A Super Containment Team, or the SCT as they were more ubiquitously known, arrived at the scene in short order, securing the villainess and taking in the backpack of stolen goods. Ava gave her report, then Clash, the red-haired heroine. Clash didn’t bother to stand up from her splayed-out position while talking to the SCT. She laid on the ground, hands behind her head and still resting from the fight, and gave an irreverently sparse accounting of what had gone down. The SCT agent diligently took notes on a small black notepad; he didn’t seem annoyed. At a guess, he was used to working with difficult characters. If there was a deity above that handed out superpowers, They certainly didn’t make Their decisions by merit of levelheadedness and professionalism.

Which finally gave Ava a moment to check on the camera-frame she’d been hovering a safe distance away. Keeping it in mind while fighting had been tricky, but since she’d practiced so much in the past week, it had been second nature—the maneuvering had faded to the background. She might’ve not had perfect cinematography, sure, but better than most civilian’s cell phone recordings, which was the standard people had grown accustomed to.

“Well, that was crazy, huh?” Ava said.

A blinking red light responded to her. Ava hadn’t quite gotten over her discomfort of the one-way nature of this conversation. She scanned through the chat messages. Engagement had been high, of course, as happened even in minor altercations with regular criminals, much less something like this. Ava’d been lucky to bump into an action-packed altercation with a real villain on her first day out. The stars were smiling down on her.

“Glad everything worked out,” Ava said. “Body copiers can be tricky.”

“The hell’s that?” a voice behind her asked, startling Ava. “And why are you talking to it?”

She hadn’t heard the red-haired heroine stand and approach. Ava turned. Now that things had calmed down, she appraised Clash in closer detail. She wore a black and red costume with an emblazoned design on her chest: two halves of a portal and a red lightning bolt splitting through it. The costume was modest, or at least by Ava’s recently adjusted standards: it clung tight to her skin, revealing a lithe, muscular body. Clash was flat enough to be mistaken for a boy when combined with her short, messy red hair, if not for her wide hips and feminine nose and cheekbones. Ava didn’t have any single ‘type’, but tomboys had always done something for her. And from their brief interactions so far, the cocky confidence Clash carried around also did something for her.

“Take your time,” Clash said. “But once you’re done eye-fucking me, I’d like an answer.”

Somehow, Ava didn’t blush. Her control over her reactions really was improving. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare. I like your costume.”

Clash quirked an eyebrow. “And I like yours. Not afraid to let it all hang out, huh?”

There wasn’t any condemnation in her words, but Ava’s stomach squirmed. Yes, my costume’s skanky, thanks for pointing it out. She fought the urge to reach up and tug at the boob window fabric in a futile attempt to cover up her chest, which Clash was happily making a point of admiring.

Well, pretty sure she’s gay. That was … good news?

“There’s nothing wrong with showing off what you’ve got,” Ava said. It wasn’t the response she’d have naturally given, but Spotlight needed to be confident in her body and what she was doing. She wouldn’t shy away from Clash’s blithe comment. 

“That’s true,” Clash said with a grin. “And you’ve got plenty. Like, damn. How’s you squeeze it all in there? Did you need help?”

Ava cleared her throat. Even knowing she needed to be confident, she could only handle so direct of teasing.

Clash saved her from having to respond. “You didn’t answer me, though. The hell’s this?” She turned back to the camera supported by Ava’s hardlight frame. Her brow furrowed, and, reaching out,  she stole the entire set-up out of the air. 

“Hey,” Ava protested, taking a step forward and her hand going up—but stopping, and not yanking it back. “What are you doing?” Who walked up and grabbed other people’s stuff without asking? 

“A camera?” Clash asked, turning the contraption side to side and peering at it. “What’s the text for?” Her eyes scanned the messages, brow furrowing deeper. Ava had to fight down a surge of embarrassment, because she could make an educated guess that not all of them were appropriate.

Ava considered trying to wrench back the setup, but she’d rather not risk damaging it. The equipment was expensive, and they didn’t have enough to repair it, much less buy new parts if it came to that.

“It’s a streaming setup,” Ava said. “The screen shows live chat messages. Those are people.”

“They’re asking me to show my tits,” Clash said. “Should I?”

Ava sputtered.

“Kidding,” Clash said. “To doing it, I mean. They’re really asking that.”

“They’re not the most polite audience,” Ava stuttered out, not having planned how to handle this. 

“I mean, without even a date first? Flashing is at least a one-date deal.” She talked to the camera more than Ava. “But I could be persuaded. What’d’ya say, big boys? Think you can handle all this?”

Well, Ava thought faintly. At least she’s not uncomfortable. In fact, Clash seemed to be amused by the concept, totally at ease; she’d slotted into banter naturally, and Ava watched as she grinned at the replies streaming in from chat. More of a natural than me, even …

“Nah,” Clash said. “Not really, ‘soulspadekino’. Sorry, but all this isn’t for dork losers.” She waved up and down, indicating her body. “But tell you what, I’ll help you out. This’s what you’re here for, right?”

What—?

Clash grabbed the frame, then shoved it toward Ava’s chest.

Ava’s face flared red, and she stumbled a step backward in surprise. The stream had undoubtedly gotten a detailed close-up of her tits. “What the hell are you doing?” She couldn’t help the way her hand had shot to cover up her chest, and she forced it away. Spotlight wouldn’t cover her chest up out of embarrassment. It was her own damn costume.

Clash laughed and danced to the side with the camera, circling her. “Or is it this you’re all here for?” She dipped to the ground to frame a shot of Ava’s butt. From the low-down angle, it had to be more than a bit revealing. “I respect an ass-man. And no, I’m not saying that because I’ve got nothing up top. Imply it, I’ll come find you.”

Ava retreated, face steaming. “Seriously, cut it out!” She’d been briefly endeared by Clash’s irreverent attitude, but this was straight up disrespectful.

Clash stopped chasing her. She turned the camera around and looked down at the message screen. “Dunno, blondie. They seem pretty happy. Give your audience what they want, right? That’s the whole reason behind your vacuum-sealed costume, isn’t it?”

Ava’s temper flared. “I don’t even know you! Put that down—it isn’t yours."

Clash glanced her way, pausing at the sudden heat in Ava’s voice. A regretful look crossed her face, and the playfulness sagged out of her. “Ah, shit. I got carried away. My bad. Do I, uh, just let go? It’ll support itself, like it was before?”

“Yes," Ava huffed.

She let go of the frame, and Ava floated it away, back to her side (and not pointing directly at her tits or ass). She didn’t look at the chat; she was still trying to get her blushing under control.

“It’s a pretty cool setup,” Clash said. Her shoulders had hunched forward in defensiveness—it didn’t seem like she’d meant to upset Ava. “You carry that thing around for every patrol?”

“It’s my first day with it, but yes. That’s the plan.”

“Right. Sorry about,” she waved her hand. “Thought it’d be funny.”

Ava wanted to push the point, but she’d already deviated from what Spotlight’s persona ‘should be’ a little too deeply. “It’s fine.” Expressing how she was mad about what Clash saw as playful teasing wouldn’t go over well to her audience, at a guess, especially when Ava had no doubt they had appreciated Clash’s antics. 

And seriously. Ava’s body was what most of her audience, if not all, were there for. Ava shouldn’t be offended.

“It’s expensive, and delicate,” Ava said. “I didn’t want you playing with it.”

“Right. My bad.”

Ava sighed. She knew Clash could see through the flimsy excuse for why she’d been upset, but she hadn’t pushed it. “Thanks for the help, but I should get back to it.” The SCT had rounded up the villain and departed, and she had no more business hanging around.

“Same, I guess.” Clash chewed her lip for a second before her follow up. “Do you, uh, want a patrol partner?”

“What?” She hadn’t expected that offer, though maybe she should have. Clash had clearly shown an interest in her—and the streaming setup.

“More the merrier, remember?” It had been what Ava had said when Clash had first barrelled in. Clash gestured at the camera. “And that’s pretty nifty. It’ll make the night less dull.” Now that Ava’s annoyance had faded, some of Clash’s playfulness was returning. “I mean, a chance at some midnight escapades with a cute girl? Of course I’ll shoot my shot. Who knows how that could end up?”

A flirt, too. That’s not surprising at all.

Ava was briefly torn by indecision. She was still a little mad, but Brooke had mentioned collabs with other supers (especially attractive ones, like the redhead in front of her) could be useful for gaining popularity. She probably hadn’t thought Ava would stumble on one so quickly … but seeing how the opportunity had arrived, why not, right? Clearly Clash didn’t mind the stream, and she even thought it was interesting. Having a person to talk to instead of directly into the camera would do wonders for making things less awkward. 

And for all Ava was annoyed, Clash was gorgeous, in a boyish, cocky kind of way.

And gay. Very gay, by the sounds of it.

“Only if you don’t mess with the camera again,” Ava finally said.

Clash’s face lit up. “Sweet. But no promises. I’ve got like, zero self control. Consider it a hazard of doing business.”

Unbelievable, Ava thought.

---

“So,” Clash said. “How long you been doing this?”

“A little over three months.” Ava paused, calculating it to a closer estimate. “Three months, two weeks, and some change.”

“Keeping that close track?”

“Not as some thing, but yeah. I guess I am. How about you?”

“Half a year, give or take. Dunno.” She tilted her head and thought about it. “Started in February, so yeah, around there.”

The two of them were walking down 48th street with no destination in mind. Patrols didn’t require diligent alertness, because in Capital City, trouble found you, not the other way around. 

Ava had been right that having a partner to talk to would make things easier. Rather than talking to the camera itself, she made conversation with Clash, and when that lulled, they both had an easy excuse for silence in the form of checking the chat streaming by—which had picked up considerably since Clash joining Ava’s patrol, and could provide topics to talk about, too. The idle chatter Ava needed to provide was the easiest it’d been all day. And the red viewer number sitting at the lower left of the chat screen reflected that success: ‘26,’ it read, doubled from what it had been earlier. 

Ava wondered if Brooke was among those numbers. Probably? Then again, she had better things to do than sit around and watch Ava patrol all night.

“What do you think of it all?” Clash asked.

“Sorry?”

“The Hero Association bullshit. Hero life.”

“It’s—” Ava paused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course. I’m helping people.”

“Ah. You’re one of those.”

Ava blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry?”

“The do-gooders. Honestly, hadn’t pegged you as one. Figured you were after fame and fortune.”

Ava couldn’t help but be a bit offended, even if it was a reasonable assumption, considering the streaming setup and Ava’s indulgent costume. It spoke at least somewhat to narcissism. “I’m not saying I’m a saint, or that I’m not after that, but it’s not my ultimate goal. I’m here to help people.”

Clash bobbed her head along. “Yeah, I get that.”

“It sounds like you’re after something else. Besides fame or helping people.”

Clash shrugged. “I mean,  I’m only human. Helping people gives me the warm and fuzzies. But yeah, it’s not why I do it, big picture.”

Ava wasn’t used to people being so blunt about their motivations; it was somewhat disarming. Because a hero-aligned super claiming they only half-way cared about helping people? A PR misstep at a minimum, and Ava would figure most people in general wouldn’t be comfortable being that blasé. “And so your big picture is … ?”

Clash flashed a grin at her. “For the fun of it. For this.” She held up her knuckles, which Ava saw were bruised from their fight earlier. Seriously bruised, too—there was smudges of dried blood caked on. Whether that was hers or the villain’s … Ava couldn’t tell for certain.

“Ah,” Ava said, not sure what else to say.

“Doesn’t paint me in the best picture, I know,” Clash said, bringing her hands down and shrugging. “And I’m not evil or anything, given a choice to help or not, I will. But a tumble’s what I’m after.” A smirk, and she turned and wiggled her eyebrows at Ava. “Of a few different varieties.”

Ava’d only been around Clash for an hour by this point, but it’d become extremely clear Clash wasn’t just a flirt, but a relentless one. Ava wasn’t sure how genuine the advances were, whether they were for fun, to tease Ava, or whether Clash was actually trying to get in her pants.

Ava wasn’t sure if she was wholly against that last idea. Having Clash in her pants. Because her anger from Clash’s disrespect earlier had simmered down, and while even in their brief interactions so far she overstepped what was ‘appropriate’ with aggravating consistence, it seemed to be an inherent part of her personality—her claim that she ‘had zero self control’ seemed to be a pillar of who she was as a person. 

And as far as attraction went, it was very, very much there. It’d been a while since someone had so blatantly hit on Ava. At least, someone she had possible interest in reciprocating. And while she hadn’t made up her mind about that whole matter yet—and certainly wouldn’t be going home tonight with the girl—maybe something would happen down the line.

Ava rolled her eyes and didn’t reply to the innuendo. “In it to get the blood pumping. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“That’s a good way to put it. Just wanna live a little.” A brief pause as they walked along the street. “You only answered half the question. What about the Hero Association? And hero life?”

“They’re … fine. What do you want me to say?”

“That they’re greedy, narcissistic bloodsuckers.” Clash shrugged. “Or gleaming paragons of society. Something in the middle. Whatever your view is, I couldn’t give a shit. Just trying to get a handle on you.”

“These the same questions you ask every girl?” Clash apparently wasn’t the one for small talk—straight to the hard-hitters.

A smirk fell on Clash’s lips. “Hardly. Most girls, we don’t do much talking. You’re a special case. Have to work harder for the supermodels, I guess.” Clash sighed dramatically. “Life is a struggle.”

Ava fought down a blush at the easily offered compliment. And she got the feeling Clash’s claim wasn’t all hot air, that Clash was going home with random girls with only a few sentences exchanged. She had the charisma for it, and the looks. Ava wouldn’t remotely call herself an easy person to woo, and yet Clash had left quite the impression in the short time they’d been together. In a lighter, civilian context … well, Ava still didn’t think they’d have done anything without getting to know each other, because that wasn’t Ava, but the temptation would’ve existed. More than most girls, for sure. Clash was four or five inches taller, lean, funny, and boyish—Ava was more than a little weak to that combination of traits.

“The Hero Association,” Ava said, brushing past the more inappropriate part of what Clash had said. “I really don’t know. They’re not paragons, like you said. Not leeches, either, though.”

“Moderated opinions are boring.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Nuanced opinions are almost always moderated. Black and white helps no one. But fine, something controversial. They’re crucial to society, and a necessity for heroes to accomplish meaningful change, but they’re purposely screwing over the small guys. And don’t seem to give a shit they’re doing it.”

“All the resources filter to the top,” Clash said. “Like everything else, really.”

“Exactly. I mean, the stipend—it’s supposed to be based on your rating and how many hours you’re out patrolling, but I’m out almost every night, four to six hours, and it’s barely enough to bring home groceries. What’s up with that?”

“Kinda fucked.”

“Not that I’m trying to be ungrateful. Back in the early days, heroes worked pro-bono. Super life’s only had real money flowing in for the past decade. Who am I to complain?”

“Still. Money’s there, now, so some of it should go to us. The important work isn’t just the high profile fights between S-Classes.”

Ava nodded along. She wondered how much Clash agreed, or whether she was just moving the conversation along. “I mean, I’ve got to work a full time job just to make ends meet—and I share a crappy two-bedroom apartment with a friend. Most people think the lower level heroes live a little more glamorous of a life, I bet. But that’s not remotely the truth. I haven’t even had a full night’s sleep in weeks.”

“What do you do?”

“For work?”

“Yeah.”

Ava gave her an odd look. “Trying to maintain the whole secret identity, remember?”

“Because there’s an absolute lack of blonde-hair, blue-eye girls in Capital City.”

“People can be surprisingly good at sleuthing stuff like that out. And we’ve got an audience.” Ava glanced over; the red viewer count number said ‘38’. Still going up. She had mixed feelings on that. “But I guess it doesn’t hurt to say in a general sense. Minimum wage. Service industry.”

“Ouch. Did some of that in highschool. No fun.”

“It’s not the worst thing in the world, I guess. But I wish I could focus on this full-time.”

“Well, you might’ve found the secret.” Clash nodded toward the camera setup. “This takes off, get your name in people’s heads, should be pretty good money in it.”

“That’s the hope,” Ava said.

---

The night passed faster than most, Clash’s company surprisingly entertaining. When two a.m. rolled around and Ava needed to head back, Clash offered to share HA contact information and to go again the next night—which Ava accepted. 

It seemed she’d found a patrol, and streaming, partner.