Jesse looked around the room where she'd spent most of her waking hours for the past five years. The walls bore the pale rectangular scars of posters removed, stacked in a neat pile on the left side of her desk. On top of the pile sat her grade book, patiently awaiting the arrival of whoever replaced her. To the right sat a box full of her personal items. It would have been nearly empty, but for the last-minute gifts from her students.

Rolls of posters lay across the top of the box, some cheap inspirationals, some battered banners scavenged from the kids' own rooms. Inside the box containers of candy, chips, and letter after letter completely obscured her coffee mug, her small collection of novels, and nearly buried her potted plant. She'd told them the day after she'd signed Charlie's contract. For two whole weeks, they'd been silent, subdued, and she slipped into depression as their hurt at her betrayal ate at her.

Then, on her last day, when she'd still brought cookies and soda for a final treat for her students, they'd surprised her. She'd arrived to find the classroom decorated, a perfect store-bought cake shoved to the side to give pride of place to the slumping, over frosted monstrosity baked by her students in the school's own kitchen. Her students leapt out at her, shouting 'surprise', and the tears and laughter almost made her regret her decision to leave.

Drew hadn't. She wasn't on the municipal PD's payroll any longer, but she'd only officially resigned after Charlie had the contract for the county in hand. Steve did the same with the fire department. He even worked out of the same building, at least until Charlie's new headquarters building finished construction. Angela visited her remaining patients once a day and spent a few hours a day in the ER as well, but she'd already put together her lab in the warehouse where Charlie had stored her new equipment.

None of her friends left their old lives behind entirely, but then, none of them had her responsibilities, either. She looked around the room one last time, making sure nothing looked out of place for her replacement. Only her desk looked wrong; last time they cleaned the floors they'd stuck it in place with floor wax, not quite square with the walls. She reached under the desk with one hand, stretched her fingers until she gripped the desk across all four legs, and lifted. Slow, inexorable pressure mounted until, with a screech of protest, the legs of the desk pulled free of their coating of floor polish.

She set the desk down gently, squaring it with the walls. She'd been too surprised when Agent Johnson made his offer, too excited when Charlie made his, but she'd finally seen the smaller problem. The following Monday, in class, she'd looked around at the children in her class and realized what would happen the first time some criminal, or worse some villain with powers of his own, decided he needed to get her out of the way. He'd attack her kids. Before the final bell rang that day, her resignation arrived at the board offices.

That reason pushed her away from her classroom, but only today had she realized the bigger, scarier reason. When she'd stepped into a darkened room, when all those bodies leapt out from behind concealing desks, her first response hadn't been surprise. It hadn't been joy at finally seeing how much her students and fellow teachers cared. Her first response had been to see which of her attackers posed the greatest threat.

Something was terribly wrong with her, and she had no idea what it was.

***

Katrina leaned back against Damien, propped her feet on the arm of his sofa, and stole the remote.

"Hey!"

"You channel surf."

"I don't want to see commercials."

"Fine. We'll watch the news."

Without looking she sensed his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Before she could chide him, his hands started working the knots from her sore limbs. She melted back into his embrace, barely retaining enough control to flick the button on the remote.

"...in other news, billionaire Roger Gerard announced today he is entering into the private security field. When asked why, he had this to say:"

The bland anchor's face slid aside in favor of a distinguished looking middle-aged man behind a podium. At the cut, he stood motionless, his expression one of careful attention to the interviewer's question. The moment the clip started, Katrina could tell he'd been made up to look older, or at least less physical.

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"That's an excellent question, Marie. Everyone in the world is reeling from the damage done by the Rain of Fire. Emergency services are overwhelmed, and while most people have stepped up to help their fellows, some others have taken the opportunity to grab anything they can. I'm sure some folks will say that's exactly what I'm doing, but... I didn't get rich by providing services people didn't need. I'm not going to pretend to be a saint. I'm doing this because I saw a business opportunity, but I'm also doing it because I saw an opportunity to make money by doing the right thing.

"Emergency response teams across the country are being pushed to their limits dealing with the ordinary, everyday emergencies. When something out of the ordinary occurs, they slip a little further behind. What Gerard Security's Chess Men are offering to every one of those precincts is breathing room. A chance to replace their slow slide into chaos with a renewed march forward to something better."

Katrina frowned at the screen as, instead of switching back to the anchor, it stayed focused on the billionaire's press conference. She hadn't tuned in to watch an infomercial. She moved her finger to change the channel, but the next question froze her in place.

"Mr. Gerard, how is your decision affected by the recent emergence of so-called 'super heroes'?"

Carefully cultivated distaste flashed across Gerard's face before he answered. "I'd say 'not at all', Fred, except no one's naive enough to believe that. The emergence of these individuals is bound to change the challenges faced by the Chess Men, but the same training and technology which allows them to act in the midst disasters both natural and manmade will allow them to act in the face of opposition from specially gifted individuals as well.

"In addition, there is no reason those individuals should have privileged status in the eyes of the law. If they're acting as duly deputized representatives of the government, like the Chess Men will be, there will be no need for conflict. If, on the other hand, they've taken the law into their own hands, or worse, done the unthinkable and used these gifts to bring harm to their fellow human beings, we will treat them the same as we would any other criminal; we will bring them to justice."

The television went dark, followed by the lights in the room. Katrina let her eyes slip closed, implications of Gerard's speech racing through her head.

"Do you think he's coming after us?"

Damien's quiet question crystallized her growing sense of unease. She'd gone along with Damien's suggestion because she wanted the story of a lifetime. She'd kept doing it...

She kept doing it because it felt good to be a hero. Right, like she'd finally found her real calling. She wasn't giving up on being a journalist, but she couldn't turn her back on being a hero, either. Since she and Damien had left the costumes hidden in the collapsed building, she hadn't done anything. She'd called in sick every day, claiming injuries covering Centurion and Siren. She'd ignored her producer's calls until he tracked her down at Damien's place. She met him in a pair of shorts and midriff shirt, yellow-green bruises still covering her legs and body, the cuts scabbed over and starting to scar. He hadn't called again, just sent her an email telling him to call when she felt well enough to return.

Damien interrupted her musing. "We need to hide. If your producer can find us, a guy with a few billion to blow on his own private police force sure as hell can."

She rolled over, his hands lifting as she twisted until she floated above him on a cushion of gentle, strong hands. He smiled up at her, his hands sweeping her hair back behind her neck.

"So, where do we run to, love?" he asked.

"We don't."

"He'll find us."

"Not if we stop hiding."

Damien frowned. "He'll just find us quicker that way."

She held out one hand. "Phone."

His frown deepened, but after a moment her cell phone slipped into the palm of her hand. She flipped it open and paged through her contacts until she found Agent Johnson's.

"What are you going to tell him?"

"Everything. If we come clean, they can't hold anything over us."

His hands tensed, and a low whistle escaped his mouth. "We might wind up in prison."

"Yeah, no. If they try anything like that, my next call is to Eduardo."

"They might not give us a phone call. They might just throw us in a hole and forget about us."

She looked away from her phone, staring into his eyes to calm the roiling madness that boiled up in reaction to the thought of Damien in danger. Her voice still echoed through the room.

"If they try to throw me in a hole, I expect you to come get me out. If they throw you in a hole, do not despair, I will come for you."

He smiled up at her, his frown banished. "That might not be the best situation for it, but I'm sure you will. Dial, news girl."

She hit the call button and drew the phone to her ear. Before she'd finished the motion, Johnson's voice spilled out into the room. "I'm a bit busy. Speak with Angela Merilyn at Parkway Memorial Hospital."

With that he disconnected. They stared at one another for an endless, breathless moment. She realized, staring into Damien's eyes, that there had never been a question. Everything they'd done had led to this point, avoiding the next step seemed unthinkable. Katrina twisted, moving to rise. Buoyed by a thousand gentle hands, she floated to her feet. Damien rolled out of the couch to stand next to her. She turned to stare at him, expectant.

"Ready for a road trip?"

She smiled. He might worry about her decisions, but once she decided, he backed her with everything.

"Allons-y"