All the Other Ghosts (Boyxboy Superhero AU Fanfic (Klaine))

Chapter 7

Herre's some fan art of The Ghost and Phalanx.

The Phalanx costume is a little heavier to wear than he might have expected, once the utility belt's on too; Blaine put in the order for its various components, delivered on Kurt's instructions to a Chinese takeout they eat chow mein on the roof of on Thursday nights. Blaine - Phalanx, while he has that mask on, he needs to get used to it - is adjusting to the weight, and the boots, and the weird feeling of nakedness: while it's bulkier than his body in places, there are other areas where it clings so close to him that he is aware that he might as well have it painted on.

Kurt designed this for him.

Hm.

The Ghost is sitting on a shipping containing swinging his legs, watching him practise with his shields in the abandoned dockside warehouse he nominated for the purpose. "The Motta family used to use it for -" He lets go of the container to make the quotation marks with his fingers - "'tax-free' imports and exports."

Phalanx sends another can balanced on a container noisily flying. "Drugs?"

"Mostly. Guns, cigarettes and alcohol. People." Phalanx looks at him over his shoulder, and the Ghost shrugs, but his face is too bland. "You promise someone passage to the States and a job at the end of it, then you bring them here and force them into prostitution. As an extra exercise in really sick irony, you sail them in under the Statue of Liberty when you do it."

Phalanx narrows his eyes, turns back for the cans, mutters under his breath, "Give me your tired, your poor . . . so you busted this operation of theirs and now they're offering money to get you killed."

"I'll admit I'm curious how much." Phalanx sends another can flying with a neatly skimmed shield, and looks back at the Ghost, who's kicking his ankles playfully, resting back on his hands as he sits. "I hope they're not underselling me."

"And you're using their police-seized property to train supers in."

"It's not like they're using it for anything right now. And it's just the one super." He tilts his shoulder with a smile. "I only take on the apprentices with the most potential."

"I thought I wasn't going to be your sidekick."

"Apprentice sounds classier." The Ghost drops from the edge of the container, lands with a neat tap of boots on the floor. "One can left. Do you remember where it was?"

Phalanx says, "What?" and the Ghost slips his hands over his eyes from behind, turns his head for the cans - the can, there was only one left standing - again.

"You've been knocking cans from the same spot for ages. Come on, you remember where the last one was."

"I make shields, I'm not psychic."

"Think about it. Muscle memory. This kind of thing could save your life one night, you know that?"

Phalanx scowls, but it's not actually unpleasant standing there with the Ghost's hands over his eyes, his body just touching his. He breathes, and he thinks. He was setting the cans up in the same place every time. He should be able to remember exactly where the last one was. It was the one on the left, so, directly ahead but very slightly -

He hears the hollow metal doom and the Ghost murmurs, "Higher."

"You helping me is cheating."

"Me helping you is what's going to happen out on the streets. Higher."

"How much higher?"

"Oh my god, do I have to do everything?"

This time he hears the swish of the shield and the crunch of it hitting a wall, and a pigeon flurrying from the rafters. He pulls his breath in through his nose, says, "Lower?"