FORGERY . . . THE BOYS ! [1]

ten.

. . . 1982 . . .

If there's one thing Ben doesn't expect, it's for Rose Quartz to already be waiting for him in their alley. He's deemed it their alley against her will. Her territory to guard, his to stomp all over. It's a great balance, in his head, even if she doesn't yet agree.

He thought he would keep her on her toes this month. Ben didn't have time to make his monthly check-in to pester her, so he missed it, so he decided to show up when he did have time a week later. Seeing her there, pretty in pink and arms crossed and fuming was absolutely the least of his expectations. Though maybe he should have expected some rage, with the clouds having opened up and pouring rain upon them.

"You," she always started her conversations with him with that accusatory word, didn't she, "do not get to belittle me."

"Excuse me?" Ben tilts his head, actually bewildered for a moment. Very few times does he get caught off guard, but here's one, standing right in front of him, dressed like a Barbie doll. Fitting. She has one named after her. "I haven't been here yet to try and belittle you, sweetheart."

Her nose twitches. Can't help it. He grins openly and widely. "Don't." She's exactly eleven paces away and yet she speaks to him with the authority of someone nose-to-nose and a head and a half taller. "You patrolled my area and then gave me credit for it."

"Is this suddenly a bad thing?" Ben taps his shield against his kneeguard as he thought, pondering the options presented to him. "You're making things extremely complicated, Rose, what do you deem good and bad, exactly?"

"I want you to just– just leave me alone." Her hands toss into the air in exasperation. Her voice even growls a little in the frustration. It's an adorable act of fury, though her face betrays the theatrics, showing that it's completely serious. You can't fake the glare she's facing him with.

Ben nods slowly. "I understand." Truly, he gets where she's coming from, and if his pursuits are going this poorly received, maybe he'll take the no for what it is.

Except.

Except she doesn't turn to leave.

Except she's still staring at him, waiting for the argument.

Except she's standing there, fury burning pink in those eyes of hers, like she didn't want to be done.

Ben is okay with games. He's been playing them with her for the last few months, prodding and teasing for some sort of reaction from her, dancing around her while she danced back, playing poker while she played chess.

He opens his mouth to argue and give her the response she's waiting for when her hand raises and liquid, pink fire shoots out of the crystal in her palm.

It's shocking at first, because Ben knew about Rose Quartz. But in all his efforts to get on her bad side or her good side or whatever side led to inside her spandex, he forgot about what led to that name. The crystalfire and the crystal. His instincts lead him to forgo the shield and just fake left out of the way, his head snapping to the end of the alley, watching as the dumpster glows fiery pink before eviscerating into a dumpster made of quartz.

Rose quartz.

He wants to marvel at her.

Everything she touches turns to gemstone. A beautiful, fiery Medusa.

Ben doesn't get the chance, because she's firing at him again. Her palms do not have ammo limitations, flaring and releasing fire that crystalizes the targets they hit.