Madame Science Chap 3 (Rough)

Here's chapter 3 of Madame Science (the revenge of the first draft!) 

I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

Here’s how I know that I have super powers—I wake up in the middle of the night and know exactly how to make the bionanites that ate through the field. Or, at the very least, something similar.

I swing myself out of my bed, stagger to the living room and pick up the file again. Bionanites are the only explanation for the type of inconsistent and directed damage, which is scary in itself. The only person I’ve ever met who can make nanites that complex is, well, me. And it totally wasn’t me this time. I would never have thought to use the type of super bacteria whoever did this used—I would have used my sentient slime. 

My first instinct is to call Ms. Barry and tell her to send my findings directly to the head of LA’s Hero Force chapter. Even if this wasn’t made by a super scientist, it’s not something regular forces can exactly stop. There’s got to be something I can make that a civilian can use to protect themselves, but I don't have the faintest idea for it yet. Best containment method is probably flash freezing or flash frying—both at the speeds which can only be achieved by superpowers.

I toss the file back to the table in disgust. But I can’t ask Ms. Barry to get me in contact with the Hero Force. I can’t even tell them about this myself. Doing so would violate my agreement and not even the Hero Force could help me out of that one. Super scientists aren’t super-powered. Not in their jurisdiction.

I frown, stilling in the half-darkness of my apartment. The streetlights outside filter through my blinds and I consider them thoughtfully. This can’t be the only incident. Something like this would require tests on a scale that’d be nearly impossible to hide. 

“Momento, come,” I call. Then, after a moment’s thought, “The rest of you too.”

I wince when I hear them all clicking out from under my bed. If I had the right tools, I could make them move soundlessly, but the right tools aren’t part of my agreements. An eerie green glow precedes my five little helpers out of the bedroom, their eyes lighting their way like headlamps. Oh my god, they’re so cute and dumb. I love them.

Momento hops and clicks his way to my feet and then sits, looking up at me expectantly. He’s not the most advanced AI I’ve ever made, but I try not to let people know about Evette. If she ever resurfaces, I really don’t want her getting traced back to me.

I crouch down and hold out a picture of the crater to him and then to each of the other four. I don’t really need to show each one of them—as a hive mind, what one sees they all see. It’s awfully cute how they click their heads to one side to indicate understanding though. I can’t resist. “Search for similar stuff, okay? The last five years.” The file didn’t mention a location, so I can’t narrow it down very far. “US restricted, please.”

Memento chirps understanding and then lays down, the four behind him following a microsecond after. When they find something, they’ll stand and come get me, or just send it directly to my phone. It won’t be for a couple hours. Five years of news articles and blogs is a lot to sift through.

As much as I should get back into bed, I know it won’t do any good. Once my brain is awake, I’m awake. Scott should be back home by now. I do some of my best thinking when he’s around. Or, at least, that’s my excuse. It’s been almost a week since I last saw my boyfriend out of costume. If he didn’t want me to drop in unannounced, he shouldn’t have given me a key.

I throw a sweater over my pajamas and grab my keys. After a moment’s thought, I grab the file too. If Scott’s asleep, I’ll want something to work on and, maybe, if he’s awake, I can ask try to ask him what he thinks about what little I can tell him.

“Hey, Scott,” I practice while locking up, “I’ve got this case that...tests DOD boundaries. Yeah, tests DOD boundaries. That’s vague enough.” I jog down the stairs and swear as I go outside into the brisk weather of early morning Los Angeles.

LA is a desert. Hard to imagine that it is with all the palm trees and skyscrapers and sunny beach graphics on every tourist pamphlet, but it is. When I lived in Chicago, I could handle temperatures like this easy. Somehow my bare year in LA robbed me of those defenses. I hop into my car as quickly as possible, cranking the heater up immediately. The nice thing about owning a nice car is that the air might even be warm by the time I get to Scott’s apartment.

Scott lives in a nicer neighborhood than I do, but still not as nice as he can afford. He says it’s because he needs to be close to the Hero Force’s LA headquarters, but I think it’s because he doesn’t know what to do with the extra money he makes working as a substitute teacher and an A-class hero. Contrary to popular belief, most heroes get paid absolutely shit. Salary depends on where you’re stationed and how many villains you fight per quarter. Scott’s never quite gotten used to the idea of being an A-rank hero and the perks that come with it.

I park on the street, ignoring the street cleaning warning. I’ll be gone before 7. The doorman knows me and doesn’t say anything when I push into the apartment building’s lobby and make a beeline for the elevator. When I first started dating Scott, I’d meet him down here, still unsure of my welcome. It wasn’t exactly easy moving past our past relationship of hero-assigned-to-stop-this-villain and chaotic-villain-who-must-be-stopped.

I still think it was pretty stupid of Scott to give me his address right away like that. For all he knew, I was lying to him, pretending to renounce my evil ways in order to catch him off guard. I wasn’t, but that’s beside the point. Heroes are always too trusting.

That’s why I need to become a hero quickly. Somebody has got to bring some common sense to the table.

I shoot off a quick text to Scott in the elevator, letting him know I’m coming over. If he’s sleeping, he’ll check his phone when he hears me come in. If he’s awake, he’ll find the twenty second warning funny.

The elevator dings and opens to the top floor. Scott’s super speed is fast enough he can run down the sides of the buildings if he has to, but he prefers to use the stairs at the end of the hall. This floor is the only one in the building with tile instead of carpet. Scott’s tread shows up too quickly on carpet so he’d paid for the replacement himself.  

There are two other apartments up here, but I’ve never seen anyone go in or out of them. I have a hunch that they belong to other heroes so I don’t mention them to Scott. He wouldn’t be able to tell me even if they are—he takes his oaths to the Hero Force very seriously.

I let myself into Scott’s apartment. It’s bigger than mine. There’s an entry hall where he hangs up his civilian jackets. The kitchen opens up on the right side, but isn’t a galley like mine. It’s open to the living room. It should feel like a big space and I’m sure it would if it weren’t for the stacks of file boxes Scott leaves laying everywhere. Between those and the student art projects he can’t help but keep, his living space feels more like the kid’s section of a library than a grown up’s apartment.

The lights are on and I check the time on my phone. Three am. Did he just get in? “Scott? It’s me.”

There’s no answer.  I can hear high-pitched wind, like the sound of a storm blowing in. I put my file down on the side table by the wall with my keys. I kick off my shoes and head towards the living room, frowning. 

The brown leather couch is empty, a stack of textbooks perilously balanced on one arm. The black coffee table, nearly overflowing with empty glasses and newspapers, is pressed flush against the furniture, clearing as big of a space as possible around the couch. There’s a carpet in here, a nice green one I helped Scott pick out online about a month ago in an attempt to make his apartment less boring. He’d said it’d be destroyed in a month which I’d pointedly ignored. Unfortunately, he was right. Already, I can see a ring worn into it where Scott’s paced around the couch again and again.

The sound of wind continues. Out of habit, I check the windows. Yup, closed. He’s somewhere in here, moving faster than the eye can see. Did he not notice me come in? “Scott?” I take another step forward onto the carpet. I know almost immediately that I’ve made a terrible mistake.

“Shit!” 

The wind rushes around me, twisting my pale hair up as if I’m in a tornado. Instinctively, I press the volume button on my phone, activating the taser as I lose my balance. Strong arms catch me around the shoulders, yanking me on top of a too-hot body. I drop my phone-taser just in time to keep from tasing my boyfriend when we hit the ground. 

Scott blinks up at me, seeming unsure of how we got here. He’s lucky he’s pretty. And that he wasn’t running long enough to get really hot. His power keeps him from getting too hot, but it’s still a bit shocking to touch a human running at 150 degrees. His arms tighten and loosen around my waist. “Christine? When’d you get here?”

“You are so lucky you’re pretty,” I tell him, out of breath. He softened my fall, but the adrenaline is still going strong in my veins. I drop my weight against him completely and feel a bit better when I hear him grunt in surprise. “I wouldn’t forgive you for running me over otherwise.”

“It’s not running you over if I caught you.” Scott’s warm brown eyes slide to where my phone-taser fell. “Thank you for not tasing me in my own home.” From anyone else that’d be sarcastic. From Scott it’s almost bemused.

“You’re welcome,” I say. I kiss the tip of his nose before climbing off of him. I hold out a hand to help him up, which he ignores in favor of jack knifing to his feet. The show off.“Now wanna tell me why you’re running marathons at 3 am?”

Scott and I are nearly the same height so I get a close-up view of how his expression clouds over and the light dims in his eyes. His smile turns humorless and small. “Just a...just a rough night. I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

I wave off his apology and steer him to the couch. I know what rough night means after a cancelled date. “You wanna talk about it?”

Scott lets himself be pushed down to sit and drags me down next to him before I can get him a glass of water. “Nothing to talk about,” he says but then sighs in the way I know means that there is something to talk about. I just can’t be the one he talks about it with.

I wrap an arm around him, urging him to lay his head on my shoulder. Scott goes willingly, body losing some tension. I’m glad he can’t see my face. I always feel so guilty when Scott has to stop himself from talking about his problems with me. If I was a hero or, at the very least, not a former villain, I’d be cleared to know a lot more of his life than I do now.

I press a kiss to the top of his head. “You got work tomorrow?”

Scott groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “You mean later today? Yes. I’m an idiot, I forgot to call out.”

“Ouch,” I say. As a substitute teacher, Scott doesn’t have a set schedule of when he’s needed in a classroom. Mostly they call last minute to have him fill in, but very rarely, he gets a 24 hour notice. If he accepted the job before yesterday’s skirmish, he really can’t call out. “What grade?”

“Fourth.” Scott squirms so that he’s mostly laying down, head on my lap. “I met the teacher I’m subbing for. She’ll have a good class.”

“At least there’s that.” I pet Scott’s hair. It’s still damp from his post-mission shower, curls hanging limply. I smile when I pull one and it springs back into place. “We can just stay in tomorrow if want?”

He cracks open one eye. “Are you sure? I know you’ve been wanting to try that new Indian place.” I can hear the hopeful note in his voice even though he’s trying to hide it. There are deep bags under his eyes. He really is exhausted.

“We’ll order takeout,” I say. Yeah, I’ve been wanting to try it, but it’s more important to me that Scott gets a chance to rest. I’ve seen him falling asleep at a restaurant already. It’s not as cute as him falling asleep at home. I hum and run my nails lightly over his scalp. “Are you being a hero tomorrow too?”

As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake. No one’s supposed to know Scott’s hero schedule, except for those cleared by the Hero Force. Obviously, that doesn’t include me.

Scott’s shoulders lose all relaxation and he pulls himself up into a sitting position, his back to me. “You know I can’t tell you that, Christine.”

“I know,” I say. I pull my legs up on the couch and balance my chin on my knees. Here we go again. “Bad wording. I just wanted to know if you’d be back late tomorrow or not.”

“Yeah,” Scott says. He fights to loosen his shoulders and twists back towards me. He tries for a smile and it comes out more rueful than understanding. “I know.”

I curse myself silently. Now I’ve done it. I try to lighten the mood. “Maybe you’ll get sent home from school early. You look like you’re about to fall asleep. I bet the principal takes pity on you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Scott slumps back against the couch and I internally pump my fist. I don’t want to fight tonight, not when I haven’t seen him for so long. Scott lets his hands fall to his sides.  “I’ve got to be out of here by 7. I don’t have the lesson plans yet.”

I drop my knees so I’m sitting cross-legged and lean forward to grab the hand closest to me. I thread our fingers together and wait. When he opens his eyes, I’m right in his peripherals, grinning. “Just put on a movie. I looooved when the teacher put on a movie. It always felt like Christmas.”

“I might,” Scott says. His smile is definitely more natural now and he lets his head fall back again. He squeezes my hand back. “What should I play?”

“Seasonal romantic comedies,” I say immediately. Over Christmas we watched about fifty of them and laughed every time the love interests said something beyond corny. I screw up my face. “Oh, wait, you said fourth grade, right? I change my answer, just play time lapses of butterflies coming out of their cocoons.”

Scott huffs a laugh. “I was gonna say…” He trails off, eyes still closed.

I let the silence build, just looking at his profile. He really is a handsome man. He doesn’t have the classic, square-jaw that you see in all those old hero comics, thank god. His chin is sharper and more inviting. I let my eyes fall down the length of his neck to his chest. His breathing is growing slower and deeper. I let myself just sit with him in silence, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

I used to hate the silence. I absently unthread our fingers so I can rub circles into the back of his hand. Silence with Scott doesn’t bother me like normal silence does. Being with him is relaxing in a way I never knew before. It’s funny how just looking at him has the power to turn off my brain for a bit. It’s nice.

After a couple of minutes, Scott takes a big breath and forces himself to wake up. “ I’m really going to fall asleep on you if you keep doing that.”

I stop tracing circles in favor of bringing his hand to my lips and leering. “Fall asleep on me? Why, Mr. Mitchell, how forward of you.”

Scott breathes out a tired laugh and flips his captured hand so he can cup my cheek. “How could I resist?” He watches me for a moment, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. “Everything okay with you? You’re not normally up this late.”

The reason for my insomnia comes crashing back. I pull out of his grip and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’d nearly managed to forget about it. “New case. I can’t shut my brain off.”

“Oh?” His voice is teasing. “Something finally got the great Christine Green stumped?”

“You can say that.” I hesitate. Scott’s really strict about what we can and can’t share with each other. But he usually lets it pass if I can be very, very vague. “I could actually use your advice. Nothing specific, of course, just...kind of need a hero’s perspective on it.”

“Sure,” Scott says. He sounds a little more awake now. “Yeah, what’s up?” He actually manages to sit up and look attentive.

“It might be nothing.” I get up to get my file. There’s only one picture in it that I can actually show him, but I hope he can tell that the damage is a super’s handiwork. Thank god I practiced how to say this earlier. “This case is a little more complicated than the usual ones. I have an idea as to the how but I’m not really sure of the who.” After some thought, I add, “or the why for that matter.”

 Scott folds his arms over the back of the couch, following me with his eyes. “So you’re saying even NASA would have a hard time with it.”

I pause, my back to him, hand on the file. He’s joking, but it’s actually a really good point.  “They could definitely have made this thing. I mean, if anyone’s sanctioned to...” Only it’s not sanctioned. I push the idea to the back of my mind to explore later. Rogue NASA scientists would be a little less bad than rogue super scientists, but a lot more unlikely. I turn and hold up the file. “But I don’t think so this time.” I hesitate, trying to remember exactly how I wanted to phrase this. “I think that the DOD might be a little outside their juris--”

“DOD?” Scott interrupts. He’s tense again and he hones in on the papers in my hand. “Christine, is that a DOD file?” There’s the start of a growl crawling through his voice.

Uh oh. I drop the folder to one side. Welp, looks like my idea of showing him the photo is scrapped. He’s really not in the mood to bend the rules tonight. “Uh, yeah, but I’m not asking you to look at it--”

Scott swears and jumps to his feet. “Damnit, Christine!”

Oooh, boy.

“Look, I really do want to hear what you think,” I say.  I don’t think it’s a laughing matter that there’s another super scientist of my caliber running around and if anyone knows the legally right thing to do, it’d be Scott. “The DOD is totally miscategorizing--”

“Do you not want to be a hero?” Scott’s not even listening to me. He throws his hands up, mouth a thin line. “I know you know that bringing that here is against the law. If you don’t want to be a hero, just tell me. Don’t break the law!”

I jerk, surprised by how much that stings. He knows how hard I’m working to change my status just so I can apply, no guarantee of getting into the Hero Academy. It makes me want to yell back, but my years as a villain taught me at least one thing Scott’s years as a hero didn’t teach him. Speaking from your emotion only gets you caught.

The ensuing silence as I struggle to gather my thoughts is awkward. I let it be awkward. It’s hard to push past the sting of his words, but I do. Scott’s reacting out of anger. He’s angry because I crossed a boundary.

“Christine,” Scott says. He’s deflated without me noticing. “I didn’t… I know you want--”

I hold up a finger and his mouth slams shut without me having to say anything. “Give me a moment.” It’s better if I have a chance to think through things before I react.

I crossed one of Scott’s boundaries. I knew before I started talking that this topic might, but I did it anyway. It’s one of my bigger flaws, my tendency to push and push. We’ve talked about it before and I can see how he might think the file was just another way for me to push things too far.

I take a deep breath. Right. “I’m sorry I brought the file. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but after thinking about it, I understand why you’re upset. I won’t ask for your opinion on this case again.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” Scott says, shoulders rounded. He rubs a hand over his eyes. “I know you want to be a hero. There’re things I can’t help you with though and I really need both of us to remember that.  Ms. Barry is the best the Hero Force has. Maybe you can bring this to her?”

I definitely can’t. If I bring this to her, every possible outcome if this thing gets unleashed in a city, she’ll find a way to get it to the Hero Force alright. At the expense of both our jobs. But, this is an olive branch, the only compromise Scott knows how to make. Talk about it, but not with me. I nod. “Yeah, yeah, I should’ve thought of that. For sure.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.” We stare at each other. My lip quivers first. I snicker. “Maybe alright can be our forever?” It’s a line from a hokey romance movie we watched.

Scott, relieved, grins. “Alright.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot, staring at me uncertainly. This isn’t the first time we’ve argued about this issue. He’s still not sure if we’re okay. “You staying?”

“For a bit.” I carefully don’t draw attention to the file. “I’ll do some work out here. You look extra tired now. You should go to bed.”

Scott waggles his eyebrows. “You coming with me?” He holds out a hand.

If I really wanted to make it alright, I’d take his hand. Hell, even if we weren’t alright, I’d be tempted. Sharing a bed with Scott is definitely a perk of our relationship. Still, I know I won’t be sleeping.  “I’ll just keep you up.”

“In a fun way?” Scott asks and tries to leer. We both agree I’m much better at it. He’s got too much of an innocent vibe to really pull it off.

“How’s this,” I say dryly, “you come back out in 30 minutes if you’re still awake. Then we can talk about the fun way.”

“Alas,” Scott says, “an obstacle the great hero Light can not overcome.” He comes around the couch and reaches for me. “Night, Christine. Don’t let your brain keep you up for too much longer.”

I accept his goodnight kiss and watch him stagger to the bedroom. I hope he figures out he’s still wearing his knee-high costume boots before he climbs in.

Only when the bedroom door closes and I can hear him start brushing his teeth do I let myself flop back onto the couch. Some of Scott’s textbooks thunk onto the floor. God, he is such a clutterbug. I half-heartedly scoop them into a pile on the floor. He’ll barely notice they moved.

Yeah, we made up, but I hate not being able to talk to Scott. He has to hate it too, I know he does. It sucks to not be able to complain about work with each other, but it’s also more than that. Half of Scott’s friends are heroes, his found family who have really been there for him when he had to cut off ties with his old life. Do they even know he’s dating an ex-villain? He says they know he’s dating someone, but not who. He wants to wait until I file an application for hero.

Now I’m getting irritated about my hero application on top of this case. Great.

I sit up and rub my temples. I don’t blame him for wanting to wait. It’s enough for me that he’s happy talking about our relationship with his friends. It’s a little sketchy for me to meet them when I’m on probation and I think it’s smart to avoid that situation entirely. If the Hero Force suspects that I put together a civilian face with a hero identity, they’ll relocate that hero. I don’t want to risk being the reason Scott loses one of his friends to the other side of the country. Especially since they’d been kind enough to follow him when I got him relocated out of Chicago.

At the same time, just because I understand doesn’t mean it sucks any less. I gave up my whole life to date Scott, just like he did when he had to move. And, yeah, I was kind of already planning on retiring from being a villain, but the point still stands. I knew I had to change to be in his life, so I did. I hung up the lab coat and started playing nice with the government. I knew it would be a slow process. I just didn’t realize how slow.

Frustrated, I  get up and head into the kitchen area. Unlike my apartment, Scott’s got room for a kitchen table. Half of it is cluttered with lesson plans and encrypted Hero Force reports. The other half is neatly organized with drafting tools and notebooks. 

Scott wants me to move in. It’s stuff like this—keeping a space clear of his chaos for me—that lets me know he hasn’t given up on the idea. I have my own bathroom set in the master bathroom and clothes in his closet. He always stocks my favorite coffee and jam for toast in the morning. He gave me a key barely three months into us dating and hasn’t stopped asking since.

I’m the one who keeps saying no. I purse my lips as I drop into my chair, pulling some drafting paper towards me. It’s not fair of me to invade any more of his life than I have. If I move in, he’ll have to stop having his friends over. He’ll have to hide when he’s working and when he’s hanging out so that I don’t connect times and locations to identities.

Even more irritated, I draw a rough sketch of a bionanite. It’s wrong, I can tell right away, but it’ll take me time to work through all the technical bits. This is part of the process. The tech portion is easier for me than the bio part. If you need any proof that I have a superpower, take a look at my sentient slime and then ask me to balance a formula. I failed organic chemistry in college.

I focus on working. When I put my head down, I hardly know that time’s passing. It’s only the changing light in the room that lets me know when the sun starts to come up.

After the third iteration of the bionanite design, about an hour before I need to make Scott coffee and leave, I throw my pencil down.

Moving in together wouldn’t be fair to me either. 

It makes me feel like a total villain to be mad about him asking me, but I am. I love him, I do, but living here, even as a civilian, would be suffocating. He’d be coming in and out at all hours, unable to give me an explanation as to where he’s going or when he’ll be back. I’d be even more monitored than I am now, the Hero Force and the DOD on my ass to make sure I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t.

I spent so many years making and doing whatever I wanted that the supervision I’m under now chafes. I’m not sure how much more I can take before I snap like I did all those years ago when I first became Madame Science. But how can I explain that to him when he’s been nothing but supportive and warm?

It’s not fair of him to ask me, like we’re in a normal relationship. We’re not. There are so many things we can’t talk about, people he can’t meet that are important to me, people I can’t meet that are important to him. 

When we first started dating, I knew it’d take time. But every time he asks makes me more and more conscious of just how much time. We have the potential to be really great together, I know we do, but we can’t be together yet. I feel like I’m always the one who has to be practical.

Being the practical one in the relationship is starting to feel like being a new type of villain altogether.

It’s not his fault. It’s not really my fault either even though it feels like it is. I had my reasons for becoming a villain, none of which ever took into consideration that I might fall in love with a hero one day. I should feel fortunate I get a chance to change.

Scott’s giving me a chance to change.

I roll up my drawings and try to shake off my negative vibes. I’m grateful, I really am. You can be frustrated and want more but still be grateful for what you have.

I throw together a quick pot of coffee for Scott. I’d planned to wait until he woke, but I don’t really want him to see me like this so early in the morning. I draw a quick heart on the whiteboard pinned to the fridge and head out the door.

Something’s bothering me about this case still. Hopefully Momento will come through by the time I get home.