“Get outta here, freaks!”
“God, we're not even doing anything,” Bosh whined, throwing his hands up. “We can even walk to a crime scene without something stupid happening. Next time we should just take the bus.”
“Because nothing ever happens on buses,” Fir replied. Apparently he had had some bad experiences on buses. As usual the team let this rest, given that the events had likely happened thirty years ago to different people.
“You should’ve been on the trolly,” Seth said to Bosh, but it was a statement distant from her thoughts.
A graceful, tiny frown touched the edge of her lips. They had been working in the field without Decon for a week now, and Seth was well aware that, though they could still get the job done, none of them were taking the change in dynamic very well. To what extent the team was aware of the effect of Decon's absence (excepting Fir, she guessed 'not much' – no one other than her had tried to adjust their behavior to cover the gap Decon's absence left), or was simply reacting to the stress of change in a high pressure portion of their routine, she couldn't be sure.
One thing the rest of the team was well aware of was that now wasn't the time to harass her with boring and unnecessary complications. The improvised gang of ruffians at the other end of the alley didn't know that.
“It has been a disappointing day. We don't really have time for this,” Seth said, in her best measured voice. “Unless you're standing in our way for a purpose, there's no reason for us to come into conflict.”
“Shorten your words, Seth,” Bosh said. “I can feel the third-grade education from here – confusion just wafting off those guys.”
Fir tried really hard not to laugh. Seth shot Bosh a glare. Julie let out an exaggerated scornful sigh. If Decon had been there, he might've said something that would've both calmed the mob and gotten Bosh to shut up, thus preventing Seth from having to manage him directly so she could focus on the assailing mob. As it was, Wes stepped forward into the best position to confront the oncoming fight.
Speaking of awareness. It wasn't like anyone could tell, but Fir was now frowning. He was keeping an eye on Wes. It wasn't exactly like Wes was being quieter – it was hard to imagine him any quieter than he already was. Fir was squinting at him like he could see what was different about him if he just tried enough.
“If you let us pass, we don't need to... fight,” Seth said, which even she realized wasn't her best mollifying technique, but she'd only just stopped herself from saying 'we don't need to hurt you' instead so it was pretty good.
But not good enough. Seth pivoted on her right foot, dodging a rock that would've done considerable damage to her had it hit.
“Piss off!”
“I think communications have broken down,” said Seth.
“Did we even have communications?” Bosh asked. “They just kinda appeared and 'initiated hostilities.'”
“Well,” said Seth, dodging a chunk of asphalt aimed for her torso. “They weren't throwing things before...”
“Back off!” “Yeah, get outta here!” “Fuck off, freaks!” “We don’t need you, we can defend our own ‘hood.”
The rain of hard objects was getting troublesome. Wes caught a black chunk of street before it struck Seth's head. He looked at it as if it were a wholly unexpected, though not unusual, thing to find, then looked at Seth.
“Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please,” Bosh mumbled eagerly.
Rolling her eyes at Bosh, Seth sighed. She really wished he couldn't feel when she was running out of patience. “All right, consider them combatants – but not malefactors. They are standing in our way, and we did give them a chance to move. But NO USE OF POWERS.”
She glared at Fir (both of them looking as unconcerned about the hail of objects thrown their way were a light summer rain). Fir's smile dropped off his face. He snorted. “Oh, come on!”
“I enjoy exercising my abilities as much as you do,” Seth said in an even voice, stepping aside to dodge another rock. She was getting good use out of her 'not being pissed-off' act today. “But the Peters Act is now in effect and that means we have to be exceptionally careful of causing damage to non-powered people without fully justifiable cause. And you sometimes squish organs.”
“Oh, no,” Bosh said, “Mummy and Daddy are fighting.”
“That is such an utterly disgusting thought,” Julie snapped back. “I shouldn't be surprised it came from you.”
“...Said the bitch, upset about her parentage.” Bosh replied.
“How can a mob and a hail of debris,” Fir said, gesturing angrily up at the very debris he dodged, “not count as justifiable cause?”
“Because you can squish organs with a gesture,” Seth snapped at him, turning her withering glare to the group at the other end of the ally. She was really displeased. She tended to get displeased in these situations, and – unfortunately for the poor, ignorant malefactors causing it – it was worse than when she was angry when she got displeased. “And I can encase people in the carbon shells of their own burning flesh.”
“Oh, god, Seth,” Bosh said, making a face. “I take it back. How do you come up with this shit? I think I just puked a little in my mouth. Can you really do that?”
“Wes,” Seth said, “demonstrate our intention to retaliate should this assault continue – without hurting anyone.”
Nodding, Wes tossed the chunk of asphalt in his hand once, then pulled back and launched it like a fastball at the mob. Some of the front row were swift enough to duck in time, the rest only reacted once they felt the shower of tiny rocks from the chunk shattering over their heads on the wall behind them.
“We would prefer not to fight you,” Seth called down the alley, in the moment of silent appreciation of Wes' prowess. “But we will.”
The mob, as an entity, seemed to consider.
While the rest of the group watched the mob for a reaction, Fir returned to watching Wes.
He had no idea what he was looking for, but he was looking anyway. The more he looked, the more he thought that Decon might be right. There was something weird going on with Wes. He was acting funny. Funnier. Funny-for-Wes.
Fir realized he could be doing this at a more opportune moment, but it wasn't like he'd a fantastic record with controlling his own mind of late. Better now than never, eh? Maybe he should be paying attention to the way their group frayed without Decon's patient good-nature helping to hold it together, but whatever. Seth could handle it.
“We ain't afraid of no fucking freaks!” One of the members of the mob cried out.
“Yes you are,” Bosh called back.
“Shut up, Bosh,” Seth hissed. Her hands were starting to glow, though. She'd given up.
“Fuck you, freak!” The combatant called back.
“Oh yeah, scared shitless,” Bosh said, grinning.
“For fuck's sake, Bosh,” Julie hissed. “Shut up! Who cares if they're fucking cowards?”
“Let's not escalate this disagreement,” Seth said, but it was pure exasperated reflex. The mob had heard Julie, too.
“Like I said, smaller words, Seth,” Bosh said, jamming his hands in his pockets and rocking onto his heels. “They don't know what 'escalation' is.”
“Fuck you!”
Bosh grinned wider. Seth let out a short sigh. Julie growled and covered her face. Wes continued to hold still. Firmament, as he would later realize, chose the most godawful time to talk.
“Wes, are you– shit!” Fir ducked, scampering to the side as another chunk of broken street sailed through the space where his head had been. He put up a perfunctory hand to shield himself. “Wes, are you all right?”
True to form, though evidently surprised, Wes looked at Fir as if stoically but deeply crushed he had caused the concern of another living being and said, “I'm fine.”
And he was, because he could dodge chunks of pavement all day, while Fir, by not paying attention, got a nasty winging for not watching carefully. Wes, being a helpful sort, snatched a bottle from the air and launched it straight at the head of the person who'd hit Fir. He, unlike they, had no special laws governing his violence, and thus, could use it with impunity. The bottle shattered after pinging off the attacker’s skull. Seth grimaced, hoping he wasn’t dead.
Still: one down.
“Fir, protect yourself, now's not the time,” Seth snapped – her directness meaning, even more so than the growing glow of her hands or the way she set herself into a fighting stance, that she was going to hurt people now.
“Wow, I can really see how not-afraid you are, good citizens!” Bosh called.
“Fuck you! Fucking freak!”
Bosh laughed. “Say more 'f' words, chickenshit,” Bosh called. He grinned at Seth, who scowled at him. “It makes their little bandanna masks flap all funny.”
That was it, the mob started moving, the hail of objects slowing as the debris went from missiles to weapons.
“Julie – find cov...” Seth turned to find her, but Julie had preempted her by hiding behind a dumpster against the wall of the nearest building. She poked her fist, with uplifted middle finger, around the edge.
“I'm not retarded,” Julie hissed. “I'm not getting involved in this fight. You freaks'll probably blow me up or something.”
Seth tried to be glad Julie was protected. Bosh's glittery grin informed Seth that he knew exactly how she felt in both the literal and sympathetic sense.
“And we’d all mourn the loss terribly,” Bosh said, taking his fight position, which was to stand turned slightly away and wait for idiots to come within range.
Seth sent Bosh a withering stare, and he simply shrugged and smiled. His abilities didn't leave any marks, so he didn't have to worry about censure. Even with the advent of Islanders, sudden nervous breakdowns were something courts found hard to prove, and juries found hard to condemn. Let Seth guard the spirit of the law; Bosh would stick to the letter.
The mob picked up speed as it approached, and the Islanders fell into their protective formation. Unusually, it involved lots of space and putting their underpowered member in front. Wes took point, Seth was given half an alley, Fir the other half, and Bosh filled the gaps. As most groups did, this one swarmed into smaller packs to take each member on individually, hoping to surround and conquer.
“Wes–” Seth began, but didn't have a chance to finish – not that she had to. Though the leader had meant to engage her, Wes stepped in front of him.
“You don't want to fight us,” Wes said, seizing a punch and throwing the leader to the side. Watching from the corner of his eye, he could see someone else take a swipe at Seth; she dodged, and set her hands on fire. If she didn’t touch him, it wasn’t against the law. The mook reconsidered his desire to fight a girl with flaming hands.
“Fuck you,” the leader said, and took another, more controlled swipe at Wes. It was really much more impressive than the first, and Wes paid him the compliment of dodging it rather than turning it aside.
“That's not very original,” Wes said. “We just want to ask some questions.”
Someone behind him started to scream; one of the mooks had engaged Bosh. Wes could hear Bosh giggling. He didn't really like to hear that sort of thing.
“Fuck you,” the leader said, this time more vehemently. He also threw a couple of more punches, demonstrating an admirable grasp of some basic boxing, maybe with a bit of something else thrown in. He shifted his stance to a more serious fighting position when Wes dodged those punches as well.
“Um...” Wes said, “Don't you have any other insults?”
The second mook had been joined by friends with pipes. They were trying to figure out a way to get past Seth's fire and engage her in hand-to-hand without getting burned; Wes was more worried for them than for her. Fir, who had never liked Bosh exercising his power either, had moved his fight up to nearby Wes'. Though Fir was holding his own, Wes could tell he was holding back too much, which was really unlike him. Right now he was sloppily dodging and feinting at his opponent. Wes frowned. Fir knew better than that. Disregarding his experience in the field, Wes had taught Fir better than that.
Perhaps it was the frown, or the fact that adding kicking and weaving into his assault hadn't had any perceivable effect on Wes, that the leader realized Wes wasn't paying attention to him. He aimed a vicious fully weighted slap at Wes' ear.
Wes blocked with a forearm, and frowned at him. “That wasn't very smart.”
“Fuck you!” the leader shouted, striking even harder for Wes' stomach and forcing him to dodge.
“This isn’t very good banter. I guess you aren't very smart,” Wes said, going off his own words, as the mook-leader didn't seem to be able to assist him with any banter-able come backs. Wes’ training hadn’t really included banter, though it had included plenty of other extraneous activities. Decon had spoken to him about the effectiveness of conversation to guide or resolve conflict, though, and without Decon here it was even more important to attempt to make use of his advice.
“That's some riveting banter yourself, there, Wunderkid,” Bosh yelled, over the screaming. “Have you been practicing?”
“We aren't here to banter,” Fir said, ducking a wide swing.
“Man,” Bosh whined, since Fir was usually on his side. Fir, though, wasn't as good-hearted as Decon; he really wished Seth had been listening so he would get credit for being responsible for once.
The longing glance for attention cost him, though. He barely caught sight of another combatant approaching in time to prepare himself to be hit in the stomach. While Fir was wheezing and bent over, his opponent grabbed the back of his collar, preparing to hold him down so he could knee Fir in the face. While his opponent was bracing himself, Fir drove a fist into his nuts. He shrieked and fell, and Fir used the distraction to run to a spot where he was in a slightly better position.
Wes was watching. Wes was watching everyone. That wasn't bad, but Wes really ought to force Fir into more group combat training.
“Bosh, your left foot,” Wes said with gentle remonstrance, and nodded approvingly when Bosh fixed his stance. It didn't matter too much, since Bosh was good at catching people with his abilities before they could initiate physical contact, but that didn't mean he should be unwary.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the leader growled at him, taking another desperate swing. “What the fuck?”
“You aren't a very good fighter,” Wes replied, blocking him. He had forgotten about his fight, really, though he shouldn't have. The leader of this pack of malefactors wasn't skilled but he was strong. “And I'm not supposed to hurt you.”
“C'mon Seth, let Wes hurt him! We don't need all of them–” but Bosh cut off when another mook ran at him. He backpedaled away, holding up a finger as if asking for pause. “Ah, ah, ah, wait wait...let's see...”
The mook – at first – didn't seem inclined, but soon he slowed, and sooner still he started to groan and then to cry. Bosh giggled.
“What the fuck?” The leader performed another feint-and-swipe at Wes' ear.
Wes frowned. “Don't do that.”
Fir felt the earth move (in an entirely sane manner), hearing Wes say that. He focused on taking out the last few combatants dodging in to take glancing blows at him in hopes one could force him down.
An all-too-familiar voice in his head reprimanded Wes for being so distracted. Regardless of his estimation of his opponent, he shouldn’t present the opportunity to be surprised. He shouldn’t be surprised that his opponent was trying for an easy means of hurting him.
Truth be told, Wes was finding being near Bosh while he was working less tolerable than usual. Especially, though, Wes did not like to be struck in the ear.
“Fuck you!” the leader yelled, and made a cheap swipe at his gut. He was blocked, but it was just a feint to cover another swipe at Wes' head.
“Please stop talking if that's all you're going to say,” Wes said, feeling more than making his own frown deepen. Decon would be disappointed.
“Fu-,” the leader began, but Wes lifted his chin, frown deepening further, and he reconsidered.
“That's fucking awesome,” Bosh crowed, laughing so hard he doubled over and momentarily lost control of one of his victims. He regained control before the mook could crawl away. “Please say you didn't just not hit the guy you're trying to beat up because he told you to. How fucking pathetic are you?”
“You aren't helping, Bosh,” Fir growled, but his words were lost in the furious shout and renewed violence of the leader against Wes. Fir was making his way over to help Seth, who, unlike him, had remained unscathed by sheer intimidation. A gout of flame leaping up behind a combatant angled him towards her. With hands still flaming, she seized the front of his jacket and flung him into one of the others facing her, watching them both frantically spin and try to put out their only-smoldering clothing. She tried not to grin when they all jumped back frantically when she intensified the fire around her hands in one quick, loud burst.
Intimidation worked well for Seth.
“This isn't going to work,” Wes said, fielding ever-clumsier yet more forceful blows.
“Shut up!”
“You are not going to win,” Wes said. (Go, go, freakshow, shouted Bosh, who without Decon was twenty times as uncontrollably irritating).
“Shut,” a punch, “the fuck,” a punch, “up!”
Wes blocked and sighed. “Bosh, that man is going to pass out. Let him go.”
“Oh,” Bosh said, stepping forward for a moment to look over one of his victims, now prone and frightfully still, having screamed himself unconscious. They had to assume, by the slight relaxing of his hands, that Bosh had let him go.
“Fuck you, you freak! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I could explain,” Bosh said, checking on the others in his little stable, “but it's a long and sordid story.”
“For Christ's sake, Bosh...” Fir snapped. To his credit, Bosh at least looked as if he might've recognized that he had potentially said something he shouldn't have. They had all gotten used to biting back blasphemy around Decon, though he hadn’t asked for it, so hearing it sounded rough and shocking.
“What the fuck?” The mook-leader yelled, throwing more ineffectual punches. “Is your fucking freak-power fighting or something?”
“I don’t have any powers,” Wes said. “I’m just a better fighter than you.”
“He’s also got better banter than you,” Bosh said, “which is sort of like saying a tiger speaks better English than you. I though street hoods were supposed to have complicated systems of insult and slang repartee.”
If he hadn't already been at the utmost shade of red, the leader now reached it, spit flying from his mouth. “Fuck you, you goddamn– Fuck you! Fuck you, and... fuck your mom!”
“Oh, much better,” Bosh said.
Wes blocked and threw the leader aside.
“I don't understand.” Wes said. The leader mustered a war cry and launched himself back into the fight. Wes blocked. “I've never understood that."
“Understood what, boy wonder?” Bosh asked.
"I've never understood how 'your mom' was supposed to be insulting."
"It's your mother," Bosh said, now fully invested in this conversation rather than his parcel of assailants. “It’s an implied slur against your mother.”
“Fuck me, guys,” Fir shouted, from where he and Seth were trying furiously to fist-fight their five opponents into submission without using their powers. Nobody had touched Seth yet, so they were all going for Firmament. “Now isn’t really the time.”
"He doesn't know my mother," Wes said. “If I had a mother to know. I don’t know my mother. If he’s insulting mothers in general, then he’s insulting his own, too. Maybe she was terrible; it seems so.”
“Hey,” the mook leader cried, throwing a furious punch. “That’s my fucking mom!”
“I’m sorry, then,” Wes said. “But it’s just a word. It’s just a word that has no meaning. If I had a mother, you don’t know her. I don’t know your mother. It’s an idiotic game at the expense of what is for many an intense interpersonal relationship. Mocking love. How terrible. Terrible for everyone. I don’t understand how it’s funny or validly insulting to rip apart the ideal or representation of unconditional love and protection, just for a cheap spurt of anger.”
This was practically a dissertation for Wes – all the while, he parried, blocked and struck at his opponent, until he was bloody, teetering where he stood only because Wes would not strike hard enough to put him down. He wasn’t supposed to; he couldn’t.
“What’s going on, Wes?” Seth asked, her voice sharp. She had lunged towards her last opponent, eyes blazing. Without even being touched, he turned and fled. She kept up a steady stream of heat at his back, just to encourage him.
They were all approaching doneness. Fir was breathing heavily as he punched his last opponent down. He had never gotten proper breathing techniques down. The man got up and limped away as Fir aimed a kick at him on the ground.
Bosh’s enemies weren’t fun to play with anymore, so he left them alone. A gaggle of those still healthy enough to stand waited a safe distance away, no doubt intending to return and drag their friends off the ground when Bosh was gone.
It was just Wes and the leader, and the leader looked as if he would collapse at any second.
Wes dropped his stance, turned towards Seth. “Ten years.”
They all heard the click; in a fistfight, metal had a sharp sound. Then they all heard a wet smash, the thunderous noise of a great force colliding with a half-empty dumpster. Blood hit the air in a way it hadn’t before, when quietly leaking from tiny cuts and percussive bruises.
Firmament wasn’t breathing hard anymore. Wes turned back to where his opponent had stood, only to see empty concrete. He followed the faint trail of debris sucked after a great wind.
Eight more guns appeared down the alley, in the group of stragglers. Fir and Seth whirled to face them.
“Firmament!” Seth shouted – a warning, a reprimand, a call. They were in this together.
Grimacing, Firmament eased back his extended hand, changing that mysterious grip he had on things and forces distant from him. An upturned shopping cart jumped from one end of the alley to the other, breaking bones and causing screams as it blundered across the front line of attackers. Once it clashed into the wall, warping into a ball of broken metal, Seth stepped forward. She raised both her hands, now human and bereft of flame, and a white-hot inferno sprouted fountain-like from the ground between the mob and the Islanders.
Her fingers shook, jaw shut tight, and then she pushed. A strange sense of relief passed through her, not just the exercise of abilities like endorphins flooding down but also that, having been armed, the mob had intended just a brawl.
Well, they had gotten that.
The flame, a calm orange now, swept the back of the alley like a current released from a dam. No screams, no cries – the mob had run at the first demonstration of power.
“Jesus fuck,” Bosh said.
Julie got up from behind the dumpster coughing and waving a hand in front of her face. “Great, now it smells like burning ass in here. Scare them off with a fucking garbage fire first next time.”
“Julie,” Seth said, voice calm, focused on Wes. “Call an ambulance.”
“I don’t see–,” Julie began, but the way Firmament was staring at her, she scowled and pull out her phone.
Bosh was staring like a rubbernecker at a traffic accident. Firmament and Seth approached Wes slowly.
Wes was looking at the bleeding heap of the mob leader, resting at the foot of the dumpster Firmament had smacked him into. His gun had remained where he first pulled it, ripped from his fingers by the force of the blow. He was still breathing; they could tell by the wet gurgling of his labored breaths.
Firmement shrugged; he probably looked worse than he was. “Guns are a deadly weapon – attempted murder satisfies the limits of the Peters Act.”
Seth nodded. “Wes,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to repeat her question.
Wes turned away; he had seen worse. “Ten years today. He’s being released.”
Both Fir and Seth stared. Seth’s brows knit with sympathy, Fir’s nose crinkled with displeasure.
“But, kidnapping and...” Fir began, unwilling to finish.
“They couldn’t make the kidnapping charge stick,” Wes said, confused that he needed to explain. “When no one stepped forward to claim me, they had nothing to prove I was ‘kidnapped’ from anyone. All the paperwork was correct, if faked. I belonged to him. A child’s only parent can’t kidnap them.”
“Ten years,” Seth said, then her lip curled, sympathy dropped, “is a disgusting sentence.”
“Wait, what are you guys talking about?” Bosh said, from behind them, waking from his reverie.
“I contested every appeal,” Wes said, shrugging. “He didn’t get out on good behavior.”
Silently, they stared at one another. Wes glanced down, then up at them and shrugged again.
“It’s been a decade,” Wes said. “I’m fine.”
Silence reigned a moment longer.
“Fuck this,” Seth said, turning back towards where they had entered the alley in the first place. “It was just a B&E, we were assisting for experience. We’re going home.”
“We can’t,” Julie said, pulling her phone away from her ear. “We have to stay to give our statements to the cops.”
“That’s what you’re staying for, Julie” Seth replied, stopping in her tracks. She twitched her head, calling Wes and Fir after her. “They can look the rest of us up – we’re publicly listed and they can contact us through Mr. Tenor’s lawyers.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Julie hissed.
“Bosh.”
“Goddamnit, no!” Bosh whined. Julie snapped her mouth shut, having been just about to say the same thing.
“If you don’t stay, Julie will get us arrested. You wanted more responsibility – this is what it looks like. I don’t care what you have to do. Get it done, make it short, and call a cab to take you home.”
Bosh cocked his head, unsure of what he was hearing, but Seth had already turned away. Slowly, he grinned at Julie, who simply scowled in return. She hadn’t told him to use his abilities – but she hadn’t told him not to.
Seth, Fir, and Wes rounded the corner. Seth hit the unlock button, honing in on where they had parked up ahead like a hawk on its prey.
“I’m fine,” Wes said again.
“Firmament,” Seth ordered. “Call Ian; tell him to hit the liquor store and be back before we get there. And tell him to pick up wine, too.”
Wordlessly, Firmament took out his phone and started poking buttons. He squinted at the buttons like an old man, typing with the same single-finger deliberation. He didn’t even protest having to contact Ian directly and on purpose.
“Seth,” Wes said, trotting up to walk beside her. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Of course,” Seth said, “but I’m not. I want to be home to deal with this.”
Wes watched the ground at their feet for a moment. “Isn’t this important, though? The B and E? Experience?”
“No,” Seth replied flatly. She turned a quick smile to him. “There will be others. We can practice then. I want to go home. I want to sit with Decon and Ian and relax. What’s that show you two were watching?”
Wes blinked at her. His brows knit. “Buffy?”
“Yeah. Let’s watch like eight seasons of that and order pizza,” Seth said, putting her keys properly in her hand.
“I think there only is eight seasons,” Wes said.
“I told Ian to quit harping about what constituted real alcohol and just pick shit up. And wine,” Fir said, catching up to them.
“We’re ordering pizza,” Seth said, smiling back at him. They stopped at the big black Tenor, Inc. SUV and Seth yanked open the driver’s side door.
“Cool,” Fir said. “What kind?”
“I dunno,” She said. “All of it.” She turned to Wes. “You don’t mind starting over, do you? I haven’t seen any of that show.”
“No,” Wes said, and they got, for once, to see him taken by surprise.
“What show?” Firmament asked.
“Buffy,” Seth said.
Fir shrugged, then glanced between them. Wes was still too uncertain to move. Fir took the opportunity to punch him on the shoulder. “Shotgun!”
Fir ran around the car before Wes could react; he seemed too shocked he’d let himself get hit to be repulsed by being touched. Seth slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting it for herself as Wes got in. She poked at the rear-view. “This’ll be a good time to talk about going to New Jersey, too.”
“What?” Fir asked. “We’re going to New Jersey?”
Seth nodded, turning the car on.
“Well, shit,” Fir said, leaning forward to poke at the radio before Seth could object. “Why didn’t we just tell that mob we were going to New Jersey? Could have saved us a court appearance.”
Seth put her sunglasses on and shrugged. “How else were we going to shake Julie and Bosh?”
Fir laughed. “Oh, Fearless Leader – forgive me for ever doubting you.”
“Damn straight,” Seth said, and pulled out onto the street. “And that goes double for you, Wes.”
Wes shifted in his seat – and, were it anyone but him, he would be ‘getting comfortable’. Wes glanced up at the rearview, caught the brief glow of Seth’s eyes behind the sunglasses flicking to and away the mirror, just as easily checking for traffic as checking on Wes.
So Wes tried again, settling in, pushing back at the seat cushions. “Yes, Fearless Leader.”