Archive Mutants & Masterminds: Future Imperfect - [Fic] Old Friends, New Friends [Complete]

[z-Ronnie Collins]

September 30, 2011, 10:00 p.m.

The lights of Vegas gleamed overhead as the tall mutant pulled her beat-up Land Rover into the queue for valet parking. The tan vehicle wasn’t one of those pussified modern Rovers that were designed to make yuppies squeal because they could drive through a ditch; this was the real deal, shipped to the US in the eighties from the Gaza Strip when its owner had come to the US. Ronnie wasn’t sure where it had been before that; the widow she’d bought it from said her husband had bought it in England from a dealer before driving it home. Ronnie wasn’t sure she believed that, but she did like having a car that had history.

The Luxor. Why’d it have to be the Luxor? Ronnie thought sourly as she stared out the window at the gaudy faux pyramid front. Tonight, it was to see “Fantasy”, one of the hotel’s shows. It was, by all accounts, pretty steamy and it didn’t take a rocket genius to figure out why her date had chosen it. Someone was trying to get lucky. It would have never been her choice; this place had been a favorite of Travis’s and even with her attempts to move on, she wouldn’t have come here on her first real date. And a blind date at that.

“A date,” she muttered, glancing at the mirror. Her purple hair was done in nice curls and her makeup was impeccable – not that she was responsible for it. She’d paid way too much money for someone else to do this, just as she’d paid too much money for the black dress. That was harder to complain about, because it was damned cute, even on her – not that she’d ever admit it.

Finally it was her turn, and Ronnie exited the Rover. On a shorter woman, the movement would have been obscene; Ronnie’s long legs gave her enough height to merely step out of the vehicle. The valet’s eyes widened, first at her hair and then at her height. He backed away, shaking his head. Ronnie rolled her eyes and looked to the next guy, who was more than happy to take her keys and the tip she gave him.

Despite her height – or perhaps in spite of it – Ronnie had worn the only pair of heels she owned. She towered over other women and most of the men; anyone 6’2”and under was currently shorter than her. Eyes were on her as she stalked into the hotel’s bar, sidling up to the counter and tapping it with her knuckles. The bartender turned, quirking an eyebrow in silent inquiry. “Scotch, neat,” Ronnie ordered, getting a nod.

So I’m in the Luxor on a Friday night, dressed to the nines and waiting for a mutant named ‘Doug’. This is the last time I take a dare from Lena, Ronnie sighed to herself as she fished a cigar out of her purse and lit up, adding her smoke to the haze already permeating the room. It wasn’t truthfully a dare, but Lena and Tyler had goaded her into it by insisting she was still hung up on Travis. She’d finally signed up for a mutant dating service and got a date just to shut them up. Of course, they’d just find something else to tease her about, probably, but Ronnie didn’t care. She didn’t take teasing about Travis well. She admitted to herself that was probably proof that they were right about her feelings, but fuck if she’d tell them.

Her drink came and Ronnie paid for it, nodding at the bartender in thanks. Sighing through her nose, she took her first taste of the Scotch and nodded, feeling the fine liquor burn its way home. Who the fuck names their kid ‘Doug’? Bet he’s an accountant. A mutant super-accountant. Half-hoping she’d be stood up, Ronnie leaned against the bar and waited.

[Travis Kincaid]

Travis stood in the evening heat of the Las Vegas strip. He stood and stared and tried to remember what he could not. His memories were gone, he had been left with only an ID card to identify him and little else. With effort and a great deal of work he'd uncovered the details of his identity. He was Travis Kincaid. He owned a condo, dressed in suits, drove a Porsche, and apparently was incredibly unsentimental. His home contained no photographs of people who could be friends or family, no journal, no letters. Travis wondered what kind of man he had been to have so little connection to other people.

Travis stared across the street at the black glass pyramid. Its edges were lit, and drew the viewer's eye to the pinnacle where the brightest light source on the planet sent a beam of white light lancing into the night sky. Somebody bumped Travis and he blinked and shook his head. Frowning at the ache in his neck he checked the time and realized he'd been starting at the hotel for nearly ten minutes. "Obsess much?" he muttered to himself, and started for the crosswalk.

He crossed the street and approached the pyramid, passing one of the ancillary ziggurats that flanked the structure. He felt compelled but was unsure of what he was compelled to do, or why. Entering the casino he walked aimlessly until he found himself looking into a steakhouse restaurant; TENDER, the sign read. Though he was not hungry he entered and moved to the bar, looking around at the plush leather furnishings, and the dark wood flooring and paneling. He located a seat at one end of the bar and slid onto it. The bartender came over and asked, "What's your pleasure?"

[z-Ronnie Collins]

Ronnie knocked ash off her cigar, her eyes on her drink. She didn’t bother looking for Doug because he’d told her that he looked pretty normal. ‘Brown hair, brown eyes, six foot and wearing a tux’ were not going to catch her eye in this place. That was half the clientele in here.

Someone took the seat next to her, but Ronnie didn’t spare him a glance. Ronnie hoped he wouldn’t try to talk to her; she hated it when strangers came onto her. There were guys who thought the dyed hair meant a liberal who’d put out easily; others thought that the hair meant she was a mutant who’d put out easily. Considering that she actually looked nice, like she was hunting for a guy, the odds of that happening were vastly increased. Of course, Doug might be same way; it’d explain his choice in shows. She wondered what she’d do if he stood her up. He had the tickets; tonight would be a waste of time and money if he pulled that ass move.

“What’s your pleasure?” the bartender asked the man, next to her.

“Uhh.” Ronnie froze, her eyes going wide. She knew that voice. She knew that voice like no other; it had haunted her dreams and tormented her nightmares for months. Her purple eyes darted to the side; her breath rushed out of her as if she’d been punched in the gut. It was him. It was Travis.

Moron! her brain ranted at her a second later. He’s like you! It’s someone wearing his face! Travis is dead!

“I’m not sure,” the blonde said, looking lost.

“Vodka. Chilled and neat,” Ronnie blurted. The man and the bartender looked at her. Ronnie forced her eyes to meet the imposter’s, making deep eye contact. She held his stare; looking onto those blue eyes sent a spike of lust into her, igniting a fire she thought had burned out months in the past. Part of her was annoyed that Lena and Tyler were right and she was wrong; she wasn’t over Travis, at all. Another part of her wanted to grab him in a hug, wanted it to be him. But the strongest emotion in her right now was rage: she was going to figure out who dared to wear her best friend’s face and she was going to kill him so much.

The bartender gave the man a chance to rescind her order on his behalf; when faux-Travis didn’t, the guy shrugged and went to get it. Faux-Travis stared at her before asked, “Why did you suggest that?”

There was no recollection in those eyes; no arrogance or over-bearing smugness. This was not her friend, and Ronnie’s anger only flared hotter. “You look like a vodka drinker,” Ronnie said, drawing on her cigar hard. The pungent aroma of the smoke settled her nerves. “You also seemed a bit lost. Thought I’d lend a hand.” I’ll break yours off for you and shove it up your ass. “I’m Veronica. I don’t suppose your name is Doug?”

[Travis Kincaid]

He shook his head, "Nope, well..." he shrugged, "No." He stuck out his hand, "I'm Travis." His drink arrived and he looked at it. "Cold vodka straight up?" He sighed, "OK, here goes." He lifted glass and took the shot and started to cough almost immediately. "Oh, god that was horrid." Travis turned to his neighbor, "Do I still look like a vodka drinker? Or just an idiot?"

Ronnie smiled. She wasn't sure why; it could have been because it proved that he was not Travis, or it could have been because she always suspected his Vodka drinking was a machismo thing. Travis never drank it at home; instead he drank whiskey over ice. "No, not an idiot," she replied as pleasantly as she could manage. "Nor a vodka drinker," she added after a beat and laughed.

Travis laughed with her, "You're quite beautiful when you laugh. It suits you."

Ronnie blushed, her heart racing despite herself. He certainly had the easy smoothness, the casual capability with people, that Travis had. She found herself liking him despite her desire to tear the mask from his face and destroy him for impersonating her lost love. "Th-thank you," she managed to reply, realizing she'd simply smiled at him.

The bartender returned and gave her a much needed moment to recover as Travis became occupied trying to find something else to imbibe. He settled on a Scotch and the amber liquid was poured for him. He took a drink and shook his head, "Ice?" The bartender quickly complied and after a few swirls Travis sipped again and nodded, "Much better, thank you."

[z-Ronnie Collins]

The urge to kill him redoubled when he said his name was Travis. Now Ronnie was not just pissed for her dead friend's sake, she was insulted that these amateurs couldn't even find out enough of his background to make sure he didn't slip up like this. If he were pretending to be Travis, then he should fucking well recognize his partner of three years!

His compliments were flattering, even if they were daggers to her. Travis had never said anything like that; his comments had all been about the tits or the ass. And even if she liked him, he still had to die.

Ronnie tapped the counter to get the bartender to fill her up again. He complied as Ronnie tried to get her rage under control. That let the silence stretch into something uncomfortable. "Cigar?" she offered, to fill the awkward pause.

Travis paused again, as if he wasn't sure. Oh this is the worst fuckin' imitation I've ever seen! He's having to pause to recall what he's supposed to do! "No, thank you," the blond replied. "So, Veronica... are you here with friends?"

"Kinda," Ronnie said, after her own pause. "I'm supposed to meet a blind date here. One of those internet things."

"You?" the guy asked, then verbally backtracked. "I mean... you don't look like the kind of girl who needs to troll the internet for a date."

"I know you can't tell because I'm sitting down, but I'm really tall," Ronnie told him. "Throws most men off. Then there's the mutant thing, followed by the fact that I usually have bigger balls than they do." Her purple eyes watched him closely, gauging his reaction - and trying to decide what her next move was going to be.

[Travis Kincaid]

"Oh. I didn't, I mean obvious I noticed, I just didn't ... balls?" Travis leaned back a little and looked her up and down, "You're not ... I mean you look so ... you can't be ...?"

"What are you trying to ask?" She had no idea what he was confused about and then she saw his eyes flicking down, not to her legs, but to her lap. "No. I am not. I work with a lot of men, they treat me as 'one of the guys', but most of them find I have more stones than they."

Travis smiled, "Oh! Of course!" He laughed, the relieved laugh of somebody who had only a moment before been chewing quite thoughtfully on his foot and preparing to swallow it. "So, what is it that you do? For work I mean?" Ronnie felt her anger rising further, this guy wasn't half as capable as Travis when it came to talking to a woman. Even when Travis was being a sexist bastard he did it more smoothly than this.

"I'm a problem solver," she replied somewhat tersely, with her standard reply to the question. "I travel to where people have problems and see about creating a resolution. It keeps me traveling, which is nice." He nodded and they descended into silence, neither really sure what to say. Ronnie finally broke the uncomfortable silence, "What do you do?"

"Me? Umm, heh, I don't really know." Ronnie quirked and eyebrow at him. "It's kinda a long story, but basically I have amnesia."

[z-Ronnie Collins]

"Amnesia?" Ronnie asked, and there was pure skepticism on her face. "Isn't that a little... television?"

"Huh?"

"Like you know... lame and soap opera-ry?" Ronnie asked, quirking an eyebrow up. "I mean, you hear that on television all the time but never in real life. I work in a profession where lame excuses are brought up every day for one reason or another, but no one ever claims that. It's... too obvious. Too fake."

Faux-Travis was wincing by the time she was done. "Well, no one ever asked me," he grumbled, taking another sip of his whiskey. "I don't exactly enjoy this either."

"Huh," Ronnie said, now feeling sorry for this schmuck as well as pissed and insulted. The emotions that he was causing in her were as tangled as the ones Travis had created in her, so he was that consistent, at least. She was weary of this game and concerned that Doug was going to show up. "You wanna get out of here?"

"What about your date?" he asked, glancing around as if expecting her date to appear at that moment.

"He's late, fuck 'im," Ronnie grunted, grinding out her cigar and finishing her scotch in a single toss.

"Go where?" Faux-Travis asked. He looked interested, at least.

"Anywhere that isn't the Luxor," she answered, looking at him. Her eyes roamed over his face, watching the twitch of his lips and the small muscles working under the skin. God, I miss Travis and this fucker isn't helping.

He considered a moment before asking, "Do you mean to get ice cream or something?"

Ronnie stared at him. Ice cream? Seriously, she was talking about leaving and he suggested ice cream? Her Travis would have said, "Your place or mine?" to her first question. This guy sucked as an impostor. The hilarity of it struck her suddenly and she giggled, slumping over the bar for a moment. "Yeah, let's get ice cream," she replied, standing up.

He rose, blinking when he saw that she was taller. Leaning back over his chair, he finished the scotch and dropped some money on the counter. As he was doing that, Ronnie kicked her shoes off and picked them up; they sucked anyway and if he made a run for it, she needed to ditch them fast. He looked down at her bare feet and seemed to shrug.

Ronnie was about to turn for the door when he held out his arm. He looked unsure about the offering, but he kept it out there. Ronnie looked just as unsure, her hand hovering over his arm before tucking around it. His arm flexed under hers, warm and gentle, sending a pulse of excitement through her nerves. Her body didn't know that he was a pseudo-Travis; it didn't care that she was angry at him. All it knew was that someone she was sexually attracted to was touching her and it responded accordingly.

Ronnie added it to her emotional tab, to be paid later in his blood and pain, and left the Luxor with him.

[Travis Kincaid]

They exited the bar and then the hotel. Outside in the night heat Travis looked back at the gleaming black pyramid, with its light beaming from the top. "Something about this place. It's significant somehow, I just wish I could remember why." After one last, long lingering look he turned back to Ronnie, "Uh, sorry." They started off down the street and for a moment everything seemed almost normal given the absurdity of the evening thus far.

The pair walked for a few blocks along the strip in silence. Finally Ronnie realized they were approaching the Bellagio and Caesar's Palace. "Where are we going?" she asked, bewildered.

Travis stopped and looked around, "Beats me, I thought you were leading. I can't remember what I used to do for a living. The nearest ice cream shoppe isn't exactly on instant recall." He laughed, "I don't even know what flavor I like."

Mint chocolate you faker! Ronnie yelled in her mind. She wanted to wring his neck for so clearly not being Travis despite his face. The amnesia story was too convenient to be true, it was clearly the easy way around not knowing any of the details of the subject this person was imitating. Despite all of this she found herself falling into the same semi-smitten state that she'd had around Travis. It wasn't just his appearance, or the sound of his voice, it was the incredibly affable way he spoke with bluntness, it was the way his moved, with the stalking litheness of a man possessing perhaps too much self confidence.

Ronnie realized she was staring when Travis started to pass his hand in front of her face. "Hello? You ok?," he asked, "You drifted out there for a moment."

She recovered quickly, "Yes, yeah, I'm fine. I know a place, it's not far." They crossed the Strip and headed into Paris Las Vegas. "Well, at least I think they have ice cream," she added as they entered the casino and she slipped her shoes on again, "The Sugar Factory has plenty of sweets at any rate."

Travis eyed her skeptically, "You look too fit to know where to find the best sweets places, but then I don't really have a better suggestion now, do I?" He laughed and said, "Lead on!"

[z-Ronnie Collins]

Ronnie smiled and said, “You really shouldn’t judge a mutant by her cover. It’s bound to get you in trouble someday.”

Fake-Travis considered for a moment. “So you burn energy faster?”

“Close,” Ronnie replied. “I can control my metabolism, to a degree. I can actually control large parts of my body. That’s what I do, make minor shifts so I’m faster, can jump further or fight better.”

“I’m starting to get a very clear picture of the kind of problems you solve,” Faux-Travis muttered. He looked like he was going to inquire further but he didn't get a chance to voice any questions.

They wove their way into the Sweets Factory and stopped, Ronnie interrupting as she scanned the room. “I’ve seen that look before and all I’m going to say is I can’t talk about what I do,” Ronnie said, brutally cutting him off before he can ask. “Hmm, I’m also not seeing ice cream. Gelato, but not ice cream. C’mon, let’s go ask.”

Travis led them to the counter, where the salesperson almost turned up her nose at the idea of ice cream. “So if you don’t have it, where can I get some?” Ronnie asked.

“We have gelato, its better,” the lady insisted.

“Yeah, and if I wanted gelato, we’d be good,” Ronnie insisted, leaning forward a little. She consciously used her height to intimidate the smaller woman. “We don’t, so where’s the goods?”

Five minutes later they had exited the Paris and were walking along the Strip, directions in Faux-Travis’s hand. Their destination was the Excalibur Casino. “This is like a mile, you know,” Travis told her.

“Afraid of walking?” Ronnie asked, her expression teasing. She caught herself too late to stop it; he felt so much like Travis that she found herself treating him like Travis.

“No, I just had a better idea,” he said, steering her toward the horse carriage on the street. Ronnie slowed a little and he paused. “Your shoes don’t look very comfortable and I just thought it’d be nicer than walking or taking a cab.”

“Good enough,” Ronnie said, giving him a smile she didn’t feel.

Still arm in arm, they approached the carriage. “Sir, will you take us up to the Excalibur?” Travis asked the driver.

The older man smiled and nodded. “Sure thing!” he said. “We’ll have to take the back way, hope that’s alright.”

“The longer and more expensive way?” Ronnie asked.

The driver’s smile faltered a bit but Travis said, “That’s fine. Is that ok, Veronica?”

Ronnie considered a moment before nodding. “Sure. Yeah, let’s do it.” Some giddy, girly part deep inside of her gave a little squeal of delight before she ruthlessly crushed it.

Travis gave her a hand up into the carriage before settling in next to her. After a moment of uncertainty, he linked her arm around his again. With a gentle lurch, the horse rocked the carriage into motion. “So, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re a little scary,” he remarked, “and kinda cynical.”

Ronnie glanced at him and saw only open interest – not in her body, like she was used to from Travis, but in her, as a person. Her purple eyes assessed him for a moment as she listened to the horse's hooves clop against the pavement. She shrugged and said, “I grew up in a bad part of Detroit, ran with a gang after I ran away from home and served in the Marines for a while. So the first is really a compliment as far as I go, and the latter… things just happen certain ways, right? Life can only suck for so long before you learn that’s just the way it’s going to be.”

[Travis Kincaid]

Travis shook his head ruefully, "That's ... that's terrible."

"It's the way life is," she replied bitterly.

He didn't move but she felt him draw away nonetheless, "I can't believe that. If I did I wouldn't be able to hope that I could get my memory back. Somebody out there must know me, be looking for me, and someday I'll find them and maybe they can tell me who I was. Help me remember." He looked out at the passing lights, the people on the sidewalks, the bustle of the Strip. "If I can't hope that will happen I don't have anything to live for. I don't even ... I don't even have another goal right now."

"Other than to show me a good time you mean?" Ronnie asked. Travis would never have acted this way, as far as Ronnie knew Travis had no family and lived only for the moment.

"Well I meant, you know, big picture goals, but yeah, that too. We're here. Lemme help you out." Travis slipped out the carriage and then helped Ronnie out.

As she disembarked her dress slid up her thigh revealing a healthy portion of skin. She caught Travis staring at her legs, blushing slightly at the amount of skin she had shown. "You see something you like?" Ronnie asked him, her tone suggesting that the correct answer was not the truthful one.

"I uhh ... need to pay the driver," he evaded and dug for his wallet pulling out a few bills and passing them to the man.

[z-Ronnie Collins]

Ronnie was quiet as Faux-Travis paid the man and turned back toward her. He visibly quelled a little at the look on her face. It made Ronnie want to slap it off his face; Travis never ever would have flinched like that over something as dumb as a dirty look. “You were looking at my legs.” The statement was delivered with calm but the man could see she was upset.

Travis looked away, his face embarrassed. “C’mon,” he said weakly, “that’d be rude.”

Ronnie stepped close, getting in his face. “And normal. Take your balls in your hand and admit that you’re a man and you like women – and that you like looking at pretty women.”

The handsome face set in sullen lines for a moment before he lifted his chin and said, “Fine, I was looking at your very nice legs.”

“Just looking at them?”

“Admiring them, even,” he retorted. “Happy?”

“Yeah, because I’d rather have you acting like a man than a whipped pussy,” Ronnie replied. “I know that women say they want men to be women with cocks, but I’d rather have a man be a man. You guys are not women and shouldn’t have to act like us. You’re going to notice us. Some of you are going to be happy just looking, but no one is happy pretending to be something they aren’t.” Which is probably why I’m so fuckin’ unhappy so often. “But what the fuck do I know? I’m not exactly a girly-girl.”

“I caught that with the cigar,” Travis said, looking at her. “You like being ‘one of the guys’ don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ronnie replied, grinning crookedly, “cause women are taught to be submissive and two-faced. We’re told not to confront each other so all we can do is passive-aggressive snipes to get what we want. We do that to men and beat them down because they’re told that’s the way it is supposed to be done. Well, fuck that. Lemme be one of the guys and gimme a guy who has a fuckin’ spine.”

“But you make such a lovely woman,” he said, with that smile that had melted her heart so many times before. “An unusual one, but lovely.”

Ronnie flushed hotly, her cheeks almost glowing. “Let’s get that ice cream,” she said gruffly, taking his arm. His grin widened as they walked inside together. They were able to find the shop – or rather ‘shoppe’ easily enough just by following the signs. The place was designed to look like an old-fashioned ice cream drug store; even the poor staff were wearing the period-appropriate uniforms. Dodging tourists and their children, the two made their way to the counter.

“What do you want?” the pimply-face boy asked, his face tired and bored as he stared at them.

“Two scoops of Rocky Road in a waffle cone.” As the kid opened the glass and started carving out scoops with the spoon, Ronnie glanced at the man imitating her partner. “Lemme guess, you don’t know what you want here, either.”

[Travis Kincaid]

Travis smiled, a rogue’s smile, and for an instant there was that old sparkle in his eyes and Ronnie was fully smitten. Then he opened his mouth. “Nope, but I really just like watching women eating ice-cream cones.” He winked at her, letting her in on the joke, but Ronnie knew better, that was the unvarnished truth with a stain of jest applied after the fact. Not-Travis bent over at the waist and looked into the display case at the various flavors making “hmm”-ing sounds as he slowly perused the offerings.

If you were really Travis you’d order mint-chocolate, but you aren’t Mr. Faker. You ARE NOT him! Externally she smiled pleasantly, and even deigned to give Not-Travis a little laugh and a roll of the eyes at his “joke.”

He finally stood up, “I’ll take chocolate ripple, in a dish please.” He looked over at Ronnie, already liking her cone, and winked again. Ronnie couldn’t help but flush a little before she could stomp that down too, mashing it into a pulp and stuffing it with the other emotions. She resolved to enjoy wiping that look off his face.

Travis paid, and the pair headed back out into the evening. Travis once again found him staring at the black edifice of the Luxor, its peak sending a beam of purest white to the heavens. Reluctantly he dragged his eyes away, “Want to do something else? I’m open to ideas.” He scooped at his dessert with mild disinterest, it tasted good, but he felt it was missing something. Sprinkles?

“Well, we could catch the fountain show at the Bellagio. If we’re lucky it won’t be the country music version too.”

Travis smiled, “I’ve never seen it.” He stopped, considered, and then added, “At least I don’t remember having seen it.” With a shrug he started walking, “Either way. Sounds like fun.” Together they backtracked for the second time in less than two hours, and walked the mile to the Bellagio where the fountains were just starting to dance as the music played.

Fifteen minutes later the show finished, and the fountains returned to their loop between shows. Travis tossed out their garbage before asking, “How about a nightcap?”

[z-Ronnie Collins]

Ronnie stared at him for a moment, a smile playing over her lips. “So is that a ‘your place or my place’ nightcap, or a ‘let’s go into the Bellagio’ nightcap?”

Travis blinked at her for a moment, a slow grin lighting up his features. It was his sexy grin, the one that had made Ronnie want to say ‘yes’ more than once in the past. “I think the Bellagio could be awkward, don’t you?” he asked, leaning on the railing and looking like the cat that had caught the mouse.

“Alright,” Ronnie replied, “your place then. Do you have a car here or do we need a cab?”

“Why my place?” he asked as he offered her his arm again.

Ronnie leaned against him, looking down at him. “Because I don’t bring men to my place unless I know them,” she answered truthfully.

“Hmm. Well, I’m only a couple of blocks away, anyway,” Faux-Travis replied. They walked together quietly as he led them away from the blazing lights of the Strip to the merely bright lights of the side streets. Ronnie was quiet until Travis angled toward a certain building; she stumbled, stopping. “What? Something wrong?”

“I…” Ronnie stared up at Travis’s building. She hadn’t been here since before their last mission. “I had a friend, my best friend, who lived here. He died last year.”

“I’m sorry,” the faker said, and sounded like he meant it. That face, looking at her with such care, shook Ronnie to the very core. “Want to go to your place?”

“No.” Ronnie shook her head firmly. “It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it.” She gave him a smile. “Really, it’s ok.”

“Alright,” he said, moving forward again. The doorman nodded at both of them. “Good to see you again, ma’am,” he said to Ronnie. “You look nice tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a weak smile. It wasn’t until they were in the elevator and her ‘date’ hit the button for Travis’s floor that Ronnie understood that this ass had invaded every aspect of Travis’s life. It was way too appropriate that she’d be beating the shit out of this guy in Travis’s apartment. And who said life doesn’t come full circle?

[Travis Kincaid]

Ding

The elevator doors opened and Travis led Ronnie out and down the hall to the condo she already knew they were going to. "I should warn you," he said as he unlocked the door, "it's a little messy at the moment." He opened the door and they walked into his living room. As ever, it was stylishly laid out and furnished, with a large TV and entertainment center along one wall facing an array of chairs and couches. The dining area that overlooked the balcony was a clutter with papers and photos. The wall adjoining the bedroom to the dining area was covered in similar objects.

“I’ve been trying to find out what happened to me,” he said, almost apologetically, as he gestured to the mess. “What would you like to drink? I have a full bar. I don’t know if that means I was an alcoholic or just entertained a lot.” He laughed and moved to the wet bar adjacent to the kitchen. The entire condo had an open floor plan, with only a few rooms on either side being walled off.

“Scotch, neat.” Ronnie walked in and moved to the dining room, looking over the papers strewn about. A copy of his birth certificate, driver’s license, pictures of people, school transcripts, even bank statements. He’s done his homework, and now he’s passing it off as amnesia, the perfect excuse. I’ll rip his face off! She turned, about to accuse him and charge across the room, only to have her hand suddenly filled with a glass. Her momentum pushed her into him and for a moment their bodies where pressed against each other in an awkward, yet intimate, moment.

Then they separated, each taking a half step back. Travis laughed, the kind of forced laugh used to relive an uncomfortable moment, “Yeah, so that’s me. Laid out and tacked up. Everything I’ve been able to find so far. According to that there, I’m a mutant too. I can fly, or I could if I remembered how.” He pointed to a photocopy of a Mutant Registration Card. He shrugged, “Am I still a mutant if I can’t remember how to use my power? According to the feds I am!”

[z-Ronnie Collins]

“And this was all you could find?” Ronnie asked, sipping her drink while running her fingers over the papers. None of the pictures were people she recognized and she wondered who they were. His parents? Old friends? No way to know and she wasn’t sure she cared.

“You know, I think you’re right about one thing,” Ronnie said, pausing to snap back the rest of her drink and set the glass on the table. “You have someone out there who cared about you a lot. Someone who misses you.”

“You really think?” Travis said, looking a little hopeful. “What happened to your cynicism?”

“Everyone has someone who cares about them,” Ronnie said, staring at Travis. She reshaped her muscles to make them denser; make her stronger. There was no such thing as ‘overkill’ in this situation. Her throat felt tight as she said, “My friend, who died, had me. We were partners, we had each other’s backs. That’s why you should have chosen someone else to impersonate.”

The impostor blinked at her in confusion, but Ronnie didn’t give him a chance to ask what she meant. Instead, she hit him in the face, her fist connecting with his nose and driving it through his skull and out the back of his head. Or that’s what should have happened. Instead, the force of her punch was countered by a force that diffused the impact into the air and floor around them. Papers rattled and blew off the table; a low whump was heard in the floor. Travis didn’t even spill a drop of his drink.

The two stared at one another. “That… should have hurt!” Travis said, putting his hand up to his nose, in shock. “What the fuck?!”

“Your… control over kinetic forces dispersed the energy of the attack out around you,” Ronnie said, her tone stunned. For the first time, her companion saw true vulnerability in her eyes, as well as a spark of hope. “But… you’re dead… the cave-in!”

[Travis Kincaid]

“Jesus, what the fuck Ronnie? You trying to cave in my skull? Wait? Why didn't you cave in my skull, or even hurt me? What the he-”

Ronnie was cradling her hand, a couple of the bones might have been broken by the blow, but her regeneration would fix that in a matter of minutes, in the meantime she was certain she just heard him call her Ronnie. “What did you call me?”

Travis stopped, “Huh? What? I don't know, Veronica, I didn't swear at you I don't think.”

“What. Did you. Call me?” She grabbed his shirt and shook him, “Think damnit! What did you call me?!” She was right there in his face, inches, less than an inch, close enough to mash her lips to his, to taste him, breathe him in. Oh, Travis, is it really you?

“Let go of me!” Travis, never the most physically imposing or powerful man, struggled ineffectively against Ronnie's grasp. “I didn't call you anything! Let me go!” Something unseen ripped the two of them apart sending Travis sailing through the air to impact the opposite wall, and simultaneously throwing Ronnie into the “wall o' Travis.”

“Ham humda hurnn,” Travis said into the carpet.

“Huh?” came Ronnie's reply.

Possibly-but-maybe-not-Travis lifted his head, “That shoulda hurt. More at least.” He sat up rubbing and rotating his shoulder. “I think I pulled something,” he complained.

[z-Ronnie Collins]

“You called me Ronnie,” Ronnie said, pushing off the wall and moving toward him again. She stopped as he tensed. “No, it’s alright, Trav, I’m not going to try to hit you. Well,” she added with a sudden giddy laugh, “unless you deserve it, of course!”

“Veronica-”

“No, no… Ronnie,” she repeated. She wasn’t thinking as she knelt in front of him, going to one knee. “You have always called me Ronnie.”

“Have you… what is going on!” Travis yelled. “We came up here for a nightcap, and you attack me and now you looking at me like I’m your best friend…” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“OK,” Ronnie said, not liking the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Let me start over. I’ve told you that my best friend died last year. He was my partner and his name was Travis Kincaid.” Travis’s eyes widened and jumped up to meet hers for a moment before dropping again. “When I saw you in the bar, I thought you were an impostor, taking over his life.” She waited a beat before asking, “Well?”

“Hmm?” He looked up at her again. “I uh… think I heard most of that, but could you please lower your knee and repeat it?”

Ronnie suddenly understood what he was looking at and her face turned bright red as she dropped to both knees. Still clearly embarrassed, she repeated what she’d just said and waited for some kind of response.

[Travis Kincaid]

"Nice panties."

Ronnie flushed red again. "Well?!"

"Well what?" Travis continued to rub his sore shoulder, "You clearly know more than I do. What the fuck do you want me to do?"

"What do you want to do?" she pauses and added, "Don't say fuck." Travis closed his mouth and shrugged, his answer was obvious, and so very Travis, she almost wanted to give in to him just for that. "Let's start with... do you believe me?"

"You tried to break my face, and shook me around like a rag doll, and you've told me nothing I didn't know. So, how can I?" He shook his head, "I can't that's how."

Ronnie sat back on her heels, frowning. "You died in a cave-in in Algiers while we were on mission together. You like to pretend you like Vodka, but you prefer scotch. You really like sex and no, we've never had it."

Travis barked a harsh laugh, "Every guy likes to have sex, the vodka was gross, and the rest could be made up. Do you have proof?"

"You have a scar on your chest. You got it on a mission, on a submarine. It's about four inches long, pretty ugly."

Travis narrowed his eyes, "You could have seen that through a window, or had access to medical records. No, I want real proof, proof you aren't just saying you knew me. A picture. You got a picture? If we were friends that shouldn't be a tall order."

Ronnie nodded and carefully got to her feet and then offered him a hand up. He followed her to where we purse lay discard and she pulled out a beaten and weathered strip from a photo booth. "This was taken while we were hiding from ass- ... a bunch of assholes." The first photo showed them looking nervous their eyes looking in the direction of the curtain. In the next one, Travis had grabbed her breast and wore a wide grin in contrast to her own look of shocked outrage. The third is a blur of motion, and the last showed her glaring at him.

Travis studied the picture for a moment and then looked up. "Hard to argue with that," he said with a wide grin.

[z-Ronnie Collins]

Ronnie sighed with relief, carefully putting the pictures away. Once they were safe, she turned to Travis and gave him a hug. It was nice, to feel his strong, masculine body and inhale the scent that was unique to him. His arms circled her – and about ten seconds later, his hand landed on her ass. “God damn it,” she said crossly, “we were having a moment and you ruined it.”

“I notice you haven’t made me move it,” Travis said, his other hand migrating to her other cheek.

“Only because I just found out you came back from the dead,” Ronnie said, drawing back enough to give him an arch look. Their bodies remained in close contact and she added, “Consider this a ‘welcome back from Hell’ gift.”

“Sex is a better gift,” Travis suggested, using his grip on her ass to press against her a little.

That was going nowhere good and Ronnie quickly said, “And we’re done.” Stepping back, she shook her head at him. “You never did know where to draw the line.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah, like I like finding a rat foot in my taco meat,” Ronnie snorted. Seeing all the possible, awful retorts to that, she cut him off. “So! I’ve got some more information for you about you. Ready to hear it?”

“Yeah,” Travis said, moving to the couch and sitting down. Ronnie smiled a little to see him getting right into business mood. Just like Travis… Fuck, but am I glad he’s back.