Summary: Gwen, Connor, and X-Men trivia.
Pairing: Gwen Raiden/Connor
Rating: PG
She never, ever went for that lame returning to the scene of the crime thing. Only morons and comic-book supervillains went back to evilly laugh over their victims' misfortune. Professionals got the job done and got busy spending the paycheck.
This time out, though, the job hadn't been finished, and so she hadn't been paid. Which was okay - Gwen was more than rich enough to not lose any sleep over the pathetic ten thou her client had put on the table - but there was such a thing as pride in one's work. And, she had to admit, plain old curiosity.
She hardly got to see museums when they were actually open to the public. That was a pity, because she really did like art, but after a while in the business it had stopped being pictures and sculptures and started being floor plans and price tags. She meandered around the galleries for a while, mentally tagging the paintings that were valuable, and those that might be collectible in the right market, and the ones that were plain old paint-covered crap. Every time she passed a security guard she checked the face, but they were all wrong. Too old, too tall, too female.
She was starting to think that her guy only worked the graveyard shift when she took a wrong turn into the cafeteria and there he was. Sitting by himself at a table beside the wall, sandwich in one hand and a juicebox in the other, somehow keeping the book in front of him open with an elbow. Out of the navy-blue uniform, he looked even younger.
The cup of coffee she bought at the counter was nasty, overpriced and made her regret even more that she hadn't managed to rip this place off, but she drank it and watched the kid. Thin, kind of a sweet face, probably older than he looked unless the art museum owners were breaking all kinds of employment laws. And she couldn't shake the sense that she knew him from somewhere.
He finished up his sandwich and cleared the table, neatly disposing of the trash before he picked up his book and made to leave. Gwen gladly gave up on the stewed coffee and was thinking about following him - nothing else planned today and she was genuinely curious about this boy - when he turned and saw her.
Gwen waved. The kid lifted his hand to wave back, then caught himself, glancing quickly at the door behind him and then back at her. She wasn't worried that he was going to call security. She'd chosen the table near to a very convenient emergency exit that would take her out the back of the building and let her get lost in the BART station before the boys in blue-and-teal could get near her.
Maybe he worked out the same thing, because instead of turning her in he came over.
"Hey."
"Hi." She smiled, inwardly smirking when it made him blush. "Having a good day? Got your tights on beneath the jeans?"
Looking quickly around them, he dropped his voice to a stage whisper that she could have told him only made them more obvious. "Listen, you can't try to steal anything, okay? 'Cause I'm gonna have to stop you and I don't want to do that."
"Why, because people will find out what you are?"
At least he didn't try to deny it. "Yeah, they will. And I'll be on CNN and get dissected by the government and you'll go to jail for a million years, so just don't."
This time the smile wasn't just to knock him off-balance. "Nah, I'd get parole in a thousand years. Tops."
He grinned back, and she thought that maybe if Bruce Wayne and Selena Kyle had to fight without masks and costumes then maybe they'd never get to the archnemeses thing at all.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" she asked.
"So are you going to tell me your secret identity or do I have to keep thinking of you as a Peter?"
He frowned thoughtfully. "Parker or Venkman? Because either would be cool."
A kid on rollerblades whizzed between them, his arm grazing Gwen's. For a second she caught her breath, but the child was skating on, around the corner and out of sight and not thrown across the park in a surge of electrical current. God bless LISA.
In the sunshine, her arms and hands looked very pale, the legacy of years of wearing elbow-length gloves. Beside her, 'Peter's' hands were swinging loosely by his side, bookbag clutched by one strap and almost brushing the ground. Maybe he was relaxed because there was nothing out here she could steal, not unless she was desperate for a Frisbee or a picnic blanket.
"My name's Connor," he said.
"Connor. That's nice."
"My grandparents were from Ireland."
"I thought all Irish people had red hair?"
He looked pointedly at the violent streaks though her hair, and she grinned.
"Anyway," he said, "I'm... adopted, so I'm not sure. About the hair thing."
Stronger than anyone she'd ever met - except that big rock-monster two years ago, or Angel - and super fast. She was going to have to check at the library, see if there had been any meteor showers about eighteen years ago.
"When did you know?"
"That my mom and dad weren't my real parents?" They turned a corner into a wide, open area. No trees here, but the path branched off past huge banks of sweet-smelling flowers. "Not till a couple months ago."
He was talking about it casually enough, but there was enough potential for childhood trauma there that she didn't want to poke at it. "When'd you know you were a freak?"
"Is that what we are?"
She shrugged. "I'm electro-girl, you're the boy wonder. Mild-mannered security guard by day, protector of bad artwork by night."
"Mild-mannered business major by day, actually. I do the security thing on weekends. It kind of sucks but the money's okay, and hardly anybody ever tries to rob the place." He raised his eyebrows at her in what she guessed was going to be a stern way, once he grew up and stopped being cute and non-threatening.
"Where do you go, Berkeley?"
Connor actually stopped dead in his tracks. She couldn't remember seeing any physically double-take before.
"Ah," she said. "Stanford boy. I was the one who stole that Axe thing you guys are so nuts over, by the way."
"Are you kidding?" His mouth and hands seemed to have declared themselves independent nations from the rest of him. "You... the..." And then he was laughing up at the sky, all Colgate teeth and huge smile. "This is totally nuts. You are so the coolest person I've ever met."
She waited till he was at least close to serious again and then she said, "How did you know my name?"
That snapped him back to wariness, as if they were back two nights ago, slowly circling each other in a deserted gallery. "I don't. You didn't tell me it."
"I know I didn't. But at the museum the other night, you called me Gwen." Her kind of work relied mostly on verbal agreements; her memory for things people had said was nearly perfect.
"Oh," he said, as his face said 'busted'. Yeesh, if he was going to go anywhere in the superhero game he had to learn to be a better liar. "That's... one of my superpowers. I can instantly tell anyone's name."
"That's a dumb power."
"Is not," he insisted. "Not as lame as, uh - Beak."
Gwen folded her arms, prepared for a long and bloody battle. "Do you want to start us down the X-Men trivia road? Is that a road you want to take? Because Beak is not lame."
"Dude, he's a giant chicken with a Mohawk."
"I'm not saying he doesn't have his flaws..." She pressed her fingers to her forehead. "This is stupid. Being around a teenage boy is physically making me stupid."
"Hey!"
"Nothing personal."
He lifted his chin, still looking hurt. "Yeah, well. You're a criminal."
Oh, like that was supposed to hurt. Real zinger, there. "Yes, Connor," she said. "I am."
People flowed around them - parents with kids, temporarily escaped cubicle monkeys, a couple of teenagers who openly goggled at Gwen's chest. Gwen and Connor stood in the centre, not looking at one another, not speaking.
Connor hitched his bag onto one shoulder. "I have to go."
But he didn't move, and it was Gwen who had to turn and walk away.
The second time, she got in exactly the same way as her first night-time visit - easy rappel from the skylight and five seconds jimmying a lock. She didn't even have to turn off LISA.
Connor was sitting cross-legged on a bench in one of the galleries, nose in a paperback.
"Hey," Gwen said, adding, "Come on, peace?" when he stood up so fast she was scared he was going to fall over himself and break something.
"You have to get out of here," he said. The uniform was dorky and the hat just made it far worse, but the earnest tone of voice that stopped her from poking fun. "I don't want to fight you."
"I don't want to fight you, either." She held up her hands, showed that they were empty. Not that that left her without weapons, and he'd know that. Last time they'd done this she'd arced a bolt of lightning at the ceiling, deliberately missing him. But he'd kept fighting, and she'd realized this boy wasn't a regular mundy, and that she'd have to kill him, and ten thousand dollars wasn't worth that. "I just came to say - whatever. Sorry, I guess."
"What for?"
She struggled. "I don't know. Reminding you what I was when you were trying to ignore it? Calling you on lying? Because you knew my name and I know we've never met."
"We have."
Hold the phone. "What?"
"We've met. In LA, two years ago. You just don't remember."
"I don't forget people," she said.
"You would've forgotten me. It's okay," he assured her, "I only met you that one time. It wasn't like we were close."
He sounded so sure. "So, what, you really do have another weird superpower? Kiss of Forgetfulness or something?"
His eyes widened and she realized what she'd implied, and that nothing like that had ever happened between them but that maybe it had crossed his mind, or was zigzagging across his mind right now, and suddenly he was just that boy she'd thought was funny and bizarrely cute in the park.
"Wow," she said, fighting not to laugh. "Maybe I should go to jail for a million years. Making out with underage boys."
"Shut up," he complained. "We so never made out." Glared at her with a sulky teenage pout, but she could tell he was trying not to smile.
"You can trust me, Connor," she said, knowing there was no reason why he should believe it. She wasn't sure she believed it.
This was a moment, she thought, when it could go either way. Enemies or friends. Batman and Catwoman, or just two people with a couple of quirks in common.
He smiled.
"Okay," he said. "X-Men trivia. First question..."
End