Chen's POV, this is in the path where you try to convince Captain Blaze that he's on the wrong side, he tackles you through the window, and you let yourself plummet to your doom.

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Night has fallen, and with the darkness comes the yellow glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. The television is on, but nobody is watching but the dog. The greyhound is nearly asleep on the couch, but occasionally wakes up as the colors flare to life, the movement on the screen attracting his attention a moment before his head sinks back down. The noises in the kitchen doesn't disturb him, dishes being put away is a familiar clatter that doesn't mean food. The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway outside makes him look up, and as the footsteps halt and the doorbell rings, he throws himself off the couch and sprints to the door, reaching it well before his owner. Wei Chen, Marshal Steel during working hours, doesn't pause to check before he opens the door. This is not a random visit, Captain Blaze of the Guardians is expected. Or, as he's known here, Vincent Marino. Chen's ex. A status neither of them is comfortable with.

I let him in, like I've done a dozen times before. The brief moment of awkward politeness breaks down into a relieved chuckle as Spoon demands attention. He's not a service dog, but that doesn't mean he doesn't help.

"Such a good boy." Vince smiles with his whole face, not just the polite quirk of his mouth he affects in public. "Looks like someone still likes me." He busies himself with scratching Spoon rather than looking up at me.

"I never stopped liking you," I point out, a quick glance out the door to make sure he wasn't followed. "That wasn't what it was about."

"One could argue you never started to like me in the first place." Vince looks up, the accusing glance softened by the fact that Spoon is trying to lick him in the face.

"What do you want me to say?" The question is rhetorical and the argument repetitive. We've had some version of the same every time we've met in private since the breakup. "That I slept with you because you're good looking? I can do that if makes you feel better."

"You're a terrible person to argue with." Vincent sighs and stands up, kicking off his shoes before heading inside. "Too accommodating."

"I'm not going to scream at you just because you're convinced people don't care if they don't raise their voice." I say it as a joke, but it's the truth even if he doesn't see it. One of the many reasons why things didn't work out, sometimes people can't give each other what they need. Even if what they need is simply the feeling of being loved.

"Can we not to do this?" Vincent turns around, the exasperation projected as hard as Spoons desire for more attention. Bless that dog for his willingness to defuse tense situations. "I'm not here to argue."

"I'm not arguing. Do you want some tea?" I head for the kitchen, glad that housekeeping dropped by earlier and cleaned the place. Worried that he'll take that as a sign of something. At least I'm not freshly showered.

"Might as well. Not going to get any sleep tonight." He follows, sitting down at the kitchen table while Spoon pads over to floomp on the floor, tail still beating a steady rhythm. "And I never could tell. When you're arguing."

"It's not important now." I put on the kettle, then turns around and try to read the look on his face. Wistful. Worried. "You're not here for me."

"Well, not your body anyway." The laugh is strained, and he quickly continues. "I need your input on something."

"If this is Guardian business we could have done this during office hours. Then we'd both get paid." So it's something that can't be said and overheard, and he trust my security measures more than he trusts his own.

"I don't want this anywhere near work. Yours or mine." His face has gone quiet in that nervous, twitchy way.

"Intriguing," I admit, waiting for the water to boil. "Internal team issues?" Zephyr is a powder keg waiting to explode, I never understood how Vince could deal with them so easily. Old friendships I suppose. I know how that is.

"No," he admits. "I can't talk about the new recruit yet. It's not finalized."

"Really?" There's something in his voice I need to remember for later. New recruits should not be a source of tension, but that look on his face means he's not agreeing with whatever decisions they're planning to make.

"It's about Retribution."

"Oh." I am sure nothing shows on my face, but just in case I add a neutral "It is business then."

"Sorry about that." He watches me prepare the tea, and for a moment there's a familiar sense of peace to it all. Do I miss us? Miss him? I ponder my own emotions as I serve us both, then sits down across from him.

"You wouldn't be here if it wasn't important." And maybe that's the clue I needed. We are over. I don't miss what we were. I just miss the domesticity. The sense of another person in my home. Someone to make tea for. It's a dangerous emotion, because there's a face attached and it's not Vincent's.

"You've probably heard about the attack downtown yesterday." He sips the tea, still too hot for a normal man to drink. It doesn't bother him.

"The hotel? Yes, I did." I don't elaborate, what details he chooses to share will be important.

"It wasn't official Guardian business," he admits. "I was there alone." The steam rises from the cup in his hands. "A glorified bodyguard I suppose. To make sure nothing happened." He hesitates, judging my response.

"And something did." I don't ask questions, if I did he would be able to judge how much I know. Who ordered him to be there? The Mayor? Another member of her administration? Deveraux was there, and he's on too many of my lists to be clean.

"Retribution attacked." Safe information, the papers had already printed that. "I'm not sure if the visiting delegation was the target, or Deveraux."

"If there was money involved, that's always a safe bet." I pause, trying to dissect why I just said that. Am I trying to defuse any suspicion that Retribution might be more than a simple thief and robber?

"I suppose." Vincent doesn't buy it. "Honestly, I'm not sure I understand anything of what happened there."

"So there is more to it than the official version." Captain Blaze being a hero, tackling Retribution out a window to save everyone inside at the risk of his own life.

"Yeah." A nervous laugh. "I mean, it's true, but..." He falls silent, and I let him work out what he's about to say without prompting him. "I couldn't fight them in that room. You know my powers. If I was going to have a chance against that armor I needed to be away from flammable objects. And civilians."

"Commendable." I mean it. It's not easy to have that kind of destructive powers. "Still, tackling someone through the window is a Charge move. You're not invulnerable and you can't fly."

"I know." He sighs. "But Retribution has those jump jets of theirs. I counted on them to break the fall. I've watched the Lady Argent fight on the bridge enough times to have some idea of their capabilities."

"They do like to jump around," I remark dryly. My smile is fond, though hopefully it's taken as mocking. Not that I need to worry, Vincent is engrossed in his own story to have room for anybody else in it.

"But once we were falling, they just... froze." A frustrated gesture, Vince always spoke clearer with his hands. "We would both have died if I hadn't managed to work their grappling hook in time."

"Clever." I make sure not to let my face show any emotions. Falling to their death. Letting it happen. I wish Vince was mistaken, but I don't think he is.

"Not clever." He looks at me, willing me to believe what he's telling me. "I heard a voice in my head. Sort of. More like a compulsion. And I knew how to activate it."

"A telepath?" So far Retribution has not shown any signs of telepathic capabilities. That is, unless you know how to look. Unless you suspect who's beneath the helmet. Looks like he doesn't. Good.

"No. I..." he shakes his head. "I don't think they were human? It wasn't words as much as... I don't know. It's going to sound crazy," he laughs at his own absurdities, "I think they might have been rats? I don't even know how I know."

"Rats." Another piece of the puzzle. Psychopathor. What my Wolfpack informant was talking about. The Special Directive's involvement is a lot more troubling now. Who were they really hunting for there? "I don't think you're crazy."

"So you know something." He gives me a sullen look because I am not sharing it immediately.

"No. It's merely conjecture," which is technically true. "Psychopathor used something like that."

"Weaponized rats." Vince shakes his head. "You think Retribution is connected to Psychopathor?"

"Or perhaps the same supplier."

"I've never heard of a biological interface like that, but I suppose it makes sense. Though asking me to save their master is a bit much for a targeting system."

"It worked. You did."

"I saved myself." He's too defensive, there's more to it than that. "But..."

"You're not here because of my technical expertise," I say gently, leaning forward. "And you're not here because a villain tried to kill themselves on your watch." I'm proud I can say the last with a straight face. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?

"Villain." Vincent's face does a familiar journey. I know it because mine has done the same. "I'm not going to argue that they're dangerous."

"And a criminal," I add. "Who put Charge and Herald in the hospital." Do I need to remind myself rather than him?

"I know. I'm not arguing that either." He sounds as frustrated as I feel when thinking about this. "I just get the impression that they're..."

"They're what?" I ask the question as softly as I can. I know what I felt when Retribution helped saved civilians in Carter's mansion. I see the same expression on his face now.

"They're after something other than a quick buck." A frustrated gesture. "And they kept talking as if I should be agreeing with them. If I knew the truth. It felt like they were testing me."

"Until you both went through the window."

"Yeah. I don't think they thought I'd do that."

"They don't know you like I do." I kick myself for giving that clue, but luckily it goes over Vincent's head.

"It was a stupid move," he laughs, oblivious to my slip. "And afterwards they just... left. Like they had what they needed from me. You know what bothers me the most?"

"No?" I have my own list, starting with why the hell don't they trust their friends enough to tell us the truth?

"I get the impression that I was there because Deveraux was expecting something like this to happen. He paid out of his own pocket, asked me to keep the Mayor out of the loop."

"And you agreed?"

"Of course I did!" He gives me a defensive look. "I know the man's corrupt, but I've got no proof and he's got the Mayor's ear. Did you think I was going to pass up an opportunity to make him think I'm the same way?"

"And the money doesn't hurt."

"Dammit Wei, you know me better than that." He sounds legitimately angry now. "I don't do this to get rich. If I was, I'd take that movie deal and quit this whole mess."

"I'm sorry." But not for pushing his buttons. "For what it's worth I feel the same about Deveraux." And much of the administration.

"As did Retribution, I think." Vincent looks over at Spoon, who has fallen asleep in his bed. "I think whatever they have planned won't stop with robbing banks and beating up heroes. There's politics at work here."

"So what you're saying is that we might have another warlord on our hands? I thought those days were over." Digging, carefully. I don't want suspicion to fall on me.

"Maybe. No. Not exactly." He looks down, struggling with himself. "I get more of a Cavalier feeling about this whole situation."

"Oh." I frown, because that thought disturbs me more than I'd like. Why didn't I see the similarities? Because I believed they wouldn't go that far? "How come?"

"It's been bothering me for a while. This whole..." he gestures vaguely, and for once I'm not sure what he's talking about. "It was a lot easier back in the Long Beach Heroes."

"Well, for starters, that "beach" was not much to defend." I try humor to see if that gets a reaction.

"Don't laugh," he protests. "It wasn't about that. It was about preserving an ideal. I know better than you exactly how messed up the seaside was. Is. I lived there. We lived there. We weren't defending some rocks and ruins, hell, the old beach's underwater by now. It was about what we wanted it to become. What old Los Angeles was about. What Los Diablos could be in a few decades if people just put some work in."

"Don't make me regret breaking up with you." I smile softly, because this was the side of Vince I saw so rarely. The idealist.

"I broke up with you," he says dismissively, and there's the other side. The asshole one. "And I'm serious about Retribution. They're dangerous."

"They haven't killed anybody yet," I point out. Even themself, but not from lack of trying if Vince is to be believed.

"It's not about that. Anybody with a gun can kill someone." He's upset, but I wonder if even he knows why. "I'm talking about dangerous for the status quo. They want to change things. I'm not sure how or why, but I think they tried to gauge how I might feel about that."

"Have you talked to anybody else about this?" I keep my voice carefully neutral.

"Hell no!" The exclamation is followed by a laugh. "I'm not stupid. Nor do I want to be disappeared."

"You think it's that serious then?" It's a relief to hear that.

"I don't know about Retribution, but you know as well as I do that that Resolution 32 is up soon." His mouth does that little twitch again, and I need to remind myself that I'm not the only one that can read him. Trust Vincent to drag home baggage I don't need.

"I'm not sure 2027 can be called soon." Too soon for many.

"Don't play dumb with me," he pleads. "If you think I'm imagining things, just tell me so. But don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Pretend for a moment that I do." My voice is soft as I lean closer, speaking in confidence. "I'm the Marshal of Los Diablos. I work for the US government. What do you expect me to do?"

"What you usually do," he replies, leaning close enough that I worry for a moment that he'll try to kiss me. "Whatever the hell you want."

"Vincent." His name is a sigh on my lips as I lean back. "This is what you never understood. What I'm doing has very little to do with what I want, and everything to do with what I have to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He looks offended, like a dog when someone takes the squeaky toy away.

"It means that you should keep your thoughts to yourself on this matter. It's not safe." I give him a stern look. "I'm not safe."

"I see." He swallows, suddenly aware of everything that he's exposed by coming here, even if he never got far enough to actually speak treason. "I guess we're both bound by our jobs."

"That we are." I wonder if he's picking up on what I'm hinting at. "We're here to protect the city."

"Whatever you think about me, that is why I'm doing this." He gives me a pleading look, as if he's trying to convince himself as much as me.

"I believe you." I can't resist taking one small chance to add "And from the sound of things, so does Retribution."

"Hah." He shakes his head at that. "I don't know what to feel about that."

"Neither do I. Just try to be careful." I wish I could take that advice myself, looks like I don't have time to be as careful as I'd like. Not if I want to have a chance to interfere before it's too late if my suspicions are correct.

"I'll keep my mouth shut and my ears open," he assures. "I guess I should be careful about sharing this with anyone?"

"Even me," I admit with a sigh. "At least for now."

"I get it." He pushes back the chair with familiar impatience. "Thanks for listening."

"You know I'm good at that," I tease, rising to my feet as well. "Unlike some." Going back to personal, make sure nothing else slips out.

"Fine, fine, I won't kiss you goodnight." The smile is familiar and wide, though it doesn't hit the spot it used to do.

"You should find someone else to do that." Do I care? Yes. I do want him to be happy. And out of my hair.

"So should you. They don't pay you enough to be married to your job."

"You have no idea what they pay me." I watch him put his shoes back on.

"Enough too have no private life?" he teases.

"I do have a private life."

"Spoon doesn't count. I mean it, Wei. Find someone that can make you happy."

"Go." I give him a gentle shove through the door. "I get enough of that from Ortega. I'm perfectly happy."

Vincent has the grace to exit without further protests, and I close the door behind him. The reinforced steel masquerading as veneer is cool against my brow. Happy? Am I? Lonely?

I curse quietly as I return to a television playing shows I don't care about. Trying not to think about old friends. And new enemies. How long can I let that suspicion fester before it destroys us both? How long can I avoid thinking about... no. There's sadly no avoiding that. Curse Vincent for putting that thought in my head.

Not that it matters. That's one road I can't afford to go down. Personal feelings be damned.

I need to focus on the job.