FORGERY . . . THE BOYS ! [1]

fourteen.

. . . 1983 . . .

"I'm nervous," Brooke says, her hand around Soldier Boy's tightening. It's the first time she's ever let herself admit fear out loud, she thinks, and especially in this suit.

Soldier Boy squeezes her fingers tightly. Almost painfully. It reassures her, though, grounding her in the moment. "This is what you wanted, right?"

"Of course," she answers immediately. "And it would mean we'd get to be together, right?"

Soldier Boy's stupid face contorts into his horrible, arrogant grin. "Is that what you're focusing on?"

She does him one favor and elbows him in the ribs. Someone has to keep America's Son humble, and if it must be her making that sacrifice, so be it. God Bless Brooke Riley.

The elevator keeps rising. So does the bile in her throat.

"It's not what I'm focusing on," Brooke says slowly, "it's just a factor." She glances up at him, seeing his masked face already turned down to look at her. It's disarming. "I want this so I feel like I actually have a purpose, and it's not all for nothing. But I also am tired of meeting you in alleys and in my house like we're teenagers, for fuck's sake."

"You wanna show me off?" His thumb rubs circles over her knuckles, shoulder nudging against hers. "You wanna be the trophy wife of Soldier Boy?"

Brooke cannot roll her eyes hard enough. "I want you to show me off. I want you to be the trophy wife."

"And goddamn, I would be," Soldier Boy says, the elevator doors dinging open.

Brooke is more than familiar with all of the faces that greet her.

There's the man that calls himself The Legend, high in the rankings and a staple amongst the authority. There's a newer face, Stan Edgar, young and fresh and relentless. He has to be to have gotten so high up so quickly for his age. Grace Mallory, just as young but just as fierce, stands next to them.

She is the one to glance down at her hand conjoined with Soldier Boy's, and she is the one to frown.

Brooke does not let that deter her. She doesn't even let it break her spirit, ruin her confidence.

For once, Brooke lets Soldier Boy lead them into the room. Lets him guide her up to the table. This is his domain. These are his people. Truly, he's their brain child. If anyone is going to work a miracle, especially when one third of the odds are already working against her, it would be him.

"Soldier Boy," The Legend says around a long, drawling sigh, a little smile playing on his aging face. He then looks over at her, and the smile only grows. She tries to not balk under the scrutiny. "Rose Quartz. As rare to see you as the gem you're named after."

"What is this about?" Stan Edgar asks, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. His head is tilted back in an easygoing assessment, but Brooke knows that he's calculating.

She knows that he's seen their hands.

Brooke tries so hard to keep from pulling away from Soldier Boy. This whole purpose is to present a united front. If she cannot do that, how does she expect to in front of the public?

She hopes Soldier Boy doesn't mind that her palm is sweating.

"I've fallen in love, that's what this is about," Soldier Boy says, his cadence confident and deep. Is it true? Does he really love her? They never talked about it except in their perusal of how to present this plan.