"Use the door next time," I admonished. "I was seconds away from stabbing you."
Tempest paused long enough in brushing himself off from his climb through my window to slide his attention over me until he found my weapon of choice clutched threateningly in my hand.
"With a pen?" he asked, noticeably unconcerned. "Seriously?"
I shrugged. "It was all I had. I planned to stab you in the eye, assuming all went as planned."
"Ah." He nodded appreciatively. "That would certainly do the job!"
Setting down the writing utensil onto the side table, beside a vase of flowers that, in retrospect, would have almost definitely made a better weapon, I inquired, "So... why are you here and why couldn't it have waited until visiting hours?"
He ticked off his responses on two finger as he addressed them. "First, to see how you are doing. Second, because I doubted you wanted the paparazzi chasing me into your room if they saw me walking in here in broad daylight. I thought it might make things uncomfortable for you, based on your reaction to the reporters the first time we met. Of course, I can always come back later with the sun..."
He motioned to climb back out the window into the open sky, obviously insincere in the gesture, or at least I thought so, except he never stopped going, waiting for me to call him back. I almost didn't. On principle, I fancied myself a stubborn person, and didn't care for people who made leading comments in order to fish for specific responses.
But this was a superhero, a seemingly young, attractive one who was clearly joking, so I obliged him.
"Let's not be hasty," I said, taking his wrist and dragging him away from the open - broken, thanks to him - window. "Get back in here! You're right that it would be unfortunate for you to be seen visiting me during the day, but do you know what would be even more scandalizing? If someone saw you climbing through my window at two in the morning. That would be a headline."
"I'm hurt that you think I'd ever be caught."
"You have more to lose than I do," I pointed out.
"Debatable. They might think there is something between us, and by extension that you know my true identity, which would make you a target," he countered.
"But your parasocial fan base might take it personally to see you with someone." Carefully, I reversed into my hospital bed, slumping down when the backs of my knees made contact with the thin mattress.
"I don't have 'fans'." He spoke at the ceiling, head tilted back, embarrassed at the mere concept. "I'm a hero, like a firefighter or a paramedic, not a celebrity."
"Uh huh." I let my skepticism show. "If you say so. I've never seen the paparazzi chase firefighters. You'll learn how very wrong you are if you ever meet my sister. She's obsessed."
"We're getting off topic," he interrupted a smidgen too loud for a hospital ward in the middle of the night, cutting my comments short. He settled into the same chair my father vacated hours prior, turning abruptly serious. "I'm here on official business, as a representative of the Guild. Originally, they sent over an aid to see you, but obviously that didn't pan out, so since I was free and we're familiar with one another I volunteered to come instead."
"What does the Guild want to know?" I asked, though I had a good idea.
"What happened at that school before I arrived the day before last? Why were you there, and why did Shade appear to be after you?"
"I also have questions. My dad — he didn't really want to tell me any details of what happened after I left the scene. He means well, but not knowing will literally drive me insane. He won't even give me my phone to Google it, so I've been bored out of my mind! All I want to know is what happened to Shade. If you're here, that must mean he got away, right?"
Tempest loosed a deep breath, less annoyed than reluctant, before answering. "Yes, he escaped. I'm used to being first on the scene, since I can fly over whenever I get the call. That's why it's usually one on one, me and him alone, but this time there was two of us and he still got the better of me. I must have fought him over a hundred times in the last three years and I don't think I've ever seen him that far gone."
"Far gone?" I echoed.
His eyes snapped to meet mine, breaking out of the memory with force. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."
Not wanting to appear stupid, I settled on, "Let's assume I haven't."
"He's completely out of his mind, like a rabid dog that's strikes out at anything nearby. That's how he always is. The other day, though, he seemed even worse, his power gone wild out of his control. Willow's fire — Will-O-Wisp, I mean — should have been able to melt all that ice easily, especially with my wind spurring her flames on, but we couldn't even touch him."
Leigh touched him alright. More than touched. I'd have to remember to let her know she was currently ranking above two Guild licensed heroes in the villain maiming department.
"He didn't seem that insane when I spoke to him," I mused, knowing my own admittedly brief interaction with the villain didn't really mean anything compared to the mountain of evidence I was sure Tempest had to the contrary. "He was intimidating, for sure, and scary as hell, yes—"
"He spoke to you?" Tempest cut in sharply, a bit of urgency in his usually light voice.
I blinked at his tone. "Well, yes. We weren't exactly giving each other compliments over tea, though."
"He actually spoke to you?" he repeated.
"That's what I just said."
"With words?"
"We weren't using sign language, if that's what you mean."
"What did he say?" Tempest demanded, the window blinds fluttering behind him from his power responding to his intense focus. "Tell me everything."
"There's not much to tell," I said, as I cast my mind back to the encounter in question. "Like I said, we weren't having a casual conversation; he was chasing me up three floors of a building. He didn't say much more than variations of 'Stop running' and 'Get back here', although he did tell me he didn't plan to immediately kill me, which I suppose was generous of him, not that I particularly believe anything he said. His actions and his words didn't exactly align."
"He's never said anything to me, or to the other Supers," Tempest murmured. "Never. Not after years of confrontations. We thought maybe he couldn't, for some reason. This changes everything."
Despite not normally being one to burst someone's bubble, I prodded further. "Does it though? It's not like he told me his first name, surname, social security number, and home address. Nothing he said makes it any easier to identify or capture him... does it?"
"You don't understand, the Guild Elders are convinced Shade is purely reactive, so that makes it difficult to anticipate his next move. If they hear he's not entirely without reason, they can strategize, they can come up with plans to end his reign of terror. It gives us a fighting chance."
Suddenly, the strangest feeling swept through me. A month ago, the closest I'd ever knowingly been to a Super was my Sophomore year Environmental Science teacher, who could supposedly communicate with certain (but not all) amphibians. Now, I was discussing the finer points of villain fighting with the current top ranked active hero in the Guild.
My expression must have showed a glimpse of my thoughts, because Tempest leaned closer — distractingly close — in his concern. "What's the matter?"
I realized I was also leaning in. Clearing my throat, I pulled away to a respectable distance and reverted to my old past time: lying to quash any fragment of emotional intimacy that crept into my path.
"I'm just feeling a little bitter, that's all. I kept my name from when we first met so we could be on equal terms," I sighed, injecting as much melancholy and despair into my voice as humanly possible. "It's not fair that now you know mine."
"Is that your best strategy to guilt my secret identity from me?" he teased, taking the jab in the good humor it was intended. "Because that was pathetic. Real lack-luster. You'll need to try harder than that to guilt trip me."
"Oh well." I shrugged, immediately reverting back to my previous irreverence. "It was worth a shot. Imagine how much the tabloids would pay for that information? My tuition for university in the fall would practically be all paid off, no student loans for me."
"You'd really sell me out like that?" he gasped, hand flying to his heart like I mortally wounded him6.
"In a heartbeat," I confirmed.
"Then who would protect the city?" he said, aghast.
I rolled my eyes. "Presuming the release of your identity to the public somehow prohibits you from heroism, you might recall that you aren't the only hero around here. Besides, I'll be going to school as far from this place as possible. While the city is crumbling to ruin without your protection, I'll be sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere, secure in the knowledge that my education is fully paid for."
He laughed, one cheek dimpling up in the corner. "Something tells me that you would have chosen villainy had you been born a Super."
"We can't all be noble beacons of justice, can we? Without a good villain to fight, you'd be out of work. I'm giving you job security. No need to thank me. I do it out of the good of my heart."
"The evil of your heart, more like," he snorted.
His eyes followed to the point he spoke of, my heart, then just to the left, where he couldn't see the bandages and the mottled stitched up flesh beneath them, but knew they were there. Slowly, his grin faded.
"You seem to be doing well, all things considered," he said.
"The pain meds are indeed working wonders."
"I should have stopped your fall sooner. I—"
I held up my hand on my non-injured side, palm flat, to silence him. "I'm gonna stop you right there. I'm fine. Historical record shows I'm durable and heal up fast enough."
"Still, just a few seconds sooner and I—"
"If you try to apologize or assume blame again I might be tempted to push you out that window."
That at least seemed to startle him out of his spiraling train of thought. "That's not much of a threat when I can fly."
I arched a brow. "I know that. I'm not trying to kill you, only shut you up, which pushing you out the window would quickly accomplish."
"Message received." In a flash he was up and moving across the small room. "I really ought to be going. It is late and I've disturbed your rest long enough as it is. I — I really am glad you're doing well."
Before I could muster a response, possibly insist selfishly that he stay a few moments longer, he ducked his head and stepped out into the night, the window re-sealing itself at his departure, nails spinning back into place.
Only the next morning, coincidentally the morning of my eighteenth birthday, did I remember I meant to share my concerns about how Shade had found my location.
No matter. I could tell him next time I saw him, because, strangely enough, I was becoming increasingly sure we'd meet again.