Roxie's breath had slowed.
Not completely—there was still a hitch to it, a tremble around the edges—but the worst had passed. The storm of cobalt mist had faded. The wings were gone. The glass had stopped falling.
And Dianna still hadn't let her go.
Her ankles were locked behind Roxie's back, legs tight and clumsy around that impossible waist, arms looped over shoulders like ivy with nowhere else to climb. One hand—her dominant one, with the chipped purple nail polish and a scab from catching Tiny's cymbal last week—was buried deep in Roxie's hair, gently combing through the tangled fall like she was petting a wounded animal.
Or a miracle.
"Hey," Dianna whispered. "It's all gonna be alright."
She didn't know if it was true. But she believed it. At least for now. At least while the girl who just revealed herself to be Titania—the Queen of Iron, the terrifying powerhouse on every talking head show—was curled against her chest like a kicked puppy.
Dianna stroked her hair again. "You're okay, babe. We're okay. Just breathe."
Roxie didn't answer. But she didn't shake either. That was progress. For a long time, neither of them moved.
And then—
Roxie shifted, slow and careful, as if worried even her joints might be too loud. She tried to sit up but Dianna didn't let her. Her thighs clamped. Her arms tightened. Her grip went from soft to steel in a heartbeat.
"No," she said, faux-sweet and sing-song. "You do not get to get up until you promise me you're gonna talk to me."
Roxie blinked, surprised by the sudden resistance. "I—uh—what?"
"Promise," Dianna insisted, eyes narrowing even as she smiled. "Talk. To. Me."
Her voice was light, teasing. But her body didn't budge. She was wrapped around Roxie like a koala who'd declared squatter's rights on a eucalyptus tree.
Roxie sighed. Loud. Defeated. But not unhappy.
"Yeah," she muttered, resting her forehead against Dianna's shoulder again. "I guess so. Sorry, again. About the chandelier."
Dianna snorted into her hair. "Girl, if you cry about that chandelier one more time, I will make you go with me to get new ones. And I'll use a coupon."
Roxie blinked. "You have a coupon for a chandelier?"
"No. But I'll make you find one. Just to punish you." Dianna said lovingly.
Dianna didn't release her right away.
She tightened her hold, actually. A stubborn little vine of a woman, digging in with all the coiled power her dancer's frame could muster. Ankles locked, arms looped, core engaged like she was bracing for a backflip off the loft rail.
But Roxie didn't resist.
She just… sat up.
Slow. Gentle. Irresistible.
Like dawn pulling itself above the ocean, like gravity remembered it had nothing on her.
Dianna's whole body lifted with her at first—dragged along until Roxie gently peeled her loose with one hand, prying away those arms and legs like she was unfolding a stubborn origami knot. Carefully. Lovingly. But with a strength that made Dianna's breath hitch in her throat.
Hydraulic. That's what it was. Not violent. Just… inevitable. The woman was a hydraulic press with tits!
Dianna let out a little gasp—not fear, not pain, just this wide-eyed sound of holy shit, this is mine—as she was gently eased back into a seated sprawl. Her hands flopped in her lap, suddenly light without Roxie's weight between them.
"I promise," Roxie said softly.
She brushed some hair out of Dianna's eyes—sweet, clumsy fingers with a callus or two. "As long as my earpiece stays quiet… I'm not going anywhere."
Dianna swallowed. Hard.
Because she could feel the weight behind those words. Not just love. Not just guilt. But intention. That quiet shift in the air when someone decides to stay, but is ready to leap away to go risk their life for a stranger. And she demured, would that edge always be there? Did she live like that all the time? She watched as Roxie steadied herself, smoothing her sexy red dress
Roxie had just started to draw a breath—to maybe say something else, maybe not—when Dianna launched herself forward.
Not with grace. Not with planning.
With velocity.
"Fine!" she declared, limbs flailing for exactly one second before she landed squarely in Roxie's lap, legs draped over, planting her butt firmly on Roxie's one exposed thigh. "But I'm staying right here! As an insurance policy."
Roxie blinked down at her. "Insurance…?"
Dianna crossed her arms And huffed playfully. "Yeah. Emotional hostage. If you try to lie again, I'll cry and guilt-trip you in front of your friends. Possibly while naked."
Roxie's eyes widened and her pale cheeks immediately turned pink, at the threat. The slightest hint of blue began to drift up from Roxie's exposed collarbone.
"Oh," she said softly. Then she shook her head and if banishing the image from her mind. "Okay. So… what do you want to know?"
And for one fraction of a second, it was quiet enough to answer.
But of course, Ashley inhaled like a blowfish about to pop, already halfway to blurting out everything she'd ever wanted to know about Capes, powers, vigilante justice, and who Titania would cast in a biopic.
"Ashle—" Emily started.
"OH MY GOD, SO LIKE, WHEN YOU PUNCH A—"
A hand slapped over the dog girl's mouth. Firm. Gentle. Final.
Elizabeth, standing tall with her spine straight as an oath, gave her the calmest look a human being had ever given a Labrador retriever in a crisis. "You'll get your turn," she said evenly. "Let them have this, Ashley Johnson."
Ashley whimpered behind the hand. "Ugh. Fine," she muttered, voice muffled. Then, with the most theatrical eye-roll on record: "Mom."
Dianna settled deeper into Roxie's lap, and laid her head on Roxie's breast. Everything about this girl was so soft! If Dianna hadn't been witness to the weird flight and glowing aura Dianna never would have believed Roxie's confession. But Roxie was looking down at her, waiting for her to ask something.
So Dianna asked the first thing that came to mind, "Why didn't you just tell me?"
Roxie didn't answer right away.
She glanced toward the shattered chandelier, then down at her own hands. They still trembled slightly. Like they remembered the glow, even if her skin had gone quiet again.
"Two reasons," she said finally. Her voice wasn't defensive. Just quiet. Honest. "The first… is because I care."
She looked into at Dianna's eyes then—really looked at her—and to Dianna's surprise it was just Roxie. Tired. Tender. True as she had ever been. Roxie kept talking, "And because despite your theatre kid exterior, Dianna Rodgers…" She smiled, faint and fond. "You care."
Dianna blinked.
Roxie went on, brushing one thumb along the curve of Dianna's arm like she needed the contact to keep steady. "If you knew every time I was late… every time I said I was tired when really I was bleeding… every time you saw Titania throwing hands on the news… You'd be worried sick."
A pause.
"And you were already so kind to me. Offering me a place to stay when I needed it. Letting me in. I didn't want to repay that kindness with fear. I didn't want to burden you with this."
Dianna blew a raspberry. Loud. Dramatic.
"That changes today," she declared, lifting her chin like she was about to swear herself in on a stack of vampire romance novels. "I am officially claiming the title of girlfriend—and all the worry that comes with it." She poked Roxie in the chest. Gently. Like a kitten. "So there. You can just sit on it and spin, sister."
Roxie blinked, stunned for a beat. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Dianna cut in, mock-severe, "that I know now, so don't do it anymore. No more secrets. No more ghosting me to go punch evil reprobates. I get to worry about you now. That's the deal. You kiss me before you dash off to go be a hero."
Roxie opened her mouth, stunned that Dianna would just say it like that... But Dianna didn't let up.
"And besides," The Aussie added, sliding her arms back around Roxie's neck like she'd never left, "you've taken care of my drunk, stupid ass more than enough that I think we're even on the whole 'offering you a place to stay' bit."
She tapped Roxie's jaw with one knuckle. "So that one's gone now." A pause. Then, quieter. But not soft. Not afraid. "What's the second one?"
Roxie went quiet for a moment. All the warmth in her expression didn't vanish—but it… flattened. Took on weight.
"Because," she said, voice steadier now, but serious in a way Dianna wasn't used to hearing from her. "I'm bulletproof."
She reached up, gently brushing a thumb over Dianna's cheek. "And you're not."
Dianna tilted her head. "Rox—"
"I'm not saying that to be dramatic. I mean it literally." Her tone didn't change. "If someone shoots me? I walk away. If they shoot you?"
Roxie didn't finish that sentence.
Instead, she stared off over Dianna's shoulder, like she was watching a scene play out in memory. Or warning. Something she'd already rehearsed alone a dozen times.
"I know it sounds dumb," she added, almost apologetically. "But… there's this line. From the old Sam Raimi Spider-Man movie."
Dianna blinked. "Wait. What?"
Roxie's lips quirked up, but her eyes didn't smile.
"It was awful. Campy. Over the top. But there's this moment. Willem Dafoe, right? He's talking to the Goblin mask. And he says—"
Her tone shifted. Just a little colder. Just a little distant. Like she'd memorized the words not for fun, but for what they revealed. Like she had said these words to herself a million times in her own head.
"Spider-Man is all but invincible. But Parker? We can destroy him. Betrayal must not be countenanced. Parker must be educated."
Roxie swallowed, and continued.
"Instruct him in the matters of loss and pain. Make him suffer. Make him wish he were dead. And then… grant his wish. The cunning warrior attacks neither body nor mind… The heart, Osborn. First—we attack his heart."
Roxie exhaled.
"I never forgot that."
Roxie didn't drop her gaze. She let the quote hang in the air for just a moment longer, then folded it gently into truth.
"I've been on the job," she said. Quiet. Steady. "Everywhere in Florida. Eight months now."
She didn't puff up. Didn't brag. Just listed the facts.
"I've made enemies. Not all of them powered. Some are just people. Organized people. Narco gangs. Gun runners. Smugglers. A couple of Mafia guys."
Dianna's eyebrows twitched. She stayed silent.
Roxie kept going. "And the thing is… they can't do a gosh darned thing to me."
She smiled, faint and brittle. A Sunday school smile over trench warfare.
"I've taken bullets to the chest that didn't so much as bruise. I've thrown a man through a truck. I've walked into burning buildings without slowing down."
The smile dropped.
"But.. if they find out who I am... They can put a gun to the heads of the people I love." She swallowed. Once. Hard. "They can call me. Use a scrambled number. Say, 'knock over the Woodforest on Main, or we scatter your mother's brains across the dining room wall.' And I'll have to decide whether I believe them before I even have time to suit up."
Her voice broke just a little.
"And now—now, you could all be under that gun too." She looked at Dianna again. Looked at her like a lighthouse in the fog. "Because I can't be everywhere at once."
Roxie sat back slightly—not away from Dianna, just enough to see her whole face. To really look at her.
"Right now…" she began, and her voice had changed again. Still gentle. But heavier now, like she was reading from something engraved in stone. "My identity is—was—a closed loop."
Dianna stayed still, her hands loose in Roxie's lap now, fingers twitching with the urge to do something—touch, comfort, anchor. But she didn't interrupt.
"Exactly six people in the world knew who I was," Roxie said. "My mother. My dad. My priest. My handler. The tech guy who issues my gear. And one lady at the federal registry." She paused. The silence that followed was soft but absolute. "That was it."
Her fingers traced idle circles on Dianna's thigh. Not consciously. Just habit. The quiet kind that kept a person steady when the weight got too much to carry upright.
"Small. Isolated. Easy to control."
Then, slowly, Roxie looked up—past Dianna, past the dust still hanging in the air, past the broken chandelier and the half-finished drinks and the stunned quiet of the Pack. Her eyes swept the room. She made sure to meet every gaze before finally, she looked back at the girl sitting in her lap. The girl who had wrapped her legs around a weapon and dared to call her 'mine.'
"Now…" Roxie whispered. She swallowed. "Now there are eleven." Roxie didn't cry when she said it.
Didn't tremble or flinch.
She just spoke. Calm. Flat. Like she was offering someone her last cigarette before stepping into the fire.
"So… it's not my life riding on this secret anymore," she said. "It's yours."
Her fingers curled slightly around Dianna's wrist. Not to hold her there. Just to feel her.
"There are people," she added, swallowing hard, "in the DoD. Quiet people. Hidden divisions. Who can make you forget."
Dianna's eyes widened. Her breath hitched—but Roxie didn't stop.
"They wouldn't kill you. You don't have to worry about that. But if I asked… or if they thought it was necessary…" Another swallow.
"They could take it. All of it. Everything about me. Every word. Every touch. Every moment."
Roxie looked down. Not ashamed—just... resolved.
"I can go," she whispered. "And it would be like we never met." She looked back up, gaze steady. "If you'd like that."
And that was what broke the room.
Because it wasn't a threat. It wasn't even an offer.
It was mercy. Roxie wasn't trying to protect herself—she was trying to protect them from herself. From remembering her. From having their connection to her dragging them into a war they didn't sign up for.
And for Dianna...For Dianna, that suggestion hit like a knife between the fucking ribs.
The idea that Roxie—this girl, this creature of light and ache and unfathomable strength—would sacrifice her joy, her memories, her very existence in Dianna's heart, just to keep her safe?
It was horrifying. It was noble.
It was unbearable.
How much did this girl carry? She acted so mature most of the time that Dianna forgot how young she was. She was only 18! Dianna couldn't imagine being that stoic when she had been 18. Dianna of 6 years ago was practicing playing bass and was only worried about getting into school!
That alone had been more than enough stress! Christ! How did she stay so smiley? Dianna didn't speak.
She just shook her head. Small. Slow. Like her whole body couldn't accept what she'd just heard.
Then she wrapped her arms tighter around Roxie. Tighter than before. Like she was trying to press herself into the hollow beneath her girl's ribs and never let go again.
She didn't say a word.
But someone else did.
After a long, aching silence—
"Fuck that," said Tiny, quiet but clear.
He leaned forward from his spot on the couch, resting his massive elbows on his knees, dark eyes soft but full of steel.
"You are way too cool to forget, Big Momma."
His voice didn't shake. It didn't rise. It just… landed. Solid. Real.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say—if those are the choices? Silence, or some kind of mind-wipe?" He looked around the room like he was looking for a voice of dissent. Then he looked back to Roxie.
"Silence is definitely the better option."
A pause.
"What do you guys think?"
Elizabeth didn't even dignify the question with a full answer. She just scoffed into her wineglass like she was drowning in chardonnay and irony. The kind of scoff that carried years of disdain for people who made bad choices.
Ashley—still half-curled in Emily's arms—let out a low growl that vibrated in her chest.
"No way," she barked. "You think I'm gonna forget this just 'cause some Men in Black wannabe told me to? Bite me."
Emily shook her head, gentle but firm. "No brain pokey for me, thanks," she said, patting Ashley like a service dog in distress. "Besides… we like you too much. You're the best cook in this whole group."
And through it all, Dianna said nothing.
Not until Roxie looked back down at her.
And then—then Dianna kissed her. Soft lips, pressed warm to Roxie's mouth. No rush. No apology. Just a simple truth wrapped in skin and courage and contact. And when she pulled back—just barely, just an inch—Dianna whispered into the space between them.
"No way! You're. Mine." She touched her forehead to Roxie's. "I'm not going any fuckin' where."