Conversation Prompt

“Sorry, I meant to be gone before you woke up. Your mom insisted that I sleep off a sugar crash on your couch.”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s missed you since our break-up. She’d like it if you came around more.”

For a moment the vigilante froze, like a raccoon caught in the sudden glare of a motion sensor light. Then they went back to dressing, hurriedly yanking their layers of clothing back on.

The hero knew better than to question the vigilante's need to cover themselves in shapeless gray and brown, even in the warmth of spring. They knew better to ask why the vigilante was sleeping on the daybed on the covered porch instead of inside in one of guest bedrooms. They averted their eyes, carefully slid the cup of tea and the plate of breakfast onto the side table and backed up to the stool by the door.

"Are you, uh, rationing...?" The hero cleared their throat. "That is to say, is there some way we - I - can assist with your insulin supply?"

"Not unless you've got four hundred bucks in your pocket," the vigilante said dryly, shoving things back into their backpack

The hero pulled out their wallet and started paging through the bills. The vigilante stopped and stared. "Not unless you've got a single-payer not-for-profit national healthcare program in your pocket," they said loudly.

The hero gave them a half smile. "That's two hundred thirty three, uh thirty eight," they said, sliding the money over next to the food. "If you give me a minute, my go-bag upstairs has cash too I can get."

"Mkay," the vigilante said, avoiding their eyes.

The old heat flooded through the hero. They tilted their head. "Mkay I should go get it and you'll wait right here for me? Or mkay I should go get it so you can disappear on me again?"

The vigilante flung their gloves into their pack. "And this is why I meant to be gone before you woke up."

Somehow the hero was up on their feet, caution forgotten. "I am trying to help you!"

"Your help always comes with strings. Compromises." The vigilante was backing towards the screen door, hunched over their backpack defensively. "I'm not coming back to the Agency!"

The hero threw up their hands. "I never even suggested - !"

"And I'm not coming back to you."

The hero pulled up short. The vigilante hovered in the doorway, one foot fully out and down the first step, those dark and lovely eyes wary under their hood.

"Stop, please." The hero swallowed. Backed up. "No strings. Please, just let me help. I want you - I need you to be okay. Can't you believe that much about me?"

The vigilante leaned their head against the door frame. "Of course I know that about you," they said with a sad smile. "You need to believe that everything will work out okay."

The hero closed their eyes.

"I'll go get the rest of that cash," they said and walked away. When they got back, the money, the food, and the vigilante were gone.

The hero sighed and went up to their mother's office. The door was open and, at the hero's soft knock, she actually looked away from her spreadsheets and closed her laptop. That wasn't a good sign

"Well?" she asked. The hero shook their head. Their mother clicked her tongue. "That's disappointing. Now you'll have to run them down on their territory, not yours."

"Mother, they don't want to come back," the hero said.

"Too bad." Their mother took off her glasses, stared the hero down. "They're too good an asset to lose. And too good a partner to you," she added. "I do want grandchildren someday."

"They hate me!" the hero blurted out.

Their mother rolled her eyes. "They didn't come here for my charms. Take your time if must, reel them in slow. But run them down. That's an order. Now be a dear and close that door on your way out."

"Yes, Director," the hero said through their teeth and stormed out.

There we go! Technically a reblog after the early post yesterday. Thanks @whygodohgodwhy for a great prompt.