It's a strange dichotomy, I find myself musing as I observe the big man from across the room. On one hand, having a non-powered municipal suit jockey calling the shots still rubs me the wrong way sometimes, an artifact of my old stubborn streak. But on the other, there's no denying the steadying influence Jamal's brand of grounded, by-the-book leadership has brought to this fractious bunch of two-fisted heroes over the years.

I shake my head slowly, a reluctant half-smile ghosting across my lips. Ol' Professor Franklin really did know what he was doing when he laid the groundwork for this little passion project of his, bless his genius soul.

"Oh, before I forget..." My voice cuts through the gradually dispersing clatter, pitched to carry across the room. A few heads swivel in my direction, brows arching in silent inquiry. I offer them a wicked grin. "You guys are never gonna believe who showed up bawling on my doorstep last night."

That gets their attention. Elijah pauses mid-stride, fixing me with one of those patent skeptical glares that only a man capable of curating twelve separate expressions of disdain could properly cultivate. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Sam Small," I announce with a theatrical flourish, relishing the way their eyes collectively widen in surprise. "As in Bloodhound herself, dripping mascara and snot everywhere while clutching a bottle of Hi-Pop like a torn-open jugular vein."

A beat of stunned silence greets my proclamation - then Clara lets out an inelegant snort of laughter, swiftly muffling the burst of mirth behind one perfectly manicured hand. "Oh my... you can't be serious."

I flash her a toothy smirk, propping my hands on my hips in a practiced stance of cocksure nonchalance. "Hey, I'm just reporting the facts, Clarence. Kid showed up on my stoop around eleven, looking like a drowned rat that got hit by a trash truck on its way to oblivion. Good thing my kids were already asleep."

"She knows where you live?" The words are halfway out of Kwame's mouth before the dawning realization seems to strike him, one granite slab of a brow arching skyward. "Ah... I see now. That would indeed explain the unannounced visitation. She's taken more than a bit from her mentor, has she?"

I can't quite suppress the low chuckle that rumbles up from my chest at the big man's mild understatement, shaking my head in exaggerated ruefulness. "Yeah, let's just say little Miss Samwise has inherited a bit more of Diane's bullheaded tendencies than any of us would like."

My gaze slides over to where Elijah and Jamal are sharing a silent look of muted consternation, the former's mouth settling into that unmistakable downturn of irritable chagrin. I shrug, letting my own expression settle into one of carefully cultivated obliviousness.

"What? You'd think by now you'd all have come to expect random invasions of personal privacy when it comes to that particular crew of baby bats," I point out with a rakish wink. "Not like any of 'em have ever heard of this radical new concept called 'boundaries'."

"Be that as it may..." Jamal rumbles, leveling me with one of his patented scrutinizing stares from beneath those heavy brows. "The question still remains - what prompted Miss Small to seek you out specifically? I was under the impression her support structure primarily consisted of friends and teammates her own age."

I open my mouth to respond, but Elijah gets there first with a grunt of begrudging acknowledgment. "The orientation factor, most likely." He catches my arched look and shrugs those broad, corded shoulders in a sharp, dismissive jerk. "What? You're the only out queer affiliate within the girl's immediate orbit. Stands to reason she'd feel most comfortable approaching you under... delicate circumstances."

Jamal lets out a soft hum of consideration, seeming to weigh Elijah's assessment before nodding slowly. "A fair point, I suppose. Though I have to wonder how exactly our young friend even ascertained that particular... proclivity."

I bark out a laugh at that, thumping my fist against the meat of my bicep with a dull thud. "Oh please, did you see the googly-eyed look she was sporting around me back during that Hedge Hog dust-up last month?" Another rakish grin splits my features as I glance around the circle of my teammates. "Kid was thirstier than a damn cactus lost in the Sonoran, you really think anything less than psychic gaydar could've picked up on those horny little infrared pings she was beaming my way?"

Clara snorts again, though this time her amusement carries an unmistakable tinge of exasperation. "Is objectifying underage girls towards the top of your list of prospective ice-breakers these days, Agnelli? Because if so, I'd very much like to revise that particular section of your conduct manual."

"Hey now, no objectifying was had!" I counter with a barking laugh, spreading my hands in an artfully exaggerated pantomime of innocence. "I'm merely pointing out the obvious, Clarence - when you got it, you got it, and that kid was comin' in hot with the goo-goo bedroom eyes to beat the band. Probably thought I was gonna be her wise, butch auntie mentor passing out all the tips."

I punctuate the quip by tossing a roguish wink in Kwame's direction, chuckling at the way the big man's brow furrows in apparent consternation. Whether it's at my flippant irreverence or the mere thought of teenage Sam harboring some kind of proximally unrequited crush, I can't quite tell. Probably both, knowing the big lug.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Elijah's weary sigh cuts through the banter, deflating the moment's mirth like a pin jabbed into an overinflated balloon. "Charming as this little vignette about our understudy's puppy crush is, I fail to see how it pertains to our larger objectives here. Unless Miss Small's personal romantic ventures suddenly bear relevance to the coming trial and its attendant ramifications?"

Jamal clears his throat, the subtle shift in his bearing enough to restore a semblance of order and dignity to the conversation. "No, you're quite right, Elijah - this is hardly pertinent to the matters at hand." His eyes find mine, one brow arched in a silent cue for me to carry on. "Though I confess, I am curious as to what prompted the young lady's visit in the first place. Perhaps you could indulge us?"

I don't miss the slight emphasis on that last part, the unmistakable paternal edge bleeding into Jamal's typically unflappable timbre. Yeah, the big man might affect that stony political poker face for the cameras, but after all these years I know better than most just how fiercely protective he gets when it comes to those kids.

Sobering slightly in the face of his tacitly stern regard, I let my shoulders slump into a loose, affectedly nonchalant shrug. "Hey, you got me - I was just bustin' balls over here, Jer-bear. Kid rolled up in a mess, yeah, but it wasn't any More You Know dramatics or anything."

I pause, letting my expression settle into a more sober look as I sift through the still somewhat jumbled recollections of the previous evening's unexpected house call. "Near as I can figure, she and Beanie Baby hit a bit of a rocky patch lately. Made things official last night, if you catch my drift."

A hushed breath of dismay ripples through our little confab.

"I see... that's certainly a difficult matter, particularly considering the present circumstances weighing upon our youngest members." He pauses, features tightening almost imperceptibly before he reluctantly presses on. "And Sam, she was... understandably distraught at the news, I take it?"

"That's putting it pretty damn lightly," I grunt, flashing the big man a look that silently conveys the reality of just how friggin' "distraught" our girl had been upon showing up on my stoop in the middle of the night. "Kid was a wreck, plain and simple. Wide-eyed and shaking, puffy as a blowfish and stinking like she'd been robbing a dispensary. Can regenerators even get high like that?"

"Depends. Sam in particular, no," Elijah chimes in. "Crossroads told me a couple months ago. No booze, no weed."

"Damn," Clara replies, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No wonder she gets like that in a fight. I would too if I couldn't drink it away."

I rake a hand through my hair, grimacing at the still vivid memories of just how badly Sam had been slipping into an emotional tailspin last time I'd laid eyes on her. "Honestly, if she'd been any other rando off the street, I probably woulda just turfed her raggedy ass to the curb and told her to sleep it off. But... well, you know. I gave her the spare room for the night, let her crash and recoup for a bit," I continue after a beat. "But... yeah, not gonna lie, seeing one of those kids that messed up sets off all sortsa alarm bells in my lizard brain. Just nonstop ma-bear instincts on red alert 24/7, you know?"

A snort of bemused frustration slips free before I can quite bite it back, copper-toned features contorting into a rueful smirk. "But in this particular instance, I'm the lucky duck that kid decided to emotionally imprint on like one of those baby ducklings following around a goddamn garden gnome."

The words are barely out of my mouth before Elijah lets out a grunt of unvarnished derision, heavy brows knitting in a palpable scowl. "Somehow I very much doubt that child is in any genuine distress beyond the momentary heartache of young love's folly," he growls, contempt fairly radiating off of him in waves. "And even if she were, that hardly justifies this incessant invasion of personal boundaries that has become all too characteristic of her coterie of late."

I bristle at his bald dismissiveness, jaw clenching involuntarily. "Oh what, you saying the kid doesn't have a right to be messed up over this?" I bite out before I can stop myself, voice laden with caustic sarcasm. "Forgive me for not recognizing how trivial the loss of your first real romantic relationship is from the lofty, unfeeling heights of your ivory tower there, Professor Dickbiscuit."

The big man whips around with blistering swiftness, mustard eyes flashing as his mouth curls in a venomous snarl. For an instant, I can see his hands tremble with that barely-leashed impulse to channel one of his trademark dupes into existence, raw and unfiltered rage roiling just beneath the surface like a primordial tsunami held back only by the thinnest veneer of restraint. Then, he stops, beginning to repeatedly unfurl and refurl his hands, eyes shutting, nostrils flaring. "Sorry. Temper."

Christ, it's easy to forget sometimes just how volatile this asshole can be when you manage to scratch that rarefied ego of his just right. Not for the first time, I find myself entertaining fantasies of clocking him with a well-placed flying dropkick, if only to wipe that perpetually punchable expression off his smug mug.

"That's enough, both of you." The words cut through the rising static charge like an arc of lightning from a clear blue sky, snapping my attention back to Jamal. He regards us both with a look of utter inscrutability, eyes harder than polished obsidian as they bore into each of us in turn.

"We're all operating under an immense amount of external stress right now, it's true," he continues after a beat, tone resolute and unyielding. "But at the end of the day, we are still a team. A family, even, strange and dysfunctional as that notion may sometimes seem. And families rally around each other in times of crisis and upheaval, not rip each other apart with petty squabbles and juvenile sniping."

His eyes find mine again, and suddenly I'm transported back two decades to those first fateful days under Franklin's tutelage, a newly minted initiate absorbing the gospel of the Professor's philosophies. I feel about three feet tall beneath that quietly withering look, ego and bravado collapsing in on themselves like a dying star.

"Bianca is right to express concern over Sam's well-being, Elijah," Jamal presses on, his tone softening ever so slightly as he splits his stare between us. "Just as you aren't wrong to voice apprehension over this team's flagging cohesion and boundaries of late." A muscle twitches in his jaw, rippling beneath the heavy basalt slabs of his jowls as he grits out the next words through clenched molars. "But for God's sake, you two need to find a way to communicate that doesn't involve pissing contests."