Super?

I'll Die Happy Tonight

        I don't know if I've ever had such a perfect night. It seems almost sad that it has to end.
       He stops the Camaro in the driveway of Dave and Ollie's and we both sit back in silence, exhausted and full and dazzled by sights we have seen.
       "Thank you," he tells me, turning his head so he can peer at me with those inky eyes that don't seem so malicious anymore.
       "What are you thanking me for? You're the one who dragged me out here. I had so much fun. More than I have in a long time. Thank you." I open the passenger side door and finally get out, my stomach groaning in protest.
       "Yeah, but you kind of helped me make the decision not to be a villain anymore, so... I should probably thank you for that. That and the fact that you agreed to this. And you forgave me."
       "Hey, just as long as you're not trying to kiss me- I'm cool with anything." I pad my way up to the front steps, barefoot with high heels in one hand. The hairspray has long since lost its hold, so my hair looks pretty wild. And my makeup is probably smudged and makes me look like I belong in a haunted house. But I couldn't be more happy.
       "Do you need anything?" he asks me, getting out also to stand before me. Wait until Ollie and Dave hear about this.
       "At the risk of sounding like a pedophile... unless you can find me a little six year-old boy, I'm afraid not," I tell him with a wry smile. Tate frowns.
       "I thought you had hired that Bloodhound creep?" He tilts his head, puzzled. "You don't fire him already, did you?" I force out a laugh, if only for my sake.
       "Nah. Reggie got to him. I did manage to get some proof that Dominic's alive, though. But now my only bringer of information is gone," I explain. I keep a neutral expression on my face and shrug like it doesn't really mean that much to me. He watches me carefully.
       "I'll see what I can do. I promise. Good night, Maya," he says. He steps forward to hug me briefly and then moves back to watch me open the front door, leaning against his Camaro. We both look at each other with smiles on our faces before we finally close our respective doors and turn away. I listen to his car rumble out of the driveway and keep standing there until he's out of my earshot.
       "Oh no. She's smiling. This can't be good. Maybe he has mind control powers," I hear Dave whisper from the kitchen. I walk over and see both he and Ollie staring at me with guilty expressions on their faces.
       "You two are truly the worst," I scold them. Ollie shrugs haplessly.
      "So is Craya still a thing?" The blonde-haired fanboy leans forward intently, his blue eyes surprisingly bright for the fact that it's almost midnight.
       "Craya was never a thing. And sorry to disappoint, but he's in love with a girl named Alicia, not me. Turns out all of his creepy romantic gestures were actually just an effort to try and make amends with me in some twisted way. Like, severely twisted. Or more like hopelessly entangled... but you get the picture," I say, shrugging. "So we're friends now, I guess. I actually had a great time," I admit. "I thought he would be a bipolar sicko but he says he's trying to turn a new leaf or whatever. I managed to convince him to give up being a villain," I inform them nonchalantly, knowing they're going to blow that statement way out of proportion. Dave's eyes are immediately two times wider, predictably enough.
       "Witchcraft," he whispers in awe, probably remembering his threat to grill Tate's face when the fellow ex-villain first came to pick me up tonight.
       "Truly remarkable," Ollie agrees, looking as awestruck as one of Crimson's fans. Crimson's fans are extremely dedicated. They have a fan club, they photoshop images of themselves with Crimson, and they host fanfiction contests that I find supremely creepy. So when I'm comparing Ollie to one of Crimson's fans, that's really saying something.
       "You're like, a guide of lost souls," he continues. I don't even try to understand them. Once they're both settled down, Ollie gives Dave a mischievously knowing glance. Dave immediately groans.
       "Ollie, no. It's a bad idea," he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "She'll never agree to it," he adds, talking about me like I'm not even standing there before them. I awkwardly wave my hand to warrant their attention. Dave shrugs and retreats, even though he obviously knows exactly what he's talking about.
        "Um. What are exactly am I not agreeing to?" I cast a suspicious glance at Ollie. He stuffs his hands in his flannel pajama bottom pockets, looking shy. "Oh, no," I groan, "Ollie is at a loss for words. Something is definitely up. What kind of plan have you concocted in my brief absence? Please tell me it doesn't involve teaming up with Taylor and her ego," I say, raising my eyebrows and holding up my palms like Never in a million years.
       I try to imagine myself fighting crime alongside the Latina superheroine but every scenario I come up with ends with me tying bricks to her body and throwing her off the tallest bridge in Birchwood City. Probably not exactly the best partnership.
       "Not exactly teaming up with Taylor," Ollie hedges, staring at the ceiling and then his Captain America slippers and then Dave and basically everywhere but me.
      "Dude. Come on. I'm an ex-super-villain, for God's sake. Give me some credit. I'm used to dealing with shit way crazier than you two. I'm sure I can handle what my one-and-only fanboy is about to throw at me," I smirk. When Ollie gives Dave a helpless look, he receives no encouragement save for a look that says You're on your own. It's funny what we say without actually saying anything out loud.
       "We think," Ollie sends Dave a dirty look, "or I think, anyway, that you should think about becoming a superhero." He takes in a deep breath of relief after that and steps back a little in anticipation of my response.
       "Ollie. We've already had this conversation. I'm not becoming a flipping superhero, for God's sake. I'm not wearing some neon-colored spandex uniform that makes my butt hang out so middle-aged pervs can ogle me while I rescue kittens from trees. It's. Just. Not. Happening," I tell him through gritted teeth, pressing my fingers to my forehead. Dave gives Ollie an I-told-you-so look. But his blonde boyfriend soldiers on.
       "That's not what I mean when I say superhero," he insists. "I don't want you to get a fancy code name and a sparkly costume or anything like that. I don't want you to stop bank robberies and petty theft. I'm talking becoming an actual hero. An anonymous one," he informs me fervently, making way more hand gestures than necessary. I raise an eyebrow skeptically.
       "Do you have a Keynote presentation to go along with this? I'm a visual learner," I deadpan.
       "No, I don't have a Keynote. And you're interrupting my thing," he snaps irritably, all hand motions ceasing to a stop. His cheeks are flushed.
       "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your spiel. By all means, please continue," I reply, holding my hands up in surrender. He clears his throat and lifts his chin up, regaining his composure before launching back into his speech. Dave lifts his eyebrows and mutters something illegible under his breath.
       "I'm thinking modest and mysterious. All-black," he whispers, his voice low and theatric.
       "That sounds super inconspicuous. Doesn't raise any red flags at all. Just your friendly possibly-in-the-mafia neighborhood hero. 'Who's that lady there kicking butt, mom?' 'Oh. Nobody knows her name. And she doesn't speak to anybody. I think she prefers to let the fists do the talking for her. Nobody knows where she comes from either. Plus she's really fond of the color black. I think she also may be a bit mentally unstable. Best you stay away, Billy,'" Dave snarks, using a falsetto toward the end of his mini-rant. When he sees the both of us staring at him strangely, he reddens. "Sorry. Got a little carried away there."
       "Um. Ok. Maybe not black," Ollie says, still giving a weird look to Dave, "but maybe grey or navy. Nothing too flashy. And I'm thinking casual. No catsuits. No one-pieces. Something modest like... I don't know... a hoodie. Or maybe not. I dunno. I'm just saying, that way people will see you more as one of them. You're just a neighbor helping out with your awesome super-powers. You don't have to be all high-and-mighty with the fame and glory crap like most supers. No code name, either. Let the people decide it for you." He smirks. "It's cooler that way."
       "And how do you suppose I go about crime-fighting without running into one of the dozen of superheroes that also defend this city?" I ask him, sounding vaguely amused.
       "Simple. You fight the crime that heroes turn a blind eye to. I want you to rescue the people that deserve a second chance but might not get one because the heroes only want to save the innocent. People like Crow. Also, some heroes are afraid to get their hands messy, diplomatically speaking. Don't be. Be the hero to people who need one the most." He finally finishes, breathless but determined.
        "Well," I say, dumbfounded. "You definitely had this all thought out." He nods eagerly, excited that I'm not immediately rejecting his idea.
       "I have a lot of time on my hands. During meetings with my coworkers I always tune out and think up these crazy plans. But Dave here loves listening to them, right?" Ollie slings a companionable arm over his boyfriend's shoulder. Dave tugs on a strand of his hair, eyes rolled skyward.
        "Of course, honey," Dave replies in a monotone. I stifle my laughter and Ollie just continues beaming. He's just a bright little ray of sunshine, isn't he? I don't understand where all of his enthusiasm comes from.
        "You are such a fanboy, Ollie," I tell him. "Color me impressed." His eyes light up and he practically does a little jig right there on the spot.
       "Does this mean you're going to say yes? You would make the best superhero!" He gives an inhuman-sounding squeal and hugs me like a five year-old stuck in a thirty year-old man's body. Even Dave is smiling now.
       "I'll think about it," I warn him. "But I don't know if I'm going to just yet-"
       "Yes! This is going to be great! I can say that I created a superhero!" His exclamation points are very tangible in his shrieks of joy. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so excited before in my life. How can I say no now? "What do you think your color scheme is going to be?" he asks me, clinging onto my arm and peering up at me with eyes the size of an anime character's.
       "Oliver," Dave chuckles, "Maya has had a long day. She might be wanting to go to bed now. It's almost one a.m," he tells his boyfriend gently. Ollie's shoulders sag in disappointment but he releases his hold on me.
       "We'll talk more in the morning, right?" Ollie asks pleadingly. I just laugh at his childlike excitement, nod, and wearily begin my ascent up the stairs. What a day. I think I could sleep for fifteen hours straight; I'm so exhausted- but the happiest kind of exhausted. The kind where your feet hurt from walking along the edge of the river and your skin smells like the autumn air and you can almost still taste that monstrous hotdog you can't believe you managed to eat. The kind where you can still feel the beautiful dress clinging to your skin and the comfortable embrace of your newfound friends.