Alek unwrapped the bandages from his hand and stared down at the scarred knuckles. Scars not from his recent injuries, but from cuts made long before he had gained the ability to heal so quickly. He flexed his fingers, the fluid movement unhindered by any pain. The only reminder of Alek's outburst from the night before was the broken mirror, the glass of which the teenager had cleaned up. He made a mental note to replace the shattered mirror just as he heard a soft murmur behind him.
"I thought you had left." The girl standing in the doorway of the bathroom wore a white tee-shirt that hung loose to her mid-thighs. The fact that the tee-shirt was his brought a rueful smile to the boy's face. Tara noticed the grin and ran her fingers through her tangled locks self-consciously. The gesture was lost on Alek, for the sleepy eyed girl had never been more beautiful to him. 
"Are you hungry for breakfast?" he asked her. "I know a nice restaurant by the pier we could go to." When Tara only returned his gaze with baffled wide eyes, he added quickly, "Or I could cook us something if you would rather stay in. Pancakes, maybe. I'm sure there's some morsel of ingredients to our disposal that the others haven't had the opportunity to-"
"Alek," she interrupted. 
"Yes?"
"You don't have somewhere you have to be this morning?"
Alek racked his brain a moment, wondering if he had forgotten something of great importance. He shook his head slowly at her. 
"So, Nic hasn't called you for some mission or pow-wow?"
There was only one thing Alek could think Nic would want to talk to him about, and he dreaded it as a ship's crew dreaded a storm on the sea's horizon. He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend's waste. "What if I were to quite Double Helix?" he pondered aloud.
The astounded look on Tara's face redoubled. "What?"
"It seems worth considering." Alek would have admitted that the thought had only just occurred to him and leave it at that, but elaboration on the idea came easily. "I have enough training that I don't require the extra assistance of a second team. And It would mean more time for us to be together. I see no reason why Batman would object to us working together on missions if we prove to be an effective team."
He looked back down at the girl to find her shocked into silence. Just when Alek began to think relating the inquiry had been a mistake, Tara finally responded, "You would just quite? But they're your family."
"They are my family," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean they need me there to fight. "
"What about Silver?"
The image of his sister as he had last seen her, pale and still on the cot, nearly made him wince. "She will understand." That he had no doubt about. Though he was uncertain wether Nic would be furious at him or happy to be rid of the boy who had lashed out at him, Aryess would agree that this was the right choice for Alek if she could. 
"Is it that easy?" Tara asked, sounding doubtful and elated at the same time.
"I'm sure there'll be a few things to put in order, but it would not take long for me to be a member of this one team and free from my duties on the squad."
"Only if you're sure..."
Alek grinned and kissed Tara lightly on the lips. "I'm positive," he assured.
Tara matched his smile with her own. "Now," she said. She trailed a finger over a scar on his bare chest, "about those pancakes."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jace closed his fingers around the cold hilt of the dagger. He shut his  eyes, and with it, the world. The anticipatory expressions of his teammates, the curious eyes of the doctor, the hum of the refrigerators and buzz of the lights overhead. He concentrated on the icy steel in his fingers. And it's essence. 
At first there was nothing, then he saw it, or rather, sensed it. The warm glow was a fire among the frozen tundra of the inanimate object. He drew toward it with his mind and felt the heat envelope him and brought with it the light at the end of the tunnel.
She had almost lost sight of him in the bustle of the crowd. Once they had gone out onto the deck, it had been easier to spot the tall, burly man as he threaded around the ship to the engine room. 
She waits at the corner until the man disappears over the threshold, then races forward to catch the door before it slams shut. As quickly as she can without tripping on the him of the silk dress, the predator ascends the metal staircase to the second door where her prey had gone to. Slips into the room before the heavy door falls into place.
With no barrier against it, the roar of the engine room is deafening. In the dim light, it takes her a moment to detect the particular shadow of the man among the machinery. 
He is crouched, his back to her. The box he is meddling with blinks red.
"Disarm is," she orders. The man jumps up and whirls around, the metal shoe-box she has already already identified as a bomb is clutched in his hands. He chuckles. "This, girly?"
"Disarm it. Now." 
"And if I do'n't?"
She sweeps the slit in her dress to the side, exposing the sheath strapped to her thigh and pulls the hidden weapon from it. The familiar weight of the blade in her hand is reassuring as she faces the madman holding the explosive. "I'll disarm you."
"It's already set. You kill me, you kill eve'yone on dis boat." He says this with a hint of fear in his voice. No experienced terrorist would falter at the sight of one knife. But if he's a rookie, then how did he sneak past all of the guards to get on the ship and evade Ruse's telepathic influence? Her teammate would have picked up on the threatening thoughts, wouldn't he have? 
"I know someone you could disarm it," she assures. The truth is a partial one. Adam, the youngest of the Kenways, had a knack for creating stink bombs and timer explosives. Whether he could take one apart was another matter.
The man is shaking in his boots now as he thinks he has lost his leverage. She can practically see the fear radiating off him. "I-I ca'n't do dat," he stammers. Maybe it isn't fear that is creating the glow that forms a halo of gold around the trembling man. For the first time she sees the glint of something grasped between his left hand and the box that contains the explosive. "He'll kill meh." 
"Who?" she asks.
"Him, h-he- no, I ca'n't!"
"Sir," she lowers her voice, "there are people's lives at stake. You don't want to do this."
"No, I do'n't!" he's panicking, the glow nearly blinding. It is coming right from him, she observes as she lifts the hand not holding the weapon to shield her squinting eyes. "I ca'n't stop it. Help me!"
"How?" 
"Kill me!" the man begs. "There's no other way!"
She hesitates. "Hurry! Wha's so hard 'bout it? You were goin' to do it a moment ago, weren't you?"
The roar of the engines has been drowned out by a buzzing like that of a electromagnetic current in her ears; the terrorist was a shadow in the white light. She's blinded, yet can make out the target that would end the mayhem; deafened, yet can hear the shouts of, "Do it! Whatre you waitin' for?!". 
I'm sorry. She raises the ballistic knife, feels the recoil as the blade ejects from the hilt, stumbles back and trips, falls behind a water heater. She is aware for one moment of a stab of pain in her leg, then thunder claps and water rushes into the hull.