Electra

Trusting that Midnight had the situation well in hand, Wander turned her attention to the thugs. Luckily enough, there wasn't so much as a highly trained fighter among the bunch, much less a metahuman who might have posed an actual threat. With judicious wielding of her bat, Wander cleaned up the thugs her comrades didn't take down, then stepped to the door, blocking off the most apparent avenue of escape. Midnight or Edge would have to handle the teleportation issue, but she could stop Ratner from leaving on foot.

“No you won’t,†Gina murmured as he shut the door behind him. For a moment the house seemed echoingly empty, like an abandoned building forgotten for decades, uncared for and unloved. She shoved the fanciful notion aside, reminding herself that she’d paid plenty for her quiet solitude and the power to choose artificial light or darkness. She _liked_ being alone. She was so much better off alone. Summoning Emerson for an assist, she made her way to the bathroom. Looked like it would be a morning of regretting being sick, and an afternoon, evening and weekend of regretting being stupid. Sounded like a hell of a time.

“Thanks,†Gina made herself say, her voice raspy and faint. Her mouth felt and tasted like something fuzzy had died and rotted in there. Taking the glass, she swished a bit around in her mouth, but was afraid that drinking any would hasten the vomit that was probably on its way. “Monster hangover,†she told him. “Lucky you.†She couldn’t meet his eyes, but she was still in the room and had actually spoken coherently. Pretty damn good, under the circumstances. Thinking about the circumstances abruptly reminded her that she was still totally naked under the blanket. Hastily she pulled it closer around herself, till she was a shapeless chenille blob.

Gina wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, and despite the discomfort of the floor, she remained unconscious for quite some time after Murdock woke up. It wasn’t until Emerson began his timed daily maintenance routine and stole the cushion out from under her head that she woke up. Instantly, she wished she hadn’t bothered and had gone straight to “dead†instead. Jesus Christ, what had she done last night to deserve the kettledrum chorus echoing through her head? And was she on the floor? Gina opened her eyes to see Murdock sitting on the couch just a few feet away, staring at her with an air that suggested he might have been there for hours. She shrieked in startled alarm, then immediately wished she hadn’t done that either when the kettledrums redoubled in intensity and were joined by an enthusiastic monster truck rally in her stomach. She raised an arm, though even that felt like too much of an effort, and shielded her face. She was so not ready to deal with this.

Gina barely stirred when he stood up, rolling onto her stomach and pillowing her head on one of the cushions tossed aside hours ago, then dragging the blanket up further. If Murdock had a mild headache this morning, the apparently human Gina would probably have a monster hangover when she did greet the day. A few strategic nightlights made it easy for Murdock to find his way to the kitchen, despite the fact that blackout curtains on all the windows prevented more than a few brave beams of sunlight from getting inside. The kitchen was exceedingly tidy, with appliances and cookware he recognized from television as being expensive and high quality. One entire cabinet was given over to kitchen gadgets, another was devoted entirely to alcohol. The refrigerator was full of fresh foods and soda, its doors decorated with a few novelty magnets and a large sign warning “SHARL-KEEP OUT!†Emerson rolled into the kitchen as Murdock explored, apparently ready to play sous chef.

It would be much wiser to tell him to go home, Gina knew dimly, or have Emerson drive him home, anyway. Sleeping on the floor was stupid, and she should be drinking water before bed, and what was going to happen in the morning? But with the haze of alcohol still metabolizing in her bloodstream, it seemed so much easier just to give in. For one little moment in time, she could cuddle next to someone in the dark and pretend it meant more than it could. For someone who’d given up on even fictional romances years ago because they depressed her with what she couldn’t have, the idea was more seductive than anything that evening. “All lights out,†she said aloud, turning her body to his as the house settled into darkness. And for a few moments, before sleep pulled her down, it really did almost seem real.

-------- She was right about one thing, Gina decided some time later, close to drowsing on the living room floor, chenille blanket tucked around her. It was definitely better than the last time, if only because an open floor was less conducive to charley horses than the backseat of a sedan. It hadn’t exactly been an earth-moving, angels singing experience, but who cared? Imagine what her mother would say if she saw Gina now. Gina opened her eyes at that and pulled the throw a little closer, reminding herself that her mom had no influence on what she did or who she did and didn’t see anymore. None at all. Catching Murdock looking at her, she turned her face and closed her eyes again, figuring that maybe he’d assume she was sleeping.

“You’re lying,†she murmured against his lips, but the words made her feel warm inside. This was a big mistake, a huge mistake, but she kissed him back anyway, clumsy and unsure, with her fingers digging into his shoulders. This was going to improve her resume, she reminded herself. It was embarrassing to have gone without sex for eight years. A night of protected drunken insanity that they didn’t talk about later couldn’t hurt that much. Except the six hundred pounds part... “You better be careful,â€she cautioned, but didn’t bother to get more specific than that.

Gina stared at him, able even in her mentally foggy condition to understand immediately what he was offering. Her first and strongest impulse was to recoil, to run away, seal herself in bedroom or basement where she was safe. Safe and alone, she reminded herself, and with no one but herself to blame for it. She’d gone that route for years now, and what had it gotten her but lonely and drunk on Christmas? He couldn’t be as bad as her one previous partner, and when would she ever have the nerve again? Certainly not while she was sober. When she was sober, she was sure she’d regret this, but for the moment she didn’t care. What was one more regret? With regrets on her mind, she tilted her chin and looked him in the face. “You have to promise,†she told him, carefully enunciating every word, “never to tell. Not ever, not anybody. Promise.â€

“Can’t live with ‘em or without ‘em,†Gina opined, ignoring her hot chocolate and letting Emerson put it on the table. “If you got them, all they do is screw you up, screw you over. Make it so's you can’t even live with yourself. But if you don’t got 'em, then you miss ‘em and wish you had what everyone else seems to jes get without trying. Being alone sucks balls,†she declared with a firm nod that made the room spin around. “I mean, it’s better than putting up with everyone giving you crap all the time, but you’re never really happy.â€

"‘Fraid they’d send it back if I put my name on it,†Gina admitted with a frown. “Family an’ I are on, mm, tenyurous terms, as they say in the South.†She drawled the words mockingly. “They know it’s from me, but this way they can pretend if they want. Usedta send gifts just so’s they’d know I’d made it, got out and got stinkin’ rich.†She rubbed the back of her neck, looking suddenly lost. “Kinda wish now that maybe they get it and think nice things about me. Haven’t seen any of ‘em or talked to most of ‘em in five years or more. Wouldn’t recognize the kids if I saw ‘em on the street. But maybe they kinda like their Aunt Gina, if they know I sent them cool presents.†Her fingers flexed under his, as though part of her wanted to turn her hand and clasp his, but she couldn’t bring herself to make even so simple a connection.

Emerson came back within a few minutes, having failed in the mission to find clothing of any sort that would fit Murdock’s muscular frame. Being a resourceful little robot, it instead brought a large chenille throw blanket, soft and pale blue as a cloud, that would at least keep him from getting cold, if he were the type to get cold. Gina let him drape it over himself, then promptly stole a corner of it for herself. “Le’s have some cocoa, Emerson,†she ordered the machine. “Gotta drink something not alcohol tonight, prolly.†She blinked at the screen as an advertisement came on for a new Nintendo game. “I bought that tonight,†she informed Murdock. “For my neffew. Gonna send it hannon... anona... without my name on it. Kick inna ass, huh?â€

Gina stiffened for a moment, tensing at even the comradely touch, but at least she didn’t look afraid the way she had when he’d cornered her in the storage room. Instead she looked nervous, wary, like an animal trying to decide if it was being coaxed into a trap. “You don’t hafta do anything,†she told him. “It’s not a big deal, jussa spill. I can always get a new couch. I’m rich, y’know. Stupid rich.†She grinned crookedly at him. “You wanna new couch? I can get you one.â€

“I can have Emerson put it in the wash,†Gina told him, patting at the mess on the table with a handful of paper towels. “He loves laundry, ‘s his life.†Summoning the little robot with a whistle, she had it cart off the soiled shirt. “Find him something to wear, willya?†she called after it as it trundled away. Taking another handful of paper towels, she continue mopping up mess, wiping off the liquid still on Murdock’s chest, as nonchalantly as she would've wiped oil or coolant off the chassis of any of the humanoid robots she worked with every day. Until, of course, she realized what she was doing. Dropping the towels like they’d just caught fire, she stared at him and giggled nervously. “You’re a mess,†she told him, tucking her arms in against her sides tightly.

Gina sat up and cursed reflexively, looking to see if anything had gotten onto the couch. She wasn’t sure whatever the hell they were drinking wouldn’t eat straight through upholstery and maybe the floor as well. The mess seemed contained to Murdock’s shirt, at least for the moment. “Well, you really screwed that up,†she told him, then laughed raucously at her own witticism. “Lemme get you, like, some paper towels or something.†She stood up, which made the world revolve in a couple of lazy spins, and staggered off towards the kitchen.

“Took me years to get rid of the goddamned accent,†she groused, helping herself to a hot wing. “Every time I drink a lil, it just comes gallopin right back in. Voice synther- synthesizer usually takes care of it, or just not talking. Your voice always sounds the same,†she told him. “Even though you’ve drunk way more’n me.†She carefully set her bottle next to his, cocking her head to compare the levels, then poured another tot into her cup. “Gotta catch up.†She knocked back a swallow, shuddering at this taste. "This is acshully kinda gross," she confided.

“Should try it more offen,†Gina told him, ducking her head so that her frizzy brown hair fell over her shoulder and screened her face partway. That made her feel a little better, too. “Good for your blood pressure.†Listening to her, Murdock could hear a sort of drawl in her words that was less drunken slur and more regional accent. English speakers had more than enough of those, but this one reminded him of television shows he’d seen that were set in the southern United States. “I have more food,†she told him. “In the kitchen, just got groceries come in today. All kindsa stuff. You should help yourself.â€

“I’ll give him the good power outlet tonight,†Gina agreed, her words slurred even more now that the phone wasn’t altering them. She tapped her cup, which was full of a bizarre brownish liquid that smelled of alcohol, cherries, and lemons, against his bottle. “That’ll work. To your health. Merry Christmas.†Lifting the glass, she took a long drink. This wasn’t really so bad, she decided. He hardly bothered her at all, if she didn't let herself think too hard. Not thinking too hard was sort of relaxing in itself. “Somebody else will hafta handle the crime beat tonight.â€

“Yeah, come on in,†came the faint response. He opened the door to find himself in the kitchen of what he judged to be a nice house, though he was no expert in such things. It was clean and dim, with only a light above the sink to light the way, but there was more light from further on in the house, so that was the way it was probably best to go. In the living room, off the kitchen, Gina sat on the couch with an enormous bowl of Doritos and another drink she’d made to fortify herself while she’d waited. She suspected that if she lost even a little of the buzz, she’d lose her nerve as well, and for the moment she liked thinking of herself as brave. Even so, she hesitated when Murdock walked into the room, big as life, intruding into her sanctuary. She took another drink, then offered him the bowl of chips. “Hey.â€

The robot flashed its lights at Murdock in what might have been a pleasant manner, but it didn’t seem inclined to do any talking. Instead, it reached out a slender manipulating arm and turned on the radio to Christmas music, which played for the remainder of the trip. The drive took longer than he would have suspected, given how fast the car had arrived, and seemed to involve many turns and switchbacks. By the time they arrived at a nondescript house in a nondescript neighborhood, they could’ve been in any part of Freedom City. The robot pulled the car into an attached garage and gestured towards the interior door.

At this hour of the night and with light snow falling, the neighborhood wasn’t too busy. Murdock only had to wait ten minutes or so before a sporty little electric car came whizzing silently down the street and pulled up directly in front of the apartment building. As Murdock approached, he realized there was no human being in the driver’s seat, but rather a boxy robot, much like the one Miss Americana used in her lab and called Mavis. It wasn’t using the wheel or pedals, instead it seemed to be hooked into the car’s steering by means of several wires. It looked at him, appeared to recognize him, and opened the car door.

Gina frowned. Even in her deeply inebriated state, the idea of letting someone else come over was more than a little daunting. But it wasn’t like this was some guy, it was Murdock, who half the time seemed totally alien and half the time seemed like a lost kid. And he was drunk too, so it practically didn’t count. The guy had been an Omegadrone, he’d seen atrocities and horrors on like a zillion worlds, one fugly woman wasn’t going to faze him. Plus he'd already seen her once, what more damage was there to be done? “If you’re drunk, you shoulnint fly,†she said firmly. “Hmm. Oh yeah. You sit tight, Emerson’ll come get you. Just go down to your lobby an wait. Put the bottle in a bag.â€

“Get...together?†Gina repeated slowly, almost as though she couldn’t understand the concept. On the television screen, George Bailey was laughing, surrounded by his family and friends, all the people who couldn’t get by without him. She frowned at the screen. George Bailey had a Christmas tree. She didn't have one of those, or any decorations. Or any family or friends. She was apparently Mr. Potter in somebody else's wonderful life, and that didn't seem very fair. “I don’t think... I don’t think I could go out tonight,†she admitted. “I’m in no condition to drive anything. Don’t wanna break my pretty body,†She snorted.

“I am well and truly drunk,†she assured him, grinning to herself at the idea of her words being translated into Miss Americana's dulcet tones. “That’s quite a cowin-coindcidence. But tish the season, I guess. Merry Christmas, and goddamn but there’s another new year coming up. They just keep rolling on in, don’t they? I had some drink, did some shopping, and I’m sher- I’m really thinking about having some more to drink. If there’s a villain attack, I’m screwed, but I’m not skeerda them. Eff ‘em,†she added expansively. “Whatcha watching?â€

“Ah, Steeeve,†Gina repeated, tucking a couch pillow behind her head as she rolled the vowel. She had been feeling weird about Murdock lately, ever since that thing in the storage room, but it didn't seem as important tonight. Maybe she just didn't give a damn anymore. “Merry Christmas, almost-not-quite Christmas. Did you get a bottle of booze from Star Knight for that thing we did on the moon? Because I sure did,†she confided, looking over towards it. Only about a quarter of the bottle was gone, she realized, but it had been enough to do some damage. “What are you doing?â€