Work Text:
“Are you serious?”
Mandy, formerly the heroine known to all as Blonde Blazer, massages her temples and tries to remind herself to limit just how exasperated she comes off. Which is why the mic registers her only sounding a little bitchy, rather than absolutely caustic.
Over her headset the sounds of muffled combat, groans and wings flapping and goons swearing, overwhelming whatever Coupé wants to communicate, until finally they become distant, and Mandy gets an actual response. “This OT mission was your idea. The office is locked up, and I have... something.”
“Something?” Mandy asks.
“Something dangerous,” Coupé hisses. “Tell me where to take it.”
Mandy switches from her temples to the bridge of her nose, a little glad she no longer has powers because the physicality of finger on cartilage is easier to feel now, and thus more tactilely satisfying. “I’m not telling you where I live. Just hold onto it until Monday.”
“...oh, I see.” Coupé’s voice has gone ice cold, and Mandy can’t help but flinch. “This mission was not the offer of trust it appeared to be.” Before Mandy can rebut that, the ex-villain hisses, the sound barely caught by the mic as her own flight leaves it drifting in the breeze. “Explain this: your home is sacred sanctuary, unfit for an assassin, yet you leave this weapon in my hands.” She doesn’t stop there. Coupé expounds on how she could pawn the tech, or how it could explode and destroy her apartment, or—
“I get it, I get it, you can stop now.” For some reason, Mandy’s smiling, even though inside she feels like such a heel. Refusing to give her, or the rest of the Z-Team, a chance to prove themselves is what sent her running into Shroud’s clutches, she reminds herself. I need to avoid making the same mistake twice. “Sorry, it’s late, and I...”
She hates looking around her home, but for the moment, she forces herself to do it anyway.
Everyone gave Robert shit for how spartan his apartment was, but at least Robert has a dog. The walls are adorned with artwork (moderately expensive and completely lacking in any connection to Mandy as a person), the furniture has a coherent modern theming and a strong layout (they’re also horribly uncomfortable), and she owns the building and the land its on (the mortgage used to be a drop in the bucket but without her advertising money Mandy’s begun to worry about burning through her savings).
“...I’m a little skittish about having anyone over. But you were right to start with, I am trying to trust you, and that has to start by giving you a chance.” Easy to say but difficult to do. Mandy understands, even supports, Robert’s decision to forgive and reconcile Coupé into the Z-Team, but that doesn’t make what the ex-villain did any easier for her to forget.
She doubts anyone will be forgetting the attack of the Red Ring any time soon.
After passing along the address to Coupé, she barely has time to switch from pajama bottoms to a pair of jeans before the ex-assassin is knocking at her door.
As always, Coupe looks imperious and calculating in her “hero” costume. Dangerous.
Just being near her sets Mandy’s pulse racing, her fight or flight instinct kicking in. Losing her powers hasn’t helped, no, it’s just intensified it.
If Coupé wanted to kill her, right here and now, there would be nothing Mandy could do to stop her.
...why did thinking that make her face flush?
And why was Coupé looking at her shirt?
“You’re... a horse girl?” she asks, and for a moment Mandy swears she sees something like amusement flicker across her face.
Oh, that’s right. Mandy looks down, and remembers she hadn’t changed her shirt, which means she is currently going braless in a pastel top with a horse on it and glitter and... Mandy clears her throat. “The device?”
Coupé slips past her and enters without asking for permission, handing Mandy the stolen tech at the same time one of her wings brushes against her. She seems to be giving the apartment a brief once-over, but Mandy’s too busy looking at this... thing.
It’s almost... dumbbell shaped? she thinks, turning it over in her hands. No, that’s not right, but I can’t think of a better example. So thin in the center, curved in its arc, what could this be for?
“Is this an airbnb?” Coupé asks, walking closer again after having done a circuit of the room.
Could it be a bomb? Maybe, but that doesn’t feel right. There’s too many display panels, too many buttons; explosives are a lot simpler. Usually. “No, it’s my house,” she barely pays any attention to her coworker, too focused on what she’s holding, even as Coupé invades her personal space to look at it too.
Coupé clicks her tongue, though what she means by it, Mandy has no clue. “Do you have a maid or something?”
Of course she thinks there’s a maid. The home is nearly spotless, floors clean and dishes tucked away and barely a sign that anyone actually lives here. Because, frankly, Mandy barely does. Or, did. Always at the office, or on the job, or at someone else’s place.
“No, I handle it all myself.” That got harder once she gave up the powers, but it’s still manageable. In fact, Mandy’s found housework is a great way to distract her from staying stuck on topics she doesn’t want to think about. “Now, were there any signs of exactly what this—” and as she speaks Mandy is turning the tech over in her hands, only realizing at the last second she’s touched a button on it, after it’s already too late.
They only have enough time for their eyes to go wide, to look at each other, and then suddenly all Mandy can see is light and color while experiencing the horrible rush of plummeting from an enormous height.
When she lands, she feels strangely exhausted, drained, unable to even muster the energy to open her eyes.
“Oh shit!” Someone speaking nearby, a woman, one who sounds... strangely familiar.
Another person sighs, and this one is immediately recognizable. It’s Coupé. “Today of all days... right, we’re both taking a personal day tomorrow.” What does that mean? Why would they need to do that? How has Coupé survived the... whatever that was, so much better than Mandy?
But then, no, Mandy hears Coupé again, but much closer, not above her, groaning in exhaustion the same way Mandy is.
Then someone lifts her up, and a hand runs through her hair, and Mandy hears her own voice tell her, “Hey, just rest. It’s gonna be alright.”
Waking up by attacking whoever was at her bedside is standard procedure for Janelle.
Colm enjoys it at this point, the delightful little freak, but everyone else learned to avoid disturbing her naps after she almost dislocated Sonar’s arm and slit his throat by rote muscle memory.
He hadn’t even been trying to wake her, either. Just doing one of his annoying little screeches too close to her.
What makes this particular occasion, in the aftermath of her delivery of a strange device to the ex-Blonde Blazer’s sad and lonely house, all the stranger is how the person reacts when she tries to pull her in with a chokehold and raise a knife to her throat.
There’s no combative defense, no pulling away. No, she goes limp, and just... let’s Janelle do it.
Strange.
Even stranger is that, when Janelle finds herself awake enough to actually understand what is happening and who is in her arms, she sees it’s the dispatcher, the former heroine.
And she’s smiling at her.
Emotions run through Janelle’s guts at the sight of such warm, unguarded affection. Desire, fear, need.
Her face remains impassive as she lets go of the woman, letting her pull away, but not nearly as far as she expects, while Janelle gets her bearings.
She’s in the same living room as before, the sort of space one would see on television in the home of the rich and bored, cold and sterile and, worst of all, tacky.
Yet, it’s also not the same, not at all.
The furniture is all different, aside from a single aquamarine ottoman that remains with an aura of spite surrounding it. Janelle’s lying on a couch, a very soft, comfortable couch, and those words describe most of what she sees. It reminds her of the sort of decor Colm convinced Janelle to fill their own apartment with, only tidier.
Wait, no... this isn’t like Janelle’s furniture. There’s a stain on the cushion, too deeply set to ever be truly cleaned out, inches away from her face, and she knows that stain. Janelle can still vividly recall the night, years ago, when a day of staying in and drinking had turned into fucking had turned into fighting and... She reaches out, fingers tracing the shape... “My couch is in your house,” she says, barely even cognizant that the words are leaving her lips.
The dispatcher presses her lips into a line, the tension bringing out more muscles, and wrinkles, in her cheeks and around her eyes. She’s looked more mature ever since she gave up her powers. Also, better. Chestnut brown is a far superior color on her.
Having apparently come to a decision, she smiles at Janelle, again so unguarded and warm that she doesn’t know what to do with it. “Our house.”
Janelle blinks.
“Welcome to another dimension, specifically one to the left of your own. No, I don’t know how dimensions can be plotted with lefts and rights, ask Royd sometime if you’re curious.” The woman offers Janelle her hand. “I’m the Mandy of this universe, and I’m dating your dimensional counterpart. Nice to meet you.”
Suspicion wars within Janelle immediately against her intense interest in this collection of classic fanfic tropes being used together.
The battle ends quickly and decisively as she takes Mandy’s hand.
Hopefully this time she’ll remember the ex-heroine’s name.
When this universe’s version of Coupé says what she says, Mandy almost drops the picture frame she’s holding.
“D-Dating?” Her voice comes out shrill, and she immediately winces, knowing her tone probably sounds bad in the other woman’s ears.
At least Coupé is giving her space, standing at least four feet away, which is helping a lot.
It had been so weird, waking up in her bed, but also not her bed. Coupé there, but also definitely not Coupé. She’d never seen the ex-villain look so at ease, a cozy smile on her lips while looking straight at Mandy’s face. She wasn’t in her costume, either, no instead she’s wearing a baggy t-shirt, one Mandy recognizes as one that fit her well back when she had the gemstone, along with comfortable black loungers.
The entire room is so different. There’re souvenirs and knicknacks, two dressers instead of one, clothes scattered around including several bras that Mandy knows at a glance aren’t hers, and the photos...
She doesn’t have to ask what went differently, in this timeline.
The story is told for her, in all the shots of the Z-Team with Coupé included, but no sign of Sonar.
A world where Robert chose the other person to cut. A world where... where that has somehow led to them sharing a home and a bed and probably a lot more than just that.
“You’re blushing.” There’s just a hint of teasing to Coupé’s voice, and it tears Mandy’s attention away from her surroundings and to the woman herself. She’s so confident, standing there. Fist on her hip, black hair messy but still charming, no sign of that on-edge tension that Mandy is used to. “Is it that hard? Imagining you and I together?” There’s no affront in her tone, only curiosity.
“If you knew what we’d just been through...” Mandy looks over the photos again, landing on what seems to be this universe’s version of the aftermath of the Red Ring attack. Only here, it’s Sonar who looks surprised to be included, and Coupé who knows she belongs. “Yeah, it’s hard to imagine.” Her eyes continue to trace the curve of that smile in the picture, a warmth rising in her chest that she knows could be dangerous. “Not bad, though.”
For a few seconds, they’re both quiet.
Mandy knows this is just some alternate history, a different roll of the cosmic dice, and yet...
What if?
“You don’t seem surprised by any of this,” Mandy notes, setting the picture frame back on the dresser. Crossing her arms, she turns to look at this alternate Coupé, suspicion rising in her once more. “Why?” She would certainly prefer this all to be what the woman says it is, but Mandy’s been in the hero game long enough to know this is far from the only explanation.
Coupé walks to the door, hand on the knob, not opening it just yet. “We had to deal with something similar, a few days back. The dimension to our left is nearly identical, except there, Waterboy never joined the Z-Team. Instead they had...” Coupé frowns, as though the memory is unpleasant to recall, and opens the door. “...whatever. We’ve seen this tech before. Been on the other side of it. You should bounce back to your home universe within the hour.”
Looking at the open doorway, Mandy knows what’s being offered. What she’ll find if she goes through.
She doesn’t delay long. Heroes never waver.
A short walk down the hall, Mandy heads to the living room, alternate Coupé a few feet behind her, and...
She blinks.
Sitting up on a couch, not her couch but a couch, is another Coupé, definitely the one she came here with, looking just as much like she’s reeling from all this as Mandy feels. But when they meet gazes, the corners of Coupé’s mouth twitch. A little smile?
But more to the point, standing just a few feet away, Mandy sees herself.
Wearing her uniform, exhausted but happier than Mandy’s seen in the mirrors in a while, it’s really herself.
When they step towards each other, it’s with the same foot first. They both notice, both laugh, both make the same joke, both half-laugh at the aborted punchline and both trying to jinx the other.
To the side, neither Coupé is saying anything. They’re just watching, watching each other and watching both Mandy’s.
Mandy wastes so much time, just looking at this room, looking at another version of herself, looking at... at the way this Mandy and her Coupé meet gazes and smile and Mandy can feel how much they want to kiss each other.
Which of course makes her think about kissing her Coupé, which... is not a displeasing thought, honestly.
Before she can make any sense of this, of her emotions or her goals or what would be good to say, Mandy feels the start of that same experience hitting her again, she’s falling, and...
She’s gone.
Gone back home.
By the time they’re back in their home dimension and mutually recovering while half-passed out on Mandy’s hardwood floor, Janelle has already decided on her first strike.
“What paperwork would I need to fill out before taking you out on a date?” The words don’t come off as cool and sleek as she’d prefer, they’re more groaned out from aching lungs as she struggles to stand, but that’s more than Mandy can do yet, so she counts it as a win.
The shade of scarlet she earns from Mandy’s cheeks for her question makes the pain of asking worth it. “Are you... serious...?” Mandy’s looking at her not with suspicion, but with an emotion more directed inward than out. Doubt? Denial? Janelle hasn’t considered that the Mandy she (barely) knows might consider herself straight. Though, if she does, it will be rewarding to prove her wrong. “That was just...”
I’ve read enough Enemies to Lovers and Continuity Divergence fics to know I need this, Janelle thinks to herself.
Grateful as she is for the leniency given to her, Janelle still doesn’t trust that it will last. That it can last.
She knows a relationship wouldn’t fix her, she knows Mandy won’t ever really understand her, and she knows that she craves what she just saw in another world regardless of those facts.
She doesn’t say any of that. Instead she just says, “Half-serious. I don’t care about the paperwork.” Then, somehow, she manages to stand up, step closer, and offer Mandy a hand. It feels nice that the other woman barely considers before taking it, and even once they’re both on their feet, she hasn’t let go of Janelle’s fingers. “You’re not curious?”
“I am,” Mandy admits, stepping closer, giving Janelle a perfect sightline to look down the collar of her shirt. “But we’re not them. They’re not us.”
“Except for the part where they are.” Janelle’s been trying not to think too hard about what it might’ve been like, living in a world where she’d never been cut from the team. Never felt her heart harden with hate. Never tried to kill the only friends she’d ever had. “But if you’re not interested, say it.” Janelle starts to pull her hand away.
Mandy catches it. “Oh my god, shut up.” Then she tugs Janelle closer. “I’m just saying... maybe, we should wait a few dates before we consider hiring a Uhaul.”
“Acceptable.”
They spend their first date that night, until the wee hours of the morning, eating leftovers from Mandy’s fridge and talking about whatever came to mind. Shit-talking their coworkers and gossiping about villains they’d both encountered and teasing out personal details where they could be pried loose.
Mandy almost chokes on her chow mein when Janelle makes the calculated choice to share something not even Colm knows. “You... you’re not serious, are you?”
“I am always serious.” Janelle ignores her nervous heart and keeps a straight face, picking at her fried rice.
“And here I thought I’d heard every reason imaginable to turn to crime,” Mandy says, shaking her head. “Apparently I was wrong. Seriously, Magic the Gathering?”
She knows this is meant to be a friendly jab, but Janelle scowls a little anyway. “It’s an expensive hobby.”
It’s hard to stay mad, though, when she feels Mandy’s foot nudge her ankle, and start to rise.
Janelle eyes Mandy, a sticky heat rising in her at the same rate as the under-the-table touch. “On the first date? Really?”
“I’m very pent up.”
Before Janelle can make a joke about Phenomaman or Robert, she finds out there are actually more interesting things she could be doing with her mouth.
“It’s done!” Trash bag in hand, Mandy is grabbing picture frames from the bedroom and shoveling them into its depths. “Fucking finally.”
However, her girlfriend proves to still be as much a villain as she ever was, reaching in and snatching several before Mandy can pull the draw strings, then dancing back out of Mandy’s grasp. “Hold it. These reshoots weren’t cheap, we’re keeping some.”
Refocusing her clean-up to center on putting up all the actual decor they’d hidden while their ‘guests’ visited, Mandy tries to be reasonable. “Half of them were willing to do it for a round of beers.”
“And the other half might as well have split my last paycheck.” She sounds only a little bitter about it, which is definitely an improvement.
“I don’t even know why you felt like we had to take them.” Mandy beams as she puts up their real pictures: snapshots of the life they’ve built in the last year, tentative as it still feels sometimes. Park dates and Janelle’s last birthday party and a candid Janelle took of her the day she moved in. “I still think we could’ve broken the loop, told them the truth.”
She knows how Janelle will respond before she even bothers to speak. “That’s because you don’t read enough science fiction. No paradoxes. We made sure they saw what we saw when it happened to us. Make them think the technology was dimensional, not temporal, and by the time they realize the truth, they’ll already be where they need to be. Just like we were.”
Mandy can’t help but see that as a terribly fatalistic view of the world.
Worse, she wonders if Janelle sees this self-sustaining loop as the only reason they’re together at all.
Then she turns to face her girlfriend, and sees the way Janelle is looking at the picture she’s holding. Mandy approaches, looking over Janelle’s shoulder to see one of their re-takes, their ‘alternate timeline’ pictures without Sonar present.
More than that, she sees the smile on Janelle’s lips and the pain in her eyes.
Sees what it means to her.
“Okay, fine, we can keep one of them in the room,” Mandy says. The way her words dissolve the small hints of tension starting to pool in Janelle’s shoulders makes the admission worth making.
“Thanks,” is all Janelle says, because the woman is terrified of losing her unflappable cool even to those who have seen the truth beneath that exterior.
Mandy wraps an arm around her waist, tugs her clothes, and kisses her temple. “I love you, you know that, right? Time loops, dark pasts, none of that stuff matters.”
“It does matter,” Janelle tells her, voice quiet, even as she melts into Mandy’s touch, pressing her face into the curve of her neck. “But I love you too.”
Rather than argue further, they decide to put fixing the bedroom on hold so they can wrinkle the pillows, test out their soundproofing, maybe even stain the sheets a little.
If Mandy ever finds out what mad scientist was responsible for the little trip through time that gave them the push to make this happen, she thinks as she pins her girlfriend to the bed, she’ll have to send him an invite to their wedding.