In which a superhero meets his match, masks are uncovered and a mad scientist just tries to get some mad science-ing done without getting distracted by the antics of her magical minion.

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Kara sighed sleepily, pressing his lips to the slender neck exposed in front of him.

Villain. You slept with a villain. Again.

He could not bring himself to care.

He hooked his leg over her thigh, grinding against her with a soft groan of pleasure. She moaned in her sleep which only served to make him thrust harder.

Kara finally understood why Diane could read him so well. She was a healer. She had empathy. She was not beyond redemption.

With that thought in mind he lost himself inside a villain once more.

Kara had never been happier.


***


“I want to see you again,” he said bluntly.

Diane smiled, stroking his back in approval. “Good girl. Maybe I’ll let you wear a corset tomorrow.”

Kara shuddered against her and she kissed his brow.

“One more thing before you go,” she drawled, sinking her fingernails into his back. He tensed, and she continued in a low whisper, “To replace what I took from you.” Then she raked her claws down, drawing blood. He cried out as pleasure-pain radiated through his body.

“A trophy. To remember me by.”


***


The claw marks healed and faded within a day, but Shade sometimes thought he could still feel them, branding him as hers. Whatever healing magic she had, it seemed to linger even outside her presence, bruises and scrapes vanishing within hours. The more time he spent around her, the stronger the effect grew.

They never talked about what it was they had. Nor did they discuss what the future held. Everything between them passed unspoken.

Shade just appeared in that hotel room every couple of days and was welcomed with a gentle smile, a tender embrace and new pieces of clothing she had chosen for him.


***


“I don’t want you to steal anymore.”

Diane turned her head, frowning at Kara over her shoulder. The hero was trailing his fingertips along her back, looking devastatingly beautiful in the morning sun, his short hair tussled, his mouth looking delectably kissable, and still wearing a hint of lipstick.

“I’m sorry, you were saying something about ripping my heart out?”

He smiled wryly, but his eyes were troubled. “I don’t want to run into you in the middle of a bank robbery and be forced to arrest you.”

“Then don’t do that.” Obvious solution was obvious.

“Diane,” he said quietly. “Please.”

She sighed. “Where do you propose I get money instead?” Her lips curved into a mocking grin, increasing the red glow of her eyes. “They just love High School dropouts on the job market. And I bet someone like me would just fit right into the fast food industry.”

His brows drew together in a frown. “You heal people just by being around them. Hospitals would pay you just to hang out in their lobby.”

Needles in her arm. Doctors talking at her, their eyes already far away, obviously thinking about patients they had not given up hope on. The sterile smell that could never hope to conceal that this was a place of death.

She rolled away from him, getting up to stand in front of the window, turning her head toward the sunlight. “I hate hospitals,” she said flatly.

She heard him sigh in frustration. “Then be a freelance healer.”

Her knuckles turned white on the window sill. It was commonly said that healing was a gift prized beyond measure – which was a lie. Healers did put a price on their gift, and it was dizzyingly high. When all modern medicine failed, they stepped in. For a fee.

“You would have me extort money from the desperate and dying?” she asked, real venom creeping into her voice. “How is that better than stealing from those who can afford it?”

When Diane was diagnosed, her mother had searched for healers. They all turned her down, scoffing at the paltry sum she offered. Who had time to lift a finger to help white trash?

“It’s not extortion.” Kara sounded taken aback. “It’s payment for services rendered.”

She slowly turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. It was moments like these that she realized she did not have remotely enough middle fingers. “And in that perfect world in your head, how do the poor get healed?”

Kara blinked, cocking his head as if he hadn’t considered that. Rich wanker. Diane of course had no idea if he truly was rich, but everything hinted toward it. His entire demeanor spoke of wealth and privilege, and he never blinked twice at the luxury Diane indulged in now that she could afford it.

“I thought so. Being independently wealthy means I don’t have to ration my healing to those who can afford it. I can heal whoever I damn well please.”

Kara’s gazed softened. “So you devote your time to healing the poor then?”

Diane looked away, guiltily chewing her lower lip.

She hadn’t.

She could, but she hadn’t.


***


Kara impatiently tapped his pen against the clipboard, bored out of his mind.

The corporate drone had been talking for 30 minutes and, like an overtly loquacious energizer bunny, just would not stop. Kara tried to focus his eyes on the slides of the PowerPoint presentation which were creatively decorated with wild splashes of color, clearly the work of a frustrated artist railing against the dullness of his cubicled work space. It was quite special when taken as an abstract painting, but failed to actually convey the information it was meant to convey.

At least the pie charts were pleasing to look at, so there was that.

He shifted uncomfortably, his aching nipples rubbing against the fabric of his button-up shirt. They’d been sore and sensitive for days now, no doubt a product of Diane’s relentless nibbling. Not that he minded.

His mind started wandering to last night again and he had to force it back to the matter at hand.

Kara was supremely uninterested in the day to day running of his family’s company, trusting his board of directors with that task. Trust in the sense that he dragged himself to monthly meetings where he’d be presented with summaries of what exactly they were getting up to, and then had the final veto power over which new policies and projects got implemented.

He was fairly certain that his board of directors loathed him with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, which he reciprocated with scathing distaste. As a hero he had seen far too many villains hiding behind a respectable corporate façade, and he would be damned before he let his own company sink to similar moral depths.

Kara vetoed everything that so much as hinted at corruption or exploitation, even if it was common practice amongst his competitors. He also made sure that the salary of management was not grossly inflated compared to the average worker. Consequently, his employees were some of the best-paid in the field.

Every time he shot down a morally questionable business plan, his execs looked ready to dramatically slit their wrists right then and there, only recovering by launching into an impassioned speech about profit margins and the virtue of unfettered capitalism. Kara, having honed his intimidation skills to perfection as Shade, would simply glare, give a terse “No,” and watch them trail off into flustered stutters.

Still… despite the terrible presentation, this new initiative looked promising. It was almost like they were capable of learning.

It was only mid-penstroke that he realized he was trying to sign off on the document as Kara Reynolds.