26.
Sienna
For some reason, catching Gravity Gal picking up her clothes outside her house felt way, way more uncomfortable to me than my confrontation with Scott. It shouldn’t have been. In one case, we had my ex-boyfriend who was basically laying out the fact he was looking to arrest me if given a chance; in the other, we had a middle-ageish woman in Spandex picking up her clothing from the ground in her own yard.
Should have been no contest, and yet somehow, middle-ageish woman in Spandex was winning, hard.
Gravity Gal was staring at me, giving me the kind of look my mom might if she’d been caught … um … yeah, I shoulda knocked, but still … anyway …
Gravity Gal looked like that, with a blouse thrown over her shoulder and pants covered in dirt clutched in her hand, rump in the air like she’d been trying to vacuum under the couch. She was red in the face but really pretty, in a way that wasn't reflected through the mask.
“I am so sorry,” I compulsively apologized again. “I was trying to catch you over the harbor, but I’m not allowed to fly at supersonic speeds here … or, at anywhere, really, most of the time …” I stopped myself mid-babble, drifting to the ground. “Anyway, by the time I caught you were already in your yard, and I didn’t realize what was happening until you’d already pulled off your mask and—”
“It’s okay,” she told me, but I could tell by her voice that it wasn’t, really. She stood up and held her clothes in front of her like she was carrying them in a basket, or like a shield. She swallowed heavily. “I, uhm … what did you want to talk about?”
I looked at the high fences that hemmed in her yard. They weren’t that dissimilar from the ones in my neighborhood in Minneapolis, the ones I used to stare out at when I’d been confined to my house. “Can we … maybe step inside? I’m feeling kinda exposed out here.” I paused. “Did I just invite myself in? I am so—”
“It’s all right,” Gravity Gal said, a little higher now, the strain plainly getting to her. “I just, uh … my daughter is in there, and … hopefully sleeping, but …”
“Oh,” I said. “Uhm. Like … little, or—”
“She’s sixteen,” Gravity Gal said, still cradling her clothes before her. “And, uhm … she, uh … doesn’t know I’m …” She raised a hand, pointing at her costume.
I stared at her. “I bet your life is super fun.”
She sighed. “You have no idea.” She blinked. “Well, I mean … maybe you might have … some idea.” She hung her head. “Come on in,” she said, and walked over to the door and opened it wide.
I followed as she led me in to a clean but weathered kitchen and open family room. Once again, I was reminded of my house a little, with the construction being of the same vintage, even though the styles were different. Gravity Gal picked up some other laundry as she went, hurriedly scooping it up and tossing it all unceremoniously into a closet where I could see a washing machine and dryer standing one on top of the other to save space. She shut the door behind her, then surveyed the room in front of her and hurried to scoop up a dirty dish sitting on the counter.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, now self-conscious. This woman was cleaning her house because I’d invited myself in. It was kinda hard to get an exact age off her because her face was powdered with soot stains, but I estimated early forties. In meta terms, that could mean she was pretty old. Maybe.
“I haven’t been home all day,” she said, taking care not to rattle the dishes as she settled them into the sink. “Messes tend to accumulate with a lazy teenager around who seems to think chores are suggestions.”
“I remember being that teenager,” I said, watching Gravity Gal concentrate as she turned the sink on and squirted soap into the rising water. She made a quick round to the counter and picked up a stray coffee cup and then slid it into the hot water, steam rising out of the sink. “I, uhm … listen, this doesn’t need to take more than a couple minutes—”
“No, it’s fine, do you—do you want something to drink?” She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time, and I saw mom concern well up on her face. “Do you want a washcloth for the …?” She mimed washing her face, and I realized I probably had soot on me, too.
“Ahhh,” I wiped at my face and my hand came away even blacker than it had been before. “I can wait until I get back to my hotel.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said and opened a drawer next to the sink and fished around until she pulled out a dark-colored towel. She dipped it under the running faucet and came around the peninsula to dab at my face. I froze, a little surprised that a stranger was doing this, but it was like she couldn’t suppress her mom instincts enough to let me do it myself. Probably realized I couldn’t see my own face, so it would have been fruitless for me to try without a mirror.
She finished in a minute or so, and while she was gentler than steel wool, she wasn’t much gentler. I was pretty sure she used meta speed to expedite the process, too, which had caused a little more exfoliation than I generally preferred. “Ow,” I said mildly as she stepped back to study her results. My hair was damp around the top of my forehead where the rag had daubed it with water, and I suspected my thin eyebrows had a little extra charcoal in there, probably more than all the make-up I’d ever applied in total, but Gravity Gal seemed pleased with her result.
“Better,” she pronounced. “You’ll need to wash your hair tonight, though. And your clothes are filthy. They need to be laundered—”
“You offering?” I snarked.
“No,” she said, frowning. “I’ve got enough to do.” She backed off a few steps, looking suddenly sullen as she turned the rag around and scrubbed lightly at her own cheek. I didn’t possess the keenly honed mom instincts she did, so I didn’t step up to wash her face as she’d done for me. “Why are you here?”
“Because this morning, when you saved Nadine Griffin, you pissed off Captain Icicles-for-genitals,” I said, trying out the new moniker for him. Gravity Gal regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t pretend it’s not a better fit for him.”
She pursed her lips. “He’s just a kid. His temper runs a little hot and his moral compass spins in whatever direction his fans point. Why does it matter?”
“Because he kinda threatened you,” I said. “And the NYPD took it seriously.” Or at least Lieutenant Welch had. “They have to treat these things as real threats, probably because a brawl between super-powered people is the sort of thing New York assiduously wants to avoid.”
“Yeah, well, I want to avoid it, too,” she said, going back around the counter and shutting off the sink after tossing her rag into the laundry closet. Her efforts had done her no good; she was just smeared with soot in heavy, circular lines around her face. It looked like the world’s worst tattoo job. “I doubt Frost meant anything by it.”
“I doubt it, too,” I said, “but I’ve seen idiots like him do dumber things when hit right in the pride—which is exactly where you got him, by the way.”
That gave her pause. “I figured it’d bounce right off him. He seems so …” She made a slightly disgusted noise in the back of her throat.
“Yeah,” I said. “And have you ever gotten the vibe from him like he … kinda wants to …?” I just threw it out there.
“Sleep with you?” She looked unimpressed. “Only every time we’ve met.”
“Ugh, I thought it was just me.” I made a sour face. “He’s just looking to score a pair of super panties for his wall.”
“A super-notch in his bedpost,” Gravity Gal agreed. She paused. “I guess you’ll be able to find out anyway, so … my name’s Jamie. Jamie Barton.”
“I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Jamie said, looking at me like I was Captain Frost—an idiot, in other words.
“I was just being polite,” I said. “So … Gravity Gal …?”
She made a disgusted noise. “I know,” she said. “Isn’t it appalling?”
“Honestly, they ought to call me Gravity Gal,” I said. “I can repel people like nobody’s business.”
She stared right at me. “Gravity is technically about attraction.”
“Well, I attract weirdos,” I said. “Captain Frost being the most obvious recent example.” I looked right at her. “I think you’re right about him, by the way. He probably just lost his temper after being made to look like an ass on TV. It was a good call, what you said to him. He was way out of line.”
“Seems like most people don’t think so,” she said, watching me carefully. “Yourself included.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
She folded her arms in front of her. “I didn’t see you streaking in to save Nadine Griffin. Time was, big news like that, you’d pop in and see to it. I mean, I guess if they didn’t get word out in the Midwest—”
“No, we got it. But I’m not allowed to fly across the country anymore,” I said. Her brow furrowed, and I went on explaining. “The FAA hit me with a cease and desist order when I left government service. New York suspends it locally, when I’m in town, and so do a few other states, if I’m working for them. They allow me flight in their area, but I have to take a plane when I want to go cross country.”
“That’s …” She looked appalled. “That’s terrible. How are you supposed to—”
“I don’t think the government really wants me to … whatever,” I said. “I think it might be more convenient for them if I just sat in a corner somewhere and let things proceed apace. Whatever that would mean.”
“That’s awful,” she said. “That plane in Milwaukee … that bomber in LA … the … whatever happened in Chicago—”
“Biogenic plague,” I said, and she frowned. “Targeted to meta DNA.”
“Good grief,” she said, sounding shocked. “You do a lot of good, it seems to me.” She got a little stiffer, suddenly. “Not that it’s all good, what you do—”
“Yeah,” I said, “I know. I’m a mess.”
“Well, at least you acknowledge it. But—”
“No buts,” I said, shrugging. “Crap happens, and if it involves metas, it typically ends up hitting the fan when I’m around. Once again, I attract it like gravity.” I smirked. “Anyway … like I said, I think you’re right about this Frost thing, and I’ll tell my guy at the NYPD so.”
Jamie looked a little sick. “But you’re not going to mention …” She looked around, a plea in her eyes.
“Oh, no, no,” I said, shaking my head. “He doesn’t need to know who you are. No one does, not even me, really. Though, take it from someone with experience …” I chucked thumb toward the door behind me. “If you keep taking off out of the backyard, your neighbors are going to realize sooner or later. I assume they’re not blind, and a woman flying out from behind your fence is gonna generate some talk, and eventually, if you make enough enemies, you’ll be followed by someone less capable and less scrupled than myself … so … get ready.”
Jamie closed her eyes, like she was trying to get to a happy place. “I … I don’t even know what I could do about that.”
I shrugged. “You could stop heroing.”
Her eyes snapped open, and she smiled faintly. I knew that feeling. “No, I can’t.”
“Lots of people with powers don’t,” I said softly. “It’s a really popular choice, actually. It doesn’t mean you have to embrace a life of crime like the a-holes I chase down, but it also doesn’t mean you have to go sprinting and throwing your clothes off every time something goes wrong.”
She gave me a pitying look. “I don’t see you stopping.”
“I don’t have a kid,” I said. “Or anyone outside of my job, really. This is what I do. It’s my life, and I get to own all my screw-ups—and under my own name, no less. The fun of being a celebrity without—well, until this new job I got—any of the money to go along with it.”
“This isn’t a job to me,” she said, and she sounded a little said. “It’s a responsibility. It’s a calling. I can’t just … stand aside while innocent people get hurt if I have the power to help them—”
“I get it,” I said. “But there are consequences coming that you haven’t seen yet. I’m the voice of experience, just giving you a friendly warning, Jamie.” I smiled tightly. “I hope you maintain your secret identity forever. But …”
“Thanks for the heads up,” she said, and she sounded like she meant it, though the discomfort I’d brought her was obvious.
“I’ll, uh, leave you to it,” I said. “Gotta get out of here before you decide to pull out a vacuum or something.”
She froze and looked over the room. “Oh … oh no … it needs it, doesn’t it? I—”
“Whoa, cowgirl,” I said. “It was a joke. About your compulsive need to clean. I, uhm …” I shuffled backward toward the door. “I’m just gonna … go file my report and make for the next flight to Minneapolis.”
She froze and gave me a pitying look. “They really won’t let you fly?”
“Sadly,” I said. “Which is a real bummer, because the State Fair opens tomorrow, and I bet I won’t land in time to make it for the opening. They have these fried Australian potatoes with ranch dressing and cheese sauce—” I cut myself off mid-babble. “You probably don’t care about that.”
“I could listen politely,” she said, looking uncomfortable.
“Best of luck, Jamie Barton,” I said, nodding at her. “New York City is in good hands with you on watch here.” I opened the door and shot out into the night before she could answer me, parkouring my way over the fence, keeping low and running a couple blocks before I launched into flight. She didn’t need me outing her, after all, I reflected as I shot into the air above Staten Island and turned northeast, flying through the cool night and back to Manhattan, where I hoped my comfortable hotel bed would be waiting for me, undestroyed.