Frankly, you’d known those idiots had had a kid for years now. You’d pretended not to, because while you’d committed a lot of atrocities in your life, you weren’t willing to face the moral quandary of whether you would knowingly kill a child just to spite its parents.

They probably thought they were being clever though, what with the blaming you for an injury you knew damn well you’d never given keeping one of them out of commission for a few months, then references to what they would ‘leave behind’ or ‘could not follow’ when in the latest death trap. One of them had accidentally pulled a pacifier out of their utility belt once, and tried to pass it off as being prepared for any young children they came across while rescuing.

Idiots.

Still, you had standards. Standards that fell somewhere past war crimes and before common decency, but they were standards.

But you’d really, really needed this to work.

So… you’d snatched the kid. Better you than some of the other villains. You weren’t going to hurt them, not even to try and make them cry for their parents or make them shut up - you’d thought that far ahead, at least. Sound proofed room, no sharp objects, sheets stapled to the bed so the little idiot (you presumed they would also be an idiot, given the parents) couldn’t try and strangle themselves rather than be used against their parents for the greater good.

That one may have been a concern inspired by a speech one of the heroes had given before, you didn’t actually remember which.

Anyway, with the bravado you’ve heard over the years, you kinda expected more of the same from this kid. Instead, they’d been weirdly… silent.

You gave them another look over, wondering if one of your people had been stupid enough to do something - but no, you’d sent Rosie and Doll specifically because you knew they were good with kids, and loyal as heck. No bruises, no swelling, only a slight red rimming to the eyes. But they also still refused to look at you.

You checked the time. Alright, a few hours left. Might as well.

The sound of your cape fluttering as you unceremoniously plomp onto the floor is satisfying. The matte-black ensemble you traditionally prefer is padded enough the concrete floor doesn’t trouble you, and this puts you directly in the spot the kid’s been staring since they brought them in about half an hour ago. They would be staring right at you, if not for the reflective sheen of your helmet.

“So.” You drawl, mask’s modulator slightly adjusting your voice. It’s not in full I-Am-Terror mode or anything like that, just there for clarity. “You know who I am, I presume?”

The kid scowls, and fidgets. “Synovus.” They say with disdain. That melts a bit, as their brow furrows, “but… I can’t tell if you’re the Lord or the Lady.”

“Just Synovus.” At least that answers one question - you won’t have to try and dredge up your memories of sign language today. You should practice soon anyway though, it’s been awhile.

“Okay.”

Either of the parents would’ve made some crack about you hardly being the type to be called ‘just,’ while a teenage you would’ve groaned. This quiet acceptance is… disquieting.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The kid glances around, back up at you. “So you can take over the world?”

You almost laugh. Almost. “Something like that, sure.”

The kid subsides, closing themself off again. You’re not sure why. Realization, maybe?

As the silence stretches on, you try again. “Are you comfortable?”

“I’m fine.” The response is quick, rote, and completely unthinking. You wait, silent, letting them watch their own reflection in your helmet.

After a few heartbeats, the façade crumbles. “I.. I am fine.”

“Alright.” You acknowledge. “If you want to be better than ‘fine,’ just ask Doll here for whatever you want.”

Doll, a large and imposing figure, grins from his spot by the wall. His accent isn’t quite thick enough to be trademark Russian, but it’s still there as he says, “Or Rosie, if you liked her better. I do not mind.”

The kid just blinks. You can see the question there, unspoken, and decide it can’t hurt to explain. “Doll’s Russian.”

The kid’s expression then is a mixture of ‘duh?’ And ‘this is a trap’ which, okay, that one is fair. “His full name is Dolstoevsky. I couldn’t pronounce it the first time I took roster.”

You’d been flustered and glad of your mask, and very nearly thrown the clipboard. It was the first name on the list, and you’d already fucked up. As he had then, Doll chimes in,

“Doll is fine, really. Shorter, easier. And I am pretty enough to be a doll, no?” He bats his eyelashes, turning as though on display as a model.

The kid looks, if anything, more uncertain. “Don’t you mean action figure?”

Doll snorts, “No. I mean doll. I already fight people all the time, I don’t need to do more of that.”

You get to your feet. “Anyway, Doll or Rosie can handle whatever you need. Want. Whatever.” You intend that to be your dramatic exit, with a hand flutter and a silent stalk, but you catch sight of something as you stand that gives you pause.

A bruise, on the kid’s arm. Covered by their sleeve, before.

Your sudden stillness has Doll on alert, and the shift of you both from at-ease to on-deck has the kid stiffening too. You reach out, slowly, carefully, and lift the edge of the sleeve with one finger.

“Did one of my people do that to you?” You ask quietly. You know the shape of that kind of bruise. Fingers. Too large to have been the kid grabbing themself, either.

“No.” The kid blurts, glancing frantically at their arm, your helmet, Doll, your helmet again. “No they - they didn’t hurt me.”

You are quiet again, but you judge this statement to be truth. You have not moved, have not released the child from your scrutiny.

“Your parents did this.” You say, just as quiet, just as soft.

The kid fidgets again. “They - they don’t know their own strength, sometimes.” The defense comes easily, naturally, for all it sounds uncomfortable in their mouth.

You release the sleeve, letting it cover the bruises again. Oh, you are angry. But this anger is not directed at this child, so it will have to simmer.

“Do they often break things of theirs?” You ask, idle, as though talking about the weather. You will have to break something when you leave this room, but it will be a training dummy, and not a living creature.

The question puzzles your captive. “Uh… they used to break some of my toys on accident, when I was younger. Dad -“ they pause, glancing up as thought caught in a slip up, identifying the heroes as their parents. Then the realization that you already knew sinks in, and they continue, “- Dad broke the fridge door a while back.”

“But none of their things?” You press, “Cellphones? Knick-knacks? Silverware?”

“Villains usually get their phones.” The kid says wisely, “but… no, I don’t think so.”

You sigh, and you’re not sure whether the mask filters it or not. “Then they know exactly how strong they are.”

You have to fight not to elaborate, but this child probably thinks you’re there to.. to slander their parents or something, and if you continue, you’ll just put them deeper into a corner. So you don’t give them a chance to question you or start denying things. “You’ll probably be here for a while, so we’ll feed you. There’s options, I’m sure.”

Doll nods, and apparently the kid has been reassured about something, because they ask suspiciously, “What kind of options?”

At a loss, and once again denied your exit, you gesture to your outfit. “Do I look like I work in the kitchen?” You demand, frustration running away with your mouth.

“You look like what they drag out of it, after.” The kid replies, without missing a beat. The stricken look of fear a moment later says it was also without thinking.

You can’t help it. You snort. It’s not the elegant, cultured and cultivated ‘Villain Laugh,’ but instead something short and ugly and probably worse after being translated through the helmet for all its a genuine expression of amusement.

You bite your tongue on a retort. “Alright, Little Menace.” You say instead, amused. “Save your biting for whatever Oflok’s cooked up.”

“Off… of-lock?”

“Our Fair Lady of the Kitchen.” You explain. “Better than ‘Cook,’ even if we took some liberties with the acronym. She didn’t want to be called ‘Chef.’” You shrug. “Anyway, as I was saying, Doll, take the boy -“

Almost imperceptibly, you see the child flinch, and for the second time in this interview, you grow still. Then you pivot towards the child.

“I’ve been unspeakably rude.” You note, tone still casual. “You are old enough to know what a pronoun is, aren’t you?”

Old enough to know what one was, not quite old enough to flip you off in return, the kid settles for an eloquently unpleasant facial expression.

“And yours would be?” You prompt, holding out a gloved hand.

There’s a moment of tense hesitation. Then, “She and Her.”

You nod, as though there had never been any different answer at all. “Doll, take the girl to Oflok, make sure she doesn’t choke or stab anyone with the cutlery.”

“I have a name.” The girl pipes up, likely emboldened by your acceptance.

You sigh, and repeat the hand motion you gave when you asked for her pronouns. She hardly needs the encouragement.

“Alex.” She says promptly. “Short for Alexandria. Like the library. And all the cities. But not Alexander the Great.”

“Alexandria.” You repeat, knowing the acknowledgement is important. You spare yourself repeating your instructions - again - to Doll, instead gesturing vaguely in a way you know he’ll understand. This time, you make your exit properly, hand flutter and all.

You snap three training dummies in half before you feel better.

————

In the end, it takes the heroes three hours to show up to pick up their kid. You’re kind of annoyed about that, but acknowledge that it’s probably irrational. After all, the whole point of this was to keep them distracted for a while, and it’s not like they’ve been to this island before. Oh wait, they have. Several times.

Idiots.

At least Alexandria seems to settle in. You check in on her every so often, and usually find her playing some form of game with Rosie and Doll. They even drag Oflok into a few rounds of poker, and you admit that you can no longer deny being party to the corruption of the heroes’ child - Oflok cheats like a motherfucker.

When the proximity alarms finally go off, you are immediately there to explain.

“They’re here.” You say shortly. Your people nod. “Standard rules of engagement. I’ll bring Alexandria up to meet them. We’ll keep the fighting to the roof if at all possible. Alexandria-“

The child is pale, but nods.

“- I’m going to make sure your parents know you’re here, and then I’m going to shove you away from me. Dodge left. Do you understand?”

She bites her lip. The klaxons go again. Second warning - three minutes. “Why?”

“Because your mother is left handed and more likely to swing first. Also, it’ll keep you out of the way of anything I might do. Do you understand?”

She nods. You nod. Your people nod.

The klaxons sound again.

———

Alexandria’s shoulder is thin beneath your glove. She shivers in the cool early morning breeze, blown in off the waves, and looks around in wonder. Belatedly, you realize this is the first time she’s seen the island - it was dark when they brought her in before.

“Never seen a beach before?” You murmur, scanning for the signs of her incoming parents. You aren’t holding a weapon to her head - you don’t need one.

“Not in person.” She admits. Right - your people snatched her from somewhere in the Midwest. “Does it always smell so…”

“I don’t know whether you’re smelling the kelp, the dead fish, or just the sea salt, but the answer is probably yes.” There - that shadow, that will be them.

“I like it.” Alexandria decides.

“That’s nice.” You say absently.

“I’m sorry about before.”

“What?” Legionnaire will be out of the water first, Athena just behind him, but they’ll be cautious enough to posture here with their child present, so it will be Athena who swings first.

“Doll explained - you’re both Lord and Lady Synovus.”

“When the mood strikes me.”

“I hope my parents don’t kill you.”

You don’t really have time for this. “On that we agree, though a curious wish towards your kidnapper.”

Alexandria shrugs beneath your grip. “You’re the only one I’ve ever met who’s like me.”

And with that crushing blow, a geyser erupts from the sea spray. You’d thought about doing this near the beach instead of the cliffs, making them walk up and get sand all over their brightly colored outfits, but decided giving them their dramatic entrance was the least you could do. True to form, two shapes sparkle in the sun and water droplets, dropping to the roof across from you.

“Synovus!” That cry is Legionnaire. Red-and-bronze mark his strength, contoured to mimic the patterns of ancient Roman armor. You notice he doesn’t wear sandals, and has pants beneath the leather skirting. Not that he calls it a skirt - you’d found that out while needling him about historical inaccuracy last time you’d fought.

With him, of course, is Athena. Lady Athena, sometimes, depending on if she’s feeling demure. Her costume is white with gold, flowing to suggest a chiton, the gold headdress expanded to cover the upper half of her face. She twirls a spear, twin to her husband’s. “Alex!” She cries instead, focusing immediately on the child in front of you.

“Hi mom.” Alexandria says weakly, standing there in Legionnaire themed pajamas.

“You will pay for this, Synovus.” Legionnaire promises, but he stays stock still. “Let our child go.”

“Oh goody.” You chirp, helmet’s vocalizer boosted to make it easier for them to hear you. “I provide free child care, and you want me to pay you? How rude. Maybe I won’t pick your darling up from soccer practice next week after all.”

“Softball.” Alexandria mutters.

“Whatever.” You whisper back. “Which direction do you dodge?”

“Left.” Alexandria answers, and with a final warning tap on her shoulder, you shove her away.

True to form, she dodges to the right.

“I’m hurt, really.” You say, circling the other direction. Legionnaire moves immediately towards Alexandria, and Athena squares off against you. There’s a fire in her eyes. Good - they can’t leave just yet.

“Oh shut up.” Athena snarls. She’s shifting her feet. She’ll attack soon.

“No, genuinely. I gave them snacks-“ if you circle just a bit more, you might be able to get the sun in her eyes.

“You poisoned him?” Legionnaire roars. He has Alexandria tucked under one arm, and something clicks. Enough you don’t even bother with the poison comment.

“Alex.” You chime, sounding annoyed. “Alex, right after our discussion about fashion -“ the kid snorts, “I asked you a very important question. Do your parents know the answer to that question?”

Alex’s eyes widen. “No!” She calls, frantic.

“What question?” Athena demands, whirling. “What have you done, Synovus?”

“Me? Nothing.” You ignore the panic in Alex’s eyes. “But what kind of parents don’t even know their child’s favorite food?”

It’s a blatant lie, and a stab in the dark - but you don’t exactly have the highest opinion of them, and at the least it’ll give the kid a chance to make something up later. In any case, it does what it needs to for now. Uncertainty turns to rage.

In the end, neither Athena nor Legionnaire swing first - you do.

And the rooftop is covered in darkness.

———

You manage to keep the fight going for another half hour. You have to pull your punches, to make sure you don’t accidentally murder the hostage you’ve spent ages specifically not murdering, and you do actually care about structural integrity.

Neither of the heroes has that limitation. You have to dodge or obliterate several chunks of concrete and rebar that definitely should not have been so easily dislodged. Stupid super strength.

Fifteen minutes in, you get the signal. You’ve done your job. You keep going, though, both because it’s good to not be exact on something like this and because you’re remembering the bruises on Alexandria’s arm, and the way she lit up after she gave her name, and the panic when she’d told you her parents didn’t know she went by ‘she’ when given the choice.

But you also don’t want to kill these two idiots in front of their kid, so you settle for snapping Legionnaire’s shield arm, and giving Athena an un-asked for haircut amongst the other bruises, scrapes, and general fuckery they receive. For your trouble, you get some fractured ribs, a fucked up roof, and what’s likely a concussion. But no stab wounds this time, so the new armor is holding up.

Legionnaire and Athena leave, Alex in tow, with threats of more vengeance if you ever seek to follow. You remind them, hoarsely, that this is your house legally, and robbery and assault are crimes.

Then you go the fuck to bed.

———

It’s about two months later when you wind up fighting Legionnaire and Athena again. This time you’re on their turf - figuratively. You don’t show up at their house, so much as within driving distance of where they live, and that’s just unfortunate circumstance.

You’re really here because a bank bigwig thought they could outrun you in the cornfields of the heartland of the USA, and they’re about to be dead wrong.

They had, however, managed to make it to a nearby city, so here you were again, dodging more concrete. A black spectre being chased by dazzling flashes of gold and bronze.

On one of your passes, trying to get to your target - and you very nearly had them too - a chunk of stone hits you in the same spot the last one broke your ribs. The force of the blow sends you flying halfway through a department store, where you bounce off of a customer service counter, and land behind it.

You take a moment to make sure the upgrades you’d made since last time have worked. Oh good, you can still breathe. Intact ribs.

“Synovus?” A querolus voice asks near you. It doesn’t sound afraid, which is strange. You open your eyes, and find a masked face peering into your helmet.

“Alex?” You bite off the rest of her name, given that you’re technically in public. There’s a crowd of people crammed into the dressing rooms, technically fleeing from you, probably hiding more from the flying rebar.

She winces, and gestures to the gold wings on either side of her mask. “Mercury.” She corrects. “Messenger of the gods and all.”

She does have a bow slung over one shoulder, but you know immediately you will never call her that name. “Little menace.” You say instead, pushing up to a sitting position. “Why are you here.”

Alexandria shrugs. “I’m old enough now, I guess. But I’m not supposed to fight you, just get civilians out of the way.”

Your anger flows bright and hot, slipping into your fingers in dark tendrils. You choke it back. “Lovely.” You manage through gritted teeth. “Better costume than your pajamas.”

Alexandria looks down, grimaces. “I’d rather wear the garbage bags.” She mutters. “Also, incoming.”

You don’t need the warning, but it is appreciated. A dome of darkness appears overhead, solidifying and shattering along with the next chunk of concrete.

“Idiots.” You grunt. “Look. Do you have someone to talk to? Some kind of super therapist?”

Alexandria had already scuttled back out of range, reassuring the civilians, putting herself between them and you. “Uh, my parents?”

You give her a look that is utterly lost behind your helmet. “Right.” You drawl. A quick glance shows that Athena is closing in. Working quickly, you pull some of the receipt tape from the register, scribble a number on it with a pen from the desk. You shove it towards Alexandria, and watch it flutter to the floor with the dust and debris less than halfway between you. “Don’t call me.”

With that advice, you spring back over the counter, and punch Athena in the face.

———

It only takes two days for you to get a text message.

A: Not dead?

You contemplate a response, laying in bed on your island, and sip at your doctor-mandated orange juice.

S: That’s subjective.

Satisfied, you return to watching the news. A funeral for the Bank bigwig you’d been after will be held that afternoon. You wonder if the heroes will attend.

You could, but you won’t.

———

A: Are you still awake?’

The message comes as you’re overseeing the welding of a submarine one of your allies has ordered. You have no idea what time it is.

S: Little menace that is suspiciously close to a ‘U up’ message and I am twice your age.

A: Gross.

Is the reply. Then,

A: Pls help.

You’re ready to burst out of the building and rain destruction before the file that accompanies that message finishes loading. It’s… chemistry. A chemical formula.

S: Why are you sending me the chemical formula for what I’m guessing is rutilated quartz.

A: If this is quartz than what the fuck is this.

Another picture, another formula. You sigh.

S: Little menace. Are you asking me to do your chemistry homework for you.

There’s a decidedly guilty pause, during which time you hear out the foreman’s complaints about the crunch order for the submarine. You’ve come to an agreement about overtime pay by the time your phone chimes again. The foreman pointedly takes his leave to avoid interrupting your business.

A: … yes?

S: Why would you ask me, Lord/Lady of Darkness, Scourge of the Western Seaboard, known War Criminal wanted in the courts of the Hague, bearer of a death mark in seven systems. How to do your homework.

A: … because you’re a villain and villains are okay with cheating?

A: also that last one is a Star Wars reference, that’s not real.

S: I could have been to space.

S: You don’t know me.

A: Also you were acquitted of the war crimes.

S: I have a reputation, little menace.

A: Can that reputation include explaining ionized particles to troubled idiots. Please.

You roll your eyes where no one can see.

S: You aren’t an idiot, the school system is garbage. No comparisons to my outfit or I don’t help you.

It takes you about an hour to walk her through the basics. Truly, American education is the worst. You conveniently ignore that you have an American diploma on the wall in your office.

———

She texts you occasionally after that. An update on her grades. Memes about you, about her parents. You commiserate with her when she finds the first page thirsting after ‘hot boi Mercury’ and doesn’t know how to feel about it.

You avoid talking about the things you’ve done, or hero business. She mentions they’ve moved. You don’t ask where to.

———

One day, Alexandria breaks the rules.

They weren’t explicit rules, really. A bit of advice exchanged over a fluttering scrap of paper. Common sense, maybe.

When a supervillain gives you their phone number and tells you not to call them, you don’t call them, even when your name is Alex/Mercury/Alexandria.

Except she does, and you’re in the middle of a brawl when your helmet is filled with ringing.

You answer on reflex. There’s no helmet caller-ID, so you have no way of knowing it’s her. You didn’t bother to give her a specific ringtone, because she wasn’t ever going to call you. You answer accordingly.

“Who The fuck-“ you roar, and then you hear sobbing.

Immediately, you stop. Usually that would’ve gotten you punched, but in this case the end of your momentum means your opponent sails right past you. You ignore them for now.

“Little menace?” You venture, trying to sort through the sounds. “I didn’t - what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” Alexandria gasps, and her voice is hushed. “I shouldn’t have - I know you said not to call you - I - this is stupid-“

“No.” You say firmly. “You‘re hurt. Something’s wrong. You wanted to call me and so you did. There’s nothing stupi-“

You can’t finish that sentence, because reality (namely your opponent) has caught up to you with a sucker punch to the gut. The sound you made can’t have been pleasant.

“Synovus?” Alexandria cries, now sounding panicked.

“ ‘m fine.” You manage, having trapped the offending arm and flung your opponent. “Lil busy.”

Alexandria sniffs. “Union dispute?” She offers weakly.

“More like -“ you block a punch, and yank your opponent’s feet out from under him with a tendril of shadow. “- a client trying to -“ You gasp for air as you fling yourself backwards to avoid the torrent of fire. Fucking Igneous. More like Ignoramus. “-skip out on the bill.”

You do some very quick mental math, and come to a conclusion. You can end this fight quickly, but not while you’re talking to Alexandria. Also, what you’re about to do is hell on cell reception.

“Alexandria, little menace, I’m going to call you back in thirty seconds. Is that okay?”

There’s another sniff. “Do what you have to do.”

“Thirty seconds.” You promise. You end the call.

And the world erupts in light.

———

You’d really leaned into the ‘shadow’ part of your persona early on in your career. For one, it was more villain. Two, you hated wearing white. Three… well you didn’t really have that many reasons, it had just kind of happened that way, but you were happy to retroactively call it a tactical advantage.

Your powers, if they were to be classified, would likely be called ‘shadow manipulation.’ But because they were not lab-produced or inherited Magic, and instead your own special brand or fuckery, most didn’t realize the other end of the spectrum was also under your control.

Namely, light. Brilliant. Blinding. Painful.

You’d been told it wasn’t entirely unlike a solar flare.

Whatever it was, it melted Igneous.

———

The call goes through twenty nine seconds later.

“Like I promised.” You pant, now lying on the nice, hard stone. Obsidian stone. Not concrete. Concrete is evil.

“What?” Alexandria says, and you realize you said part of that out loud.

“Concrete is evil.” You repeat, doubling down. “I’m an authority on evil. I would know.”

“Synovus, I think you have a concussion.” Alexandria sounds worried.

“Nah.” You say flippantly. “Just. Slap happy. Adrenaline. Y’know how it is.”

“Yeah.” Alexandria says quietly, sniffling again. “I guess I do.”

“You - you’re in danger?” You yank your brain cells back together - using the light bursts doesn’t always fry your higher mental functions, but you did hurl a lot of energy at that last push. Also, you’re starting to think your leg might be broken from that last tackle.

“N- not right now.” Alexandria says, which isn’t an answer.

You hum disapprovingly.

“You sound different.”

“Oh. Right. Mask. Helmet. Usually filters. The microphone is inside the helmet, so - this is what I normally sound like.”

“Like you got your ass kicked?”

You huff a laugh, “Like I kicked ass. Even if I am now, momentarily, on mine.”

“Seriously, is there a doctor you can see, or…?”

“I have staff.” You answer dismissively, more out of habit than anything else. Remembering who you’re talking to, you gentle your tone a little more, “Rosie - Rosie is trained as a field medic. I’ll be fine, you little menace, but only if you tell me what happened that made you call me. Me, scourge of the western seaboard -“

“You have the titles out of order.” Alexandria informs you. “It’s Lord/Lady of Darkness first. That’s what it says on your Wikipedia page.”

“- wanted for war crimes by the courts of The Hague-“

“Acquitted for war crimes.”

“-bearer of a death mark in seven systems-“

“I might make it eight if you don’t shut up.”

“-and part time chemistry tutor.”

By the end, there’s laughter in her voice instead of tears. There’s a pause then, but it’s a thinking pause. A filled silence, and you are content to wait.

“It really was stupid.” She says finally. You want to contradict her, but you think that this is not the only thing you’ll want to object to by the time she finishes speaking. So you wait.

“There was something on the news - just. Just something local, you know? About… about people like… you and me.”

You feel your heart sink almost as fast as that submarine you were meant to sell to Igneous. “And then?” You prompt quietly.

“And - and Dad - well, you know how he is. Or, well, you know how he can be, he’s not like that all the time, but -“ she falls silent.

You fill in the gaps. “He said something unkind.” You say softly, knowing full well what a wide spectrum that can be.

Alexandria laughs, and it sounds more like a choke. “He said.” She manages, through the threat of tears, “That he was proud of them. For fighting for who they are. But -“

Another silence. You don’t speak into this one.

“- but he’s glad.” She said clearly, having regained some control over herself, “that no one in his family has ever been ‘like that.’”

“Oh Alexandria…” you murmur, searching for something to say.

“I told you it was stupid.” She says, and judging by the sound, she’s wiping away her tears. “He even said he was proud of them. And now I’m - crying, in a literal closet, on the phone with my kidnapper.” Her voice broke again, “because they’re the only one who knows why I care.”

You are so glad that you scribbled your phone number on a piece of garbage.

“I’m still waiting for the part.” You say patiently, “where you say something stupid.”

Another sniff. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like, say, ‘O Lord of Darkness, please build me, a fire-type villain, a submarine.’”

She snorts. You keep going, “Or ‘O Lord of Darkness, thank you for my stupid submarine. I offer you in payment… this knife between your ribs!’”

“You said you weren’t hurt!”

“I said I was fine. ‘Fine’ can include being lightly stabbed.”

“Well, if you want to be better than fine.” She says, growing more haughty, and you realize with delight that this is her impression of you. “You can call Rosie or Doll for whatever you need.”

“Want.”

“Whatever.”

You both laugh, and in the gentler silence that follows, you finally feel like you can try limping your - victorious - ass out of there.

“Synovus?” Alexandria asks. She’s quiet again.

“Yes, little menace?” You stop yourself from swearing when you try to put weight on your injured leg, but barely.

“You killed them, didn’t you. The villain who tried to betray you.”

You aren’t sure how to answer that question, at first. You stare at the slightly smoldering remains of Igenous, and realize the answer is simple.

“Yes.” You say levelly. “I did.”

You don’t try to defend it. She doesn’t ask you to. Instead, she whispers a quiet, “thank you” and hangs up.

Your leg really does feel like fire.

———

It’s months before you hear from Alexandria again.

That’s not to be unexpected. You had committed a murder, if not while on the phone with her, near enough about. You have your own shit to deal with after killing Igneous (because it isn’t that villains don’t care about internal feuds, it’s that they honor them, and you and Igneous didn’t have one)

You do hear about the rest of the business - people scrambling for what Igneous had, those scrambles making them vulnerable, heroes picking them up. You see ‘Mercury’ in the news a few times. You think she looks tired.

You think about texting her - a good joke, a picture from Doll’s birthday party - but in the end, decide not to. She’s a hero’s daughter. You were never going to be friends.

That makes you inexplicably sad.

———

Your first warning you’re going to have visitors comes in the form of a klaxon alarm.

“Shit.” You groan into your pillow. You have no idea what time it is, or if you’ve even slept. If that’s the first klaxon, you have five minutes.

The dark doesn’t bother you, so it’s just your lack of coordination that has you groping about for your suit and helmet. Thank the whoever you made it easy to get into.

By the time the second klaxon sounds - three minutes - you’re mostly dressed. You’re glad, again, for your helmet, sparing you bed head worries. You do kinda wish you had time to brush your teeth though.

You’re almost to the roof when the alarm sounds again - it’s final warning. Unfortunately, you still have no idea who’s even coming, because as far as you can remember all your debts are square and you haven’t threatened anyone lately.

When two shapes erupt out of the water again, you groan.

“I’m all for marking an anniversary.” You dredge up some remnant of energy to sound cheery, upbeat. “-but here I didn’t get you anything!”

Athena lands, her spear and shield both slung across her back. She regards you coldly, as the water droplets spin and stop around her. You always wondered why she went for the goddess of war vibe, when she had such control over water.

“We’re a little late for an anniversary anyway.” A voice that is decidedly not Athena or Legionnaire replies, nervousness edging into an attempt at levity.

“Little menace.” You greet Alexandria, folding your arms. “Your stay here was a one-time only voucher, I’m afraid.”

“Shut up, Synovus.” Athena says, but she sounds… tired. Looking at her more closely, you can see her eyes are red-rimmed. Interesting.

Athena glares at Alexandria. “You said you needed to talk to them. So talk.” Her voice is thick with something. Grief? Anger? You don’t know her nearly well enough to tell the difference in nuance outside of ‘angry yelling’ and ‘distressed yelling.’

Alexandria is in costume as well this time. She steps forward, hesitates, then takes off her mask. Athena purses her lips at this breach in etiquette, but you’d already seen the kid without one.

You still had no idea what the hell she was doing though.

“Synovus.” She starts, jaw working for a moment.

You hold out your hand, as you have before.

“I told them.” She says finally, and her eyes try to meet yours. “About… who I am. That I’d been talking to you.”

A shadow crosses her face. “Dad broke my phone.”

“I can afford a replacement.” You say dryly, not thinking much past the immediate conversation. Athena scowls at you. You ignore her and look for signs of bruising on Alexandria’s face.

“That’s not what I’m here to talk about.” She sets her shoulders, and tries to meet your eyes through the helmet again. “I asked you if you killed someone, that time I called you.”

“And I did. Igneous, fire class villain. You know, we’re not Pokémon types.”

Alexandria ignores that, “And before?”

You tilt your head. So that’s what this is about? Baby’s first murder. A lesson for the hero child.

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Alexandria.” You say quietly. “Not all of them deserved it.”

“But you maintain that some of them did.” She says, asking without asking. It’s not the question you expected, really.

“I do.” You shrug, “But it doesn’t really matter whether or not they deserved it, does it? Because I still killed them.”

“At least you understand that much.” Athena mutters. At a look from Alexandria, she turns away.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Your little menace asks, watching you curiously.

“Death? Sure. Life? Sure. Depends on whose eyes you’re using to look at me. Mine? I think I deserve the consequences of my actions if I’m not smart enough to outwit them.”

“So that’s what makes it okay? If you’re smarter than they are?”

“Oh, no, though I see why you would think that. It’s okay because it has to be, or it wouldn’t have happened. And because I’m a selfish bastard.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“Not without some damn coffee.”

“It’s five in the afternoon, Synovus.”

“So? I keep odd hours, little menace. You spring philosophy on someone, you get them the drink of their choice. I want coffee.”

Alexandria sighs, “If you’re going to have Doll make it, tell him he owes me a hot chocolate.”

“Fine.” You sniff, then pointedly turn your helmet towards Athena. “Assuming you don’t think anything I give you is poison, would you-“

“A martini. I don’t care what kind. Something alcoholic.”

You pause. “Well, I suppose that’s a fair request.”

———

In the end, you wind up bringing them to one of the balconies built into the cliffs.

“I’ve never noticed these.” Athena notes, frowning as she stares at them.

“We bring them in whenever we have visitors like you.” You reply, throwing yourself into a lounge chair. You don’t mean it to sound quite so churlish, but you’re tired, sore, hosting someone who’s tried to kill you and their daughter (whom you once kidnapped) and about to get grilled on why you’ve killed people.

“That is…. Understandable.” Athena sounds distracted, like something’s got her attention internally.

You cradle your cup of coffee and debate the injury you might cause yourself trying to drink it through a straw. With a sigh, you take off the helmet instead, setting it on the table.

“I should thank you, for allowing us this audience, L-“ Alexandria cuts herself off mid sentence, gaping at you. Athena follows suit a moment later.

“Yes.” You declare, straightening, and gesturing to your face. “I, Synovus, do in fact… possess a nose.” You deliver it in your best ‘finale reveal’ voice, though without the vocalizer it doesn’t have the same effect.

“What nested in your hair?” Athena demands.

You scowl at her. “A Greek goddess and her spawn.”

Disgruntled, you sip your coffee. “Ask your questions, menace.”

And she does. For at least an hour, she asks you about your history. Some questions, you do not answer - they are personal, part of you. Others, you obfuscate, because not all of your secrets are yours alone. Mostly, though, she sticks to recent history.

Finally, she comes to the question you had wondered if she was ever going to ask. “Why did you kidnap me?”

Your coffee (and a refill) is long gone at this point. Rosie foisted food on you while you were explaining the difference between degrees of murder, so you nibble on toast instead.

“To take over the world.” You reply. “Or something.”

When Alexandria scowls at you, you pull a face in return, then explain, “I needed your parents busy for a few hours. Something they would absolutely prioritize over… anything else.”

Athena has been watching you. Her demeanor has never warmed, but it has… slumped. She stopped drinking before you had to start thinking about metabolization rates and cutting her off. “The breakout. That same day. The prison in Washington.” She says now, the first time she’d spoken since the comment about your hair.

You hum, noncommittal.

“Several people escaped during that breakout.” Alexandria recalls. “You and Dad spent weeks hunting them down. But…” her eyes narrow again, “which one mattered to you?”

You shrug, mouth full of toast. Once you’ve swallowed, you offer an answer that isn’t, “Coulda been any of them.”

“Synovus.” Rosie had been in and out, with the food and reassuring the others there wasn’t a war about to break out. This was the first time she’d stopped to say something. “I release you of your oath.”

You consider her for a long time. “You are certain.”

“I’ve said the words. I must live them.”

You nod, and look back down at your toast crumbs. Neither Alexandria nor Athena interject.

“There were a few non-villains who escaped.” You say, eventually. “I could have used any of those who got out, and probably did use most of them somehow. But the ‘real prize’ you’re asking about was a man in jail for felony tax evasion.”

You give them a moment to process that. “That’s not all he did, of course, just what they caught him for.” You shrug, “Sucks, but that’s how it works out sometimes.”

“So you…” Alexandria starts, but you shake your head.

“Look this is convoluted enough. The man went to jail for tax evasion, because he wasn’t around to pay his taxes. He wasn’t around to pay his taxes, because he was working for me. He was working for me to do nefarious things, like provide my staff emergency medical care when Rosie was dying of cancer, and I may have. Overtipped.”

“Overtipped.” Athena says dryly.

“To the tune of a few thousand he couldn’t explain fast enough. So. Jail for tax evasion. But I couldn’t get him out of prison without doing something drastic, and that would make him infinitely more wanted than whatever nebulous connection he had to presumed mob entities. So I did something dramatic.”

“You kidnapped me.” Alexandria says, as though for confirmation.

“Sure did. The trouble with being a supervillain, kid, is that nothing can ever be simple. Because even if you didn’t notice-“ you point at Athena, “you can bet your buttons that someone else would’ve, so I had to have six layers to this stupid plan just to make up for being too generous when I tried to save someone’s life.”

“Those escapees.” Athena grits out, “killed people.”

You sigh, “Yeah. Yeah they did.”

“You could’ve stopped them.” Alexandria protests, “if not in person, than by calling in tips or, or making a deal -“

You’re already shaking your head again. “Sorry kid. Not how this works. Oh sure, it could work different. But ask your mom how well that goes.”

Athena is staring at you again. There’s pain in that expression. You don’t feel much mercy.

“How many softball practices did she miss, serving the greater good? How many times have you had to move? Did she ever tell you why it took her three hours to come get you from my little island?”

Athena’s hands are fists on the table. You are aware of how close you are to the sea, how fine her control is over water. How much water makes up a human.

“I am a hero.” She says quietly.

“You are.” You agree, and it’s without malice. “But you’re not much of a parent.”

When she lunges for you, it’s with her left hand first, and Alexandria caught in the middle.

Luckily for you, you don’t need your helmet on to use your abilities. The inky mass that’s been gathering just beneath Athena’s chair springs to life, coiling around her and forcing her back down. She looks furious.

You hold up one hand, and the shadows let her go. “That was a warning. You’re a guest. You’ve had a trying day. But you are in my house, Lady Athena, and if you bring violence to my table you will regret it.”

Miraculously, Athena does not move.

“Are you done?” Alexandria demands.

You blink at her, pretending to consider. “No.” You decide. “But we can move on. Next question.”

“Same question.” Alexandria counters. “Because I don’t believe you.”

“That’s fair.” You accept that with equanimity. “Because I was lying. In part, you understand. I’m very serious about my oaths. But that’s the only answer you’ll be getting from me on that.”

Teenage expressions are wasted on teenagers. Alexandria treats you to one now, looking supremely unimpressed. “What about Lily?”

It takes you a moment to place the name. “Who? Oh - Lily as in lilies-on-her-desk-every-morning Lily. The bank-” You wave a hand, “-person. I presume you’re asking why I killed her?”

Alexandria nods. You sigh, “Have you seen what that bank charges for interest rates? Also. She was skimming more than a little off the top. A lot of loan laundering going on there.”

“So you killed her for it?”

“No, I killed her for that and trying to buy back part of the sovereign nation of Hawai'i. They had to fight hard enough for that independence in the courts, some banker driving people to starvation in the midwest wasn’t going to ruin that for them.”

Alexandria looks exasperated. “Okay, look - that’s what I don’t get. Some of what you do has, maybe, if you squint, some sort of noble reason to it. But then other things almost completely contradict it. I don’t understand - do you give a crap or not?”

You smile. “Both. What you’re missing, dear menace, is perspective. That the battles I choose are incomprehensible to an outsider does not mean I have not chosen them carefully.”

“So there is a plan.”

“Grand, overarching, work-of-a-lifetime? Oh, no, not really.”

Alexandria drops her head into her hands and groans. Athena’s expression is dangerously close to 'I told you so.’

“How many people do you think can live on this island?” You ask, pretending to admire the view.

Alexandria drags her hands down her face. “You know exactly how bad I am at math and I hate you for asking.”

“Probably around thirty, without imports.” You agree, as though that had been the answer. You’ve done the math. Several times. In case it was ever necessary. “So that’s how many people I care about.”

Athena snorts, “You’re telling me you have a list-”

You roll your eyes and cut her off, because you can, and also she’s wrong, “I am selective dear Athena. I care about this island. And the people on it. And everyone else can choke. Or not, I don’t really care.”

You can see Alexandria turning it over in her head. You’re prepared, if you have to be, for an argument on what that logic is isolationist and reductive and how all humans should work together-

“Why Hawai'i?” She asks.

“Technically, this island is considered to be Hawai'i sovereign territory. It was uninhabited, and I’m good for keeping out tourists. There’s some good reefs around here, actually, I’m surprised you didn’t see them on the way in.”

“Wait, you live here as the Hawai'ian government’s assassin?”

You laugh, “Oh, no. They disavowed me a loooong time ago. No I do that part pro-bono.”

“You’re crazy.” Athena says flatly.

“Sure.” You agree. “But at least I don’t think I’m the son of Mars.”

She bares her teeth at you, “My husband -”

“Your husband hurt your daughter while you called her your son.” You snap back.

“So that gives you permission to groom my child, to-”

You were told, once, when you were younger, that you looked like a demon when you were angry. It’s part of why you started wearing the helmet - because your powers react before your conscious mind can, and when you’re lucky, that just means your eyes fill with shadows, or your tears turn to ink.

But when you are beyond furious, it is not just the shadows that come calling. It is also the light.

You aren’t sure what you look like, standing over the sudden ruins of your table, wreathed in darkness and haloed by crystalline fire. You do not see the way the light ripples in the shadows, like tiny stars in a void as it expands around you.

But you do see Athena’s fear when you lean in, no helmet to separate you, and hiss, You will never accuse me of such a thing again.

“Synovus.” Alexandria’s voice is surprisingly calm. “I don’t want to - I don’t think I can tug on your sleeve or something with all the… whatever you have going on currently, but could you sit down please? Or… maybe step back, at least? I think your chair is just ashes now.”

Something about her babble gets to you. You remind yourself that this is a scared mother in front of you. That they are both on your island as guests. And you shut your eyes, and choke the power back again.

While you are turned away, you hear Alexandria speaking quietly to her mother. “You didn’t mean to, I know. Neither did he. It’s just - you’re both so strong, you know? It was just… just bruises. The pain went away soon, and… well, a little pain borne for others is no pain at all, right?”

It has the cadence of something she’s heard her parents say.

You are still turned away when Athena bursts into tears.

—

Later, you haven’t slept, but you did finally get a chance to brush your teeth. Yay for the little victories.

You’re thinking about just giving up and going to sleep again when there’s a knock on your door.

Resigned, you lurch to your feet, and open it.

Alexandria stands there, alone. You’d left her alone with her mother on the balcony, while you went to go reduce half a training room to splinters and get dunked until you stopped literally steaming. They’d needed time to talk - and cry, apparently.

You don’t even bother to say anything, this time. You just lean on your doorway, and flip a hand over in prompting.

“Mom’s gone back.” Alexandria explains. “She and dad need to… work some things out. But I was hoping that… maybe, I could stay?”

You raise a brow. Ugh, you could never do that in your helmet. Wasted opportunities.

“Not like, in your room, gross.” She says rapidly, waving her hands to dismiss the thought, and you can’t help but compare this animated, babbling child to the quiet one you kidnapped a little over a year ago.

“Rosie said that I could have her room for a little while while they figure something out, and I think I might have powers, but I’m not ready to deal with any of that yet because I still just want to have time being just Alexandria instead of Alexander, and -”

“I’m not calling you Mercury.” You inform her. “If you go out with me on business, you go by something else.”

Her grin is dazzling. “I’ll even wear the trash bags.” She promises.

“So?” You prompt again, folding your arms. “What’ll the name be, Alexandria?”

She laughs. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you.” She teases.

“Call me Menace.”

[If you enjoyed this work, let me know! Want more of Synovus and Menace’s adventures? You can find more here, along with links to the Ao3 versions of each installment!]