Chum

My gaze follows Gale as she floats back to the rest of the team. She joins the conversation Rampart is deeply engrossed in with Crossroads and Playback. It's a surreal view - these larger-than-life figures I share a uniform with, basking in the camaraderie they've built over countless battles and patrols. A warmth fills me, intermingled with the frost of doubt. Do I belong here? My eyes dart to Gale, and for a fleeting moment, our eyes lock. She smiles, and I'm too chicken to even nod back.

It feels like it's been years since I've joined the Young Defenders. It feels like it's been a day. I still don't know anyone's first names, except for Gale's, and they don't know mine.

With that, Gale gives a casual wave, takes to the air, and floats out of the gym. She leaves behind a sense of stillness that clashes with the whirlwind she stirred around me just moments ago.

I shove myself up from the mat, my muscles groaning in protest. A glance at the clock tells me it's just past one o'clock. Late enough for the training session, yet early enough for what's next. Flying. With Gale. My stomach churns again, but for a different reason now. Anticipation? Excitement? It's hard to tell.

"I see someone's got a date," Rampart teases, lumbering over to me with a smirk that threatens to crack his stoic, mentorly facade.

"I- it's not a date," I stammer, shoving my hands into the too-small pockets of my gym shorts and averting my face. "We're just... flying. Recreationally. And platonically."

Rampart raises an eyebrow, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and paternal pride. "Flying. Recreational flying. With Gale."

"Yeah," I say, locking my gaze onto a stray patch of matting on the floor, and turning 90 degrees away from Rampart. "Why? Got a problem with that?"

He chuckles, and the sound reverberates like distant thunder. "No problem at all. Just make sure you two don't do anything that would make Liberty Belle ground you for a month."

The name punctures the happy balloon inflating in my chest. I hadn't seen Liberty Belle in days, and I don't think anyone here has. Rampart's face twists into a momentary grimace as he realizes what he said, and then tries to pull itself back together. I resist the urge to spill her secret, the ticking clock inside her stomach, and it is so hard. Rampart is right - I am not a very good liar. "Liberty Belle can ground us? Last time I checked, she's not my dad. Or my mom, for that matter."

Rampart laughs at that. "I mean, you can get put on 'no patrol' for a month."

I put my hands on my hips. "You're making 'getting in trouble' sound appealing. No kitty rescues for a month?"

"Don't pretend you hate it. You've secured enough runaway pets that I know you love it." He retorts, rolling his shoulders back until they crack.

"That's right, I just love the smell of cat butt," I reply, glancing back towards one of the gymnasium entrances, expecting Gale to float back in any time now. "Um, is fraternizing with team members against the rules, though? Like, hypothetically."

Rampart laughs even harder. "You really need to get better at lying. But, let's say, just hypothetically - no, there's no rule against it, but we advise against it because it can and has ripped cape teams apart before. And Liberty Belle won't ground you for it because that's Puppeteer's authority," he explains, folding his arms over his chest. "Technically, Belle could impose sanctions on any of us, it's, like, within her power to do so, but she has better things to do."

He takes a couple of steps closer to me. I try to shrink away from the sudden threatening presence I feel, like murder in his eyes, a metaphorical small flame in his pupils. "Just know that Gale - and the rest of this team - are all very dear to me," he says in a way that makes clear to me that he doesn't yet see me as part of the team - not in a real sense. "And if you do anything stupid, we are going to have problems beyond a hypothetical code of conduct violation."

Then he steps back, leaving me shaking like a scared puppy. I mean, I don't realize I'm shaking for a couple of seconds, but my knees have indeed buckled and my entire body has curled inward. I don't like being chastised or yelled at, it's always been something that makes me intensely uncomfortable, and whenever I get the feeling that someone doesn't like me or is like... Or like I'm bouncing off someone, it gets even worse. After two hours training with Rampart, I guess I had come to the assumption that we were friends now, but the flicker of stony acid on his face has me second-guessing.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and his face softens. "Jeez. Sorry, I did not mean to scare you that bad. Jesus," he says, reaching a hand out as gently as possible like he's trying to get the attention of a stray cat. "I was trying to do the whole 'overprotective dad' thing, but I guess I overplayed it a little, huh?"

"A little bit," I stammer, trying to stop my entire body from shaking. My face is hot and red not from exhaustion or, uh, the feeling I get when I look at Gale, but embarassment, raw and painful.

"Jeez, you look like you're about to wet yourself," he says, seeming just as embarassed as I was. "Hey, look, I didn't mean it like that. Just like... you know, if you... fraternize, don't hurt Gale's feelings. Not that I think you would!" he tries to overexplain, putting his hands up defensively. "But like. Make sure you don't, young lady. Aw, jeez. Do you need a hug?"

I do not realize that I've been crying until several seconds after it's already started happening. I sniffle and shake my head, wiping a bit of snot from under my nose. "No, I'm fine, I think I'm just going to go take a shower. I'm not mad at you, I'm just sensitive," I say, starting to overexplain myself. "Don't worry about it. Really, I'll be fine."

Rampart slowly backs away, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. "Right. Well, don't let me ruin your afternoon. I'd like you to come in two or three times a week for training, if you can manage that between school and all that. I don't want to ruin your academic career, but, you know, getting shot would also ruin that. Or stabbed. Or... you get the picture."

I sniffle awkwardly. "Right. Yeah. I'll... I'll text you. But I'm going to go take a shower now."

"Right. I think I will do the same thing," Rampart says, any sort of threatening aura he was able to mount previously melting away into a slimy film of dorkiness.

I start backing away, and turn around, trying to hide my face so nobody sees it on my way to the showers.

As I walk back into the gymnasium after a much-needed shower, I spot Gale waiting for me. She's levitating in the center of the room, a foot or so off the ground, her attention caught by something on her phone. The serenity in her expression puts me at ease instantly, pulling me back from the edge of my emotional precipice. It helps that I feel like my mask - with a new jawpiece courtesy of Gossamer that doesn't block my teeth as much - blocks the worst of my shame.

"Hey, Gale," I call out, my voice tinged with an awkward cheerfulness I don't entirely feel.

She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, and a smile lights up her face. "Oh hey, Bloodhound. Ready to hit the skies?"

"Absolutely," I lie through my teeth, putting on my best confident face. Truth is, I'm still reeling from the emotional roller coaster Rampart inadvertently put me on. But I can't let Gale see that, can I? I mean, she's my teammate and possibly hopefully maybe in the future possibly something more, and the last thing I need is to screw this up by being a big sobby wreck in front of her. I can't even imagine how she'd react to a show of unabashed sincerity? I'd rather jump off a bridge.

We head for the back door airlock, past hallways and closets, with her hovering an inch or two off the floor, not even bothering to use her feet. The mechanism whirrs to life, seals locking into place with a hydraulic hiss. When the outer door slides open, the afternoon sky greets us, cloudless and blue. "You need to hold on to me?" Gale asks, while the door loudly seals itself behind us.

"What? No, I'm fine," I reply, maybe a little bit too fast. I already feel like hitting myself. I don't know what or why about Gale does this to me, but I don't like it - I keep thinking about Rampart warning me about the consequences of fraternization. And I'm still not a lesbian, because I definitely have crushes on guys, so it's not like I want to fraternize with her or anything. I just keep thinking about things that aren't superheroing. Do I just want to be her friend? Will she respond to attempts at getting to know her, or will that be seen as trying to violate her superheroic privacy?

"Earth to Bloodhound?" Gale says, waving her hand gently in front of my face. I realize that I hadn't actually said anything out loud, and in fact, seem to have imagined replying at all. "You need to hold onto me? Or my scarf?"

"No, I'm fine," I reply, at a normal pace this time. "Just don't drop me."

"I won't," she reassures, smiling, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder.

We float up, her wind buoying me upwards and upwards, just high enough to skim the rooftop of the Delaware Valley Defenders HQ. I worry, for a moment, about Gale's acrophobia - was that something she mentioned having, or did I just misremember a prior conversation? Our feet take a secondary landing on top of the roof. "Alright, ready to go?" She asks, looking at me, smiling, her mask crinkling lightly around her face.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just, uh, don't go too high," I request.

"Scared of heights too?" She reminds me, and I recall our prior conversation. Okay, I didn't imagine that one. Good.

"A little bit," I fib. Frankly, right now, the thing I'm scared of the most is social rejection, because at least the pain of falling and breaking my limbs would be temporary while my body knits itself back together. Weird how your priorities change when you discover you are some form of invincible, huh? The two of us start a slow, casual float, and I twist myself in the thick cushion of air. It's not exactly easy to manuever in - I can see how it's an extremely useful tool for apprehension. Eventually, I manage to get onto my back, looking up at the puffiest of the clouds, hand over my face to cover from the worst of the sunlight.

Gale giggles at what I have to assume were my extremely silly looking motions. This part of Philly has low rooftops, so we're not too far from the ground, but I still don't try to look down - it's particularly disorienting from this angle.

"So, uh, how long have you been with the Young Defenders?" I ask, trying to make small talk as we float over the urban landscape. My internal monologue's running a marathon. What do you talk about when you're flying next to someone you like?

"Around six months," Gale replies. "But it feels like forever, in a good way."

"That's cool," I respond, the words hanging in the air as I grasp for something else to say. A thousand questions flood my mind, ranging from her favorite food to her thoughts on the ethics of vigilante justice. But instead, all that comes out is, "Do you like it? Being a hero, I mean."

Gale looks thoughtful. "Most days. There are moments that make you question why you're doing all this, but then you save someone or stop a bad guy, and it feels like you're exactly where you're supposed to be."

"'Exactly where you're supposed to be,' huh?" I mull over her words, feeling like they resonate. "That's deep."

Gale chuckles. "I guess you could say I've had a lot of time for self-reflection."

"Speaking of reflection," I say, grasping at straws for a change of topic, "what kind of music do you listen to while, you know, contemplating life? Are you allowed to bring headphones out on patrol?"

"Oh, you'll laugh. And yes, I can, because I can get a bird's-eye view of the streets. But I only keep one in my ears so I can listen for stuff."

"No judgment here. Swear on my... teeth," I say, scrambling for conversational purchase.

She turns sideways as a particularly large cloud floats in between the sun and me, granting some blessed shade. "Metal. Mostly stuff from the 2000s," she says, admitting it like it's a shameful secret. "Back when it was still good."

I can't help but gawk. "Seriously? You're a metalhead?"

She raises an eyebrow at me, her face going serious. "What, you think Muslim people can't be into metal?" she says, and my heart bottoms out somewhere in my ass.

"Nonono, that's not what I meant," I stammer, faster than I've ever said words before. "It's just surprising, you know? Not what I expected."

"And what did you expect?"

I open and close my mouth, not sure how to navigate this minefield. "Something... lighter, I guess?"

Gale laughs and laughs. "Don't worry, Bee. I'm busting your balls. No, most people don't expect a Muslim teenage girl to be interested in heavy metal. I think that's a very reasonable first impression to make. Don't let the headscarf fool you, I love Rage Against the Machine."

My eyes widen in recognition. "No way, my dad loves those bands. He calls it 'the golden age of metal,' or something."

She beams, clearly delighted. "See? Music transcends age, culture, and even our superhero secret identities. Maybe one day I'll even meet the vaunted Bloodhound Senior, and ask why he wasn't able to pass on his glorious music taste to his daughter."

I laugh, a genuine one, my sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight, perfectly white. "I wouldn't call it glorious. He likes Limp Bizkit," I say, nearly spitting it, with the expectation that Gale will agree with me.

Gale gently flips me over onto my belly with her wind, and then spins me around to face her. "Are you trying to make your dad sound lame or something? Because you're just making him sound cooler."

"But isn't the frontman of Limp Bizkit, like, a huge asshole? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere on the internet," I say, trying to get the conversational lever back in my corner.

Gale, unfortunately for me, is ready with a skillful parry. "Fred Durst? No, it's... it's like, a big joke. Like professional wrestling. I mean he's kind of an asshole but most of it is an act."

"Professional wrestling isn't real?" I ask in mock shock.

Gale reaches out to pat me on the shoulder, and my skin tingles underneath my costume. "I'm afraid not, Bee. What music do you listen to?"

I look around, trying to twist myself away from eye contact with Gale, which feels like a burning pressure on my face. "I don't... I don't really listen to music that much. Just whatever my dad has on the radio. Or whatever someone in the voice chat is playing. I guess I like pop music? Sorry, I know that's a boring answer," I reply, my mind blanking for a moment. I scramble for personality, attempting to define myself. "Oh! Right. I like Dave Grohl's bands. I like Foo Fighters and Nirvana and that one Queens of the Stone Age album. And I listen to Incubus sometimes."

Gale smiles earnestly at me and I feel bile rising in my throat. "Dad rock. Cute." She says, and I have to physically clench my torso to avoid stress vomiting. Or, well, I don't really have to vomit, but it sure feels like I do.

"How do you even get into metal anyways? Isn't it full of like... old long haired dudes who play in dive bars in Trenton? And who hate girls our age?" I ask, choosing my words carefully to avoid putting my foot in my mouth, as Philadelphia's neighborhoods slowly pass by underneath us like fish on a glass-bottomed boat.

Gale giggles again. "Two of my brothers are in a band. So I got dragged along to shows a lot. Those greasy old long haired dudes in Trenton basically babysat me most of the summers in elementary school. Always treated me super nice."

"In a metal band, you mean. Just to clarify."

She nods. "Yeah. They started playing a lot of Deftones covers to get notoriety and then, like, started doing original music. You might've heard of them, they're called 'System of a Down'. Kidding!" She says, immediately putting her hands up in front of her chest. "Those guys are from a totally different part of the Middle East. You ever hear of 'Demon Core'?"

"Like, the Japanese comic?" I ask, folding my arms in front of my chest, trying to keep myself from beginning to free-spin in the air blanket.

"The manga, you mean? And, no, like the radioactive device from World War II, which both the band and the manga named themselves after." Gale gently corrects me, as we begin slowly descending. I have to admit, flying with a big air swirl like this is exceptionally refreshing after a grueling two hours of training plus a shower. My entire body feels extremely relaxed despite the hilarious amounts of tension I'm carrying in my chest just from being around Gale, straining against my natural urge to say something extremely stupid.

"Right. Naturally. No, I can't say I heard of them. And, wait, how many brothers do you have? You said 'two of'. Does that mean you have three brothers?" I ask, as our feet make gentle contact with the ground, right behind a line of people waiting in front of Rita's Water Ice, trademark symbol.

Gale smiles at me, rummaging in one of her many pockets for some pocket change. "I have four brothers and a sister. If I started talking about the amounts of aunts and uncles I had, you'd get boggled. Like, mind-boggled. Your mind would boggle, present tense. Don't get me started on the cousins."

"I won't. I can't imagine even having one brother, much less... four. Too many guys," I reply, already practicing my order so I don't stumble on it in front of Gale. There's a murmur of recognition from some people on the sidewalk, mostly for Gale. A small child stares at me, and I wave, trying to look non-threatening, which is kind of extremely hard with my edgy 90s outfit.

"Not fond of guys?" Gale teases me, making my heart immediately skip a beat.

I shake my head, recovering from the mini cardiac event Gale just unknowingly triggered. "No, I mean, guys are fine. I just don't want to deal with that many brothers. I've got enough on my plate."

"I get you. The more siblings, the more potential for chaos," Gale concedes, and I get the sense she speaks from a lifetime of experience. "I learned how to write peace treaties before I could brush my teeth."

We shuffle forward in the line, the scent of sugary water ice mixing with the late afternoon air. I focus for a moment, tuning into the people around us. My ears pick up snippets of conversations; work complaints, weekend plans, and-

"-Liberty Belle? Haven't seen her in action for weeks-"

"-You think she's dealing with something big? Government-level-"

My heart lurches again. This time it's not Gale-induced. My eyes dart to a man holding his phone, where the local indie hero-newscast plays - three people sitting at a table in some basement, chatting about the local hero gossip, transmitted over recorded video file. The man watching pauses it in frustration, waiting for the video to buffer, and I lose my train of thought.

Gale must see my distraction. "Something interesting over there?" she asks, nodding toward the phone guy.

I snap back to reality. "Oh, no, just zoned out for a moment. I can be a real space cadet sometimes. You know me!" I reply, laughing nervously.

"No, I really don't," she says, laughing. "So, are you ready to order?"

My rehearsed script kicks in. "Uh, yes. One large vanilla custard, please."

The employee, a bored teenager with a name tag that reads "Mike," and a face that reads "just learned how to shave," looks up from his phone. "Sure thing, one large vanilla custard. And you?" He turns to Gale.

"I'll take the cherry water ice," Gale says, handing him a crumpled ten-dollar bill, and a couple of ones.

Mike punches in the order, unceremoniously dumps our choices into cups, and hands them over with absolutely zero fanfare. "Enjoy. A dollar twelve is your change," he says, as Gale scoops the coinage from the change machine, stuffing it into her pocket.

We grab our treats, and Gale finds a nearby bench. Sitting down, she takes a spoonful of her water ice and seems lost in euphoria. "Ah, I needed that."

I take a bite of my custard, and it's instantly soothing. A tension-easing balm for the social stress I didn't realize I was accumulating. Well, that's not true, I was aware of it, I just also think I was really hungry. It vanishes into my mouth before a full ninety seconds can pass. Still, my stomach twists a little bit as the afternoon treat goes down, knowing what I do about Liberty Belle and her condition. Is she on some secret mission, or is she just hospitalized?

The mind reels. I stare blankly ahead, plastic spoon resting between infinite canines, until a shrill cry pierces the air like a klaxon - "Thief!"