FORGERY . . . THE BOYS ! [1]

. . . 1982 . . . 

Blood splatters the walls of the brick building behind him, coating his hand in strings of veins and capillaries. He breathes out a sigh of disgruntled irritation. Yesterday was laundry day. The suit had just gotten cleaned. Now, this?

This was the bar that Rose Quartz frequented, and he was realizing that it was for good reason. These people were god awful. The woman bartender stepped out for a cigarette and a man followed her, tried to pin her to the wall. Even had a knife, for Christ's sakes, against an innocent woman wanting a smoke.

Now his eyes were on Soldier's Boy's fingers. Now Ben would have to do the laundry.

No. No. This was out of his jurisdiction, and therefore not his business. He didn't have to do this, actually shouldn't be doing this. Rose Quartz was in charge of Malibu, California, and she did a damn good job of running its streets.

It was just that... damn it, he wanted to do it. That was fucked up, wasn't it? Heroes weren't supposed to actually crime fight. That was too much paperwork. Vought was going to have a meltdown if they found out he was out of New York City and across the country. Especially when they were detailing putting him in as a war decal with Payback. This, this was risky.

Disgust courses through Ben's entire body. He knows he's imagining it, but he swore the eyeball on his finger just fucking blinked at him. He smears the remainder of it on the brick wall and wipes his hands on his suit's pants. Laundry day.

"Oh my God," a voice says from behind him, one he hasn't heard in months. She's infuriated. Just like last time. He loved that she was last time, too. "You are such a fucking nightmare."

Ben smiles, tossing his hands in the air. "Why's that? Because, to me, it looks like I just helped you out."

"Did I ask for your help? Did I write up your little safehouse in the city and ask for the head honcho to fly over here and come?"

She's so, so fun to play with. There are so many buttons on Rose Quartz, like an elevator. He is a child, running his palm down every single one of them. Ding, ding, ding, they're hitting every stop, baby! "You'd think you'd be a little appreciative to have a day off."

"You'd think," she says, her arms crossing over her chest. She's so pink she's like a popsicle-colored beacon. "Except now, on top of this, I have to worry about other fucking heroes flying into my domain and doing my job for me since they don't think I can handle it myself."

The rage pulsates off of her in waves. It traces its fingers over his cheekbones, brushes its knuckles across his lips. "I never said that."

"You are practically creaming in your pants right now waiting for me to thank you," she shoots back, those pink eyes so angry. The setting sun has them nearly orange. A lit fire. "How is that not underestimating?"

Ben takes a step closer. His boots shuffle over the dead body on the cracked gravel ground. Fuck that guy. He actually makes sure to step on a finger while he's at it. "Maybe, Rose," and there it is, the way she breathes changes when he says her name, "I just needed a reason to see you again."

"Get a hobby, then," Rose sighs, but she isn't moving. She's firmly planted in the alleyway entrance. She's waiting for him to close that gap between them. "You've got plenty of time waiting for your constructed appearances and saves. Stop using it to worry about me."

"Never worry," Ben corrects. He tosses a hand backwards to the scene behind him. "I mean, look at what you just did to that guy. Why the fuck would I have to worry about you? You've got everything handled here."