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Half the Victory

"So you asked me to beg, borrow, or steal Friday off," Megan said, looking down at the top of Watson's mousy-brown head, "because you wanted to spend the day in bed?"

Watson stirred drowsily. She was stretched full-length on Megan -- a position Megan had found many of her lovers preferred -- with one ear to Megan's chest. "I find," she drawled, "that I think more clearly when I'm relaxed, don't you?"

"Well," Megan said, running her fingertips over Watson's pale skin, "yes, I suppose so. What time are we supposed to be there?"

"First rendezvous at 11:30 near Sator's," Watson said, rubbing her cheek against Megan's ribs. "I thought that at the very least, we might be able to get Meteor into Sator's afterward."

"Oh, good thought," Megan said. "She agreed? You doublechecked?"

"Yes," Watson said. "For the twelfth time. After that, Renata's link comes up, the foursome walks alone to the park, and you and Meteor head to your post."

"Where will you be?"

Watson traced strange patterns around Megan's breast. "Mission control," she said, after a moment.

"Where's that?" Megan reached out to pet Madame Blavatsky, who had appeared on the edge of the bed and was staring at them with her usual slightly crazed look.

"Mary Sue's All-Night Diner," Watson said, "on French Street."

"I hope the coffee's good," Megan said, shivering as Watson started to do something else in the same region.

"Well, the company will be, at least," Watson said.

"Company?" Megan said, startled out of the pleasant sensations.

"Suzanne and Ira Feldstein, of course," Watson said, returning to her distraction technique, which muffled her voice somewhat. "They were part of the investigation. They deserve to be involved."

"Suzanne wants to be close in case something happens to Simon," Megan translated.

"Well, yes," Watson said. "One can't blame her, really, given what happened to the last young man she got involved with."

"Hm?" Megan said, not really interested.

Some time later, Watson's cell phone emitted a series of avian whoops, which Megan knew meant one of her myriad alarms. Madame gave the pile of papers that concealed the phone an evil look and vanished.

"Time to go," Watson said regretfully, peeling herself off of Megan.

"So how do you think he's going to disable the cameras?" Megan asked as she pulled on her underwear.

"I don't think he will, necessarily," Watson said through the grey long-sleeved t-shirt she was pulling on. "You know the notorious yen for media attention that many serial killers have. I think this one has been frustrated by the lack thereof until recently. He wants to be someone, you know?"

"But if he were going to," Megan said, pawing through her accumulation of laundry for her most supportive bra. Few things more distracting than flopping around while running to a fight, invulnerable or not.

"If he were going to," Watson said, hopping up and down to cram herself more effectively into her jeans, "I should think that he would have created or acquired a device to emit an electromagnetic pulse. Like, perhaps, the body netting worn by the Green Eel. Or the stunner carried by the Jellyfish. They could be altered by someone with sufficient skill or knowledge."

"And he could do it himself or hire it done by any of the gizmodders in the city," Megan said, shoving her legs into her own jeans.

"Yes," Watson said, pausing to pet Evason, who had wandered in to see what the ruckus was about. "Shit, I forgot to mention to Renata about Meteor."

"You forgot something?" Megan said, buttoning and zipping her jeans and wondering if she should stop downstairs for the crappier, torn-up jeans instead.

"Yes, I forget things from time to time," Watson said, tucking in her t-shirt and reaching for a flannel. "Particularly when I let myself get distracted by the mental sensation of a cat's whiskers brushing against me repeatedly. It's no good knowing that it's her restraining herself."

"Speaking of cats," Megan said, pulling on her t-shirt, "you know Jazz has been peeing on the papers in your study, don't you?

"Yes," Watson said resignedly. "He doesn't care for his new home. I'll clean it up soon."

"Zoltan will go spare if it gets into the wood of the floor," Megan said, pulling on her own flannel. It did not, happily, match Watson's, she noted. The day they'd both worn Campbell plaid flannel on a date was kind of embarrassing. "If we're not dead, I'll clean it up tomorrow."

Watson made a noise that could have been agreement or one of her distracted-thinking noises, then said, "My sister has invited us to a Beltane Feast on Sunday. Just her and the boys and some of their friends."

"No rampaging nude in the bushes?" Megan said, feeling a little strange about this very domesticated sort of discussion. She was much more comfortable with discussing supervillains and imminent death, and she wondered what that said about her. More material for Pearl, she thought with a sigh.

"They wait for me to leave before starting that," Watson said. "I'm known to be a prudish old fogey." She located her glasses and flashed a grin at Megan. "You can stay if you want."

Megan snorted. "You spent the day reminding me what I'd be missing if I did that."

"So I did," Watson said with a smug little grin. "C'mon, let's go."


Note from the Author:
Everyone prepares for conflict in their own ways, and Watson is a bit of a hedonist. Besides, you know Megan would have otherwise been sitting somewhere alone, stewing.

I am, believe it or not, still working on the last two short stories I owe. (Those of you who followed the lengthy production of my monster Utena fanfic, Archimage, at least will believe me, I hope.) Zoltan's story is threatening to become a miniseries, I'm afraid. We shall see what happens. Pearl's story is starting to shape up, but I'm being a little careful, because I don't want to write a whole story and have to scrap it like I did with Hel. And now I've got an idea for a story involving Brainchild. And another possibly-Pearl-related story idea cropped up as well. It's all very complicated, on top of the totally non-Wonder-City SF serial I keep contemplating.

Date: 2012-05-10 06:06 am (UTC)
the_leaky_pen: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_leaky_pen
Girding oneself for battle should always involve some small amount of hedonism. How small is entirely up to the individual.

And now I'm curious about all these projects you're mentioning.


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