Archive of Our Own ^beta

The media picked her hero name for her. She hadn't wanted one - had half hoped that keeping her head down and refusing to play along might spare her their attention - and had been laughably naive as a result. The tabloids had simply thrown spaghetti at the wall until something stuck.

Aquarius was the first person with powers to make the leap from hero to superhero in the international eye. There are countless photos of her in the centre of a perfect dry circle, raging flood water pressed up against an invisible barrier and unable to touch the civilians hiding from the torrent. The most famous of those pictures was a candid picture she hadn't even known was being taken: Her standing firm, shoulders squared, jaw set defiantly and her hair plastered down against her face and neck with her head tilted back as though she were glaring at the sky itself and daring the clouds overhead to come down and fight her.

The circle had inched inwards towards the end, of course. Aquarius had held the line whilst the boats and helicopters came to evacuate those around her until, at last, there was nobody left except for her.

She had held the water back for three hours and forty seven minutes.

Shannon never set out to be a superhero. She never really attached the word "hero" to anything she was doing, truth be told. It was a stroke of luck that her powers had lined up with the job she'd already wanted, really.

There'd never been a specific incident that had set her on her path, no sudden disaster or calamity that made her sure of it. Instead, there had been about four or five different assorted kids shows that had planted the seed in her head. Things like Thunderbirds, and some cartoon whose name she's long forgotten but not the gist of it, and possibly maybe a little bit of Transformers as well.

Every summer, her school had had a summer festival day. Every year like clockwork, a vehicle from each of the emergency services would show up for the kids to play in and look at. And with each and every passing year, the seed nestled in her heart had spread its roots a little further and grown a little stronger, sprouting and budding into a fully fledged dream.

Her powers had shown up and manifested themselves on the turn of her sixteenth birthday, but she had known with certainty ever since she was fourteen that what she wanted in life was to be a firefighter.

The newspapers call her Aquarius, and her boss calls her "A minor fucking miracle there, Waters, go get something to eat before you faint" and her brother calls her to tell her to set all her social media to private.

Her mother-

"Oh, sweetheart. Are you okay?"

"I'm alright, Mum," she says. "I'm safe. It didn't flood where I live so I'm back home now. The worst of the rain's already moved on. The water level should be dipping back down again soon enough."

"I saw the news. It looked dreadful, but they say everyone got out safely. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," Shannon says, trying not to wince as she says it, and sinks down a little further into her sofa. "Everything's sore. I think my arms might fall off. Still pretty headache-y. Boss put me on rest until I'm feeling better."

"Oh, I'm glad of that, dear, it wouldn't be right for him to push you. I just... I don't think I've ever seen your powers go that far before, sweetie."

"I don't think I've ever pushed them that hard," she admits. "I've used them sometimes before for the job, but this felt...."

"The news has been pulling up maps all morning and comparing them to the footage they have from the broadcasts," her mother says, voice warm with pride and awe and something a little distant and dazed. "They say the diameter of what you held back was nearly a quarter of a mile."

"Oh. I didn't... I guess I just didn't realise how far I went?" she offers lamely. "I don't really remember."

"The distance?"

"Anything."

Which isn't quite true, but not something she really wants to tell her mother right now. She remembers the taste of garlic bread, and the crew arriving at the road and realising the river bursting its banks nearby was only getting higher and higher. She doesn't remember the rain, or raising her arms out like they keep showing in the news. She doesn't remember if it hurt - the aches in her muscles and skull still being with her three days later suggests yes, but that's not the same as remembering anything of it.

The thing about being part of the fire and rescue service is that the ability to manipulate water isn't really that helpful a lot of the time. It doesn't help when you're attending a false alarm, or road accidents, or trying to explain to a room full of people that they really need to make sure their smoke detector actually works. She sure as hell wouldn't use it for situations like a kitchen fire. She can control water, not steam: A pan full of burning fat reacts as badly to her talents as it would to a regular hose. Chief made her test it during her early days of probation, just to be sure. Hindsight being what it is, she's pretty sure he made her try that so she would know she wasn't better than physics on that one.

Shannon isn't a better firefighter than the rest of her station just because of what she can do. She's damn good at what she does, but her powers don't make her better than anyone else.

Water goes where she wants it, and bends and twists itself against gravity if she demands. It does whatever she wants it to do. Only water. She can't do steam. She can't control ice either, not unless it starts to melt and then she can slide it around. Saltwater is trickier - it'll listen, but only if she pushes harder.

It's easier to just stick with using the hose, honestly.

She caves, eventually: An appearance on morning news shows here, an awkward newspaper interview there. She directs fake smiles at cameras and repeats how important it is to make sure there's working batteries in alarms and hopes it's enough to let people slowly move on again. That if she gives enough, she'll become boring enough to forget.

Online, strangers keep talking about how they think she should use her powers. Strangers keep speculating about her powers, and about her, and what she likes or where she lives. Pundits she's never heard of before keep advocating for this or that. Parliament keeps arguing about whether they should be doing something to regulate who can use powers and how, or somehow keep track of people with them. Apparently the fact she's already being a civil servant isn't enough for anyone. She's got to be more.

They want something more than Shannon Waters.

They want Aquarius.

Gradually, more and more superheroes start emerging across the world. They rise in response to natural disasters, or emergencies around them, or - in a few cases - someone with powers starts a situation that others end up trying to diffuse.

Grip Factor has super strength and works in a supermarket as a day job, but volunteers with their local lifeboat team. Tessellation can fly and mostly puts that skill to use for search-and-rescue operations. There's a guy out in the states who calls himself Mach One and who uses his super-speed exclusively to deliver to rural areas, and there's an ongoing joke between four different social media teams over which of their companies is his sponsor.

It feels more mundane than she expected, somehow. Superheroes are, it turns out, surprisingly boring for most people. They're just people getting on with the jobs that already existed. The only thing that's really different is that they're got additional skills to back it up.

Really, with hindsight - she should've known better than to think it would always stay that way.

The world's first major super-powered criminal is called Cut.

He cuts things.

The news footage loops the grainy CCTV endlessly, the image spreading from country to country as the story grows.

At half three in the morning on what would've otherwise been a warm and otherwise pleasant day down in Australia, a man walks up to the external wall of a bank, holds his hand up in front of him, and lazily draws a circle with his pointer finger. A matching line is gouged out of solid brick and mortar, the same circle carving itself through the air in front of him, and with a casual flick of the hand when he's done the circle tips inwards. The figure merrily ducks his head and steps inside to set about robbing the place.

Shannon watches as the news carries on, the scene changing to the inside of the bank where the word CUT is etched into the wall in letters so tall they're impossible to miss, and curls up a little tighter into her dressing gown. At least he got to pick his own name.

"Fuck," she mutters, rubbing a hand against her face. "At least he's not pointing that at people."

Cut starts at a bank, then shows up at a museum next. He breaks into a mall in the dead of night and takes a random assortment of things, apparently purely just because he can. The random assortment of things apparently includes a pack of post-it notes, because less than a week later there's reports that he's gone back to the museum and left his opinions glued to everything for the staff to find the next day.

Cut rampages through the dead of night for something close to three weeks, ducking and weaving and dodging the police and everyone else -

- right up until the point he doesn't.

BREAKING NEWS: SUPERVILLIAN CUT HOSPITALISES SECURITY OFFICER

Search efforts continue this morning after reports that a security officer was hospitalised after confronting a suspect thought to be involved in a string of thefts. The victim is said to be in a stable condition and expected to make a full recovery.

Australian police have named the suspect as one David King and urge people not to engage if they see him for their own safety.

More updates now available. Refresh?

Refreshing...

The Central Park Mall in Sydney, Australia remains closed this morning whilst police continue to investigate a robbery staged by David King, also known by the alias of "Cut". King has been involved in multiple counts of breaking and entering and theft. Unverified sources claim that during his latest attempt he was interrupted, leading to him lashing out and attacking a security officer for the mall who had come to investigate. Local media has reported his victim to be one Thomas King, who is said to currently be in a stable condition and expected to make a full recovery in time.

Shannon goes to work. Comes home. Rests. Goes to work. Comes home. Rests. Goes back to work again.

Cut moves in an erratic path before suddenly going quiet and popping up again elsewhere. She forces herself to look away: There's nothing she can do about him from where she stands, and there's other things that need her attention.

(In her mind's eye, she can see the water pulling away from the shore like low tide.)

cuttycuttybangbang @dking369

whats a guy gotta do to get some attention around here huh

cuttycuttybangbang @dking369

not you lot shut the fuck up lmao i dont give a shit about you guys

cuttycuttybangbang @dking369

i mean like there's a specific person i wanna talk with like but i dunno how to even start that conversation "hey its me i ain't gonna cut ya haha"

cuttycuttybangbang @dking369

that makes me sound like a fuckin TOOLBAG

She blocks him so she doesn't have to see any more of it.

(The water pulls back further still.)

The wave comes crashing back over her head months later.

Nothing tips her off as being wrong when she walks in the door to her block of flats, but when she goes to put her key into her own front door it swings open without any resistance. She freezes in place, looking down.

The tip of the latch sits innocently in the carpet several paces away, the light streaming past her from the hallway catching on the dull edges and glinting back at her.

Shannon leans back as she takes in more details. The living room itself is dark as she left it, but someone's closed the curtains she left open this morning. The short hallway leading to her bedroom and the bathroom are both dark as well, but the doorway leading off to the kitchen has light slipping out around the frame. There's a jacket draped over the back of one of the dining chairs, and the things she had been keeping on the table there have been cleared away to some unknown location. Several things have been moved around, actually.

Her hand tightens around the door handle as she inches a little further in, eyes roving further across the room. She feels like someone just replaced her skin with a layer of ice, her stomach churning more and more as she keeps looking for anything else that's been done to her home. Her focus keeps getting pulled back towards the kitchen and whoever it is that's on the other side of the door. They've left the sink full of water. They've been washing her plates.

And then the kitchen door opens itself.

"Finally," Cut sighs. "I thought you were never coming home at this rate. Close the front door already, will you? You’re gonna let all the heat out.”

“What the-"

Cut is shorter than she thought he’d be, somehow.

She’s standing in the kitchen as well now, hip leaning up against her counter as she watches a man who could kill her with a flick of his wrists stir a pot on her stovetop instead. He’s bobbing his head along to music as he cooks, utterly unconcerned with anything going on. There’s a sink full of warm water not even two metres away and he just doesn’t seem to care. Then again, why should he? He could just kill her with a flick of a wrist, after all. He’s the faster of the two of them. The safest thing she can do is assess the situation like any other emergency call out. Which it is, technically speaking. Or should be, had she rung anyone.

And all she can conclude is that - he’s shorter than she expected, given how brazenly he projects absolute confidence in everything he does. He’s lean, thin in a way that makes her mind say runner but also hungry. His hair is cut short and brown with copper undertones that she’s never seen in any of the photos of him that have floated past on the news. Does he cut it himself? It surely must be easier to do it that way than just blindly trusting a barber to stand behind him, particularly with his reputation.

This is insane. There is a supervillain in her kitchen, and he is cooking spaghetti. With her ingredients. And she's just -

(-painfully aware of the children next door, two young boys whose occasional yelling and arguments will carry through the wall and in through the door leading to the barely-there balcony she has, them and the single father raising them both the best he can, and the elderly woman who lives above her whose hearing is going but who loves watching quiz shows and the quiet couple who just moved in downstairs and who are looking to adopt a dog-)

- just letting him. Because what else can she do?

At the very least, he's not rubbing it in her face constantly that he's got her so thoroughly trapped. It still rankles everything in her soul to see him treat her kitchen so casually, rifling through the cabinets like he has any right to do so.

"Where's your pasta strainer?"

"My strainer."

"I swear I saw it earlier. Where'd you keep it? This isn't gonna be done for a few more minutes but it's better to have it about before you need it so it doesn't get overdone, you know? Wait, do you prefer your pasta being al dente?"

"What."

"To the tooth," he says, looking at her and waving a hand around. "You know, like-"

"I know," she bites out, "What al dente means. Why do you care about my preferences?"

"Because I want you to like what I make you?" he asks, seemingly baffled.

“Cut.”

He sighs quietly and goes back to looking around for the strainer. The tension hasn't eased in the slightest, but he's at least starting to acknowledge that it's there. She bites her tongue before changing her mind and chewing on the inside of her cheek instead. It doesn't stop her from folding her arms a little tighter in front of her, her nails digging into her arms as she squeezes down.

"Just...Why? You know what I mean."

"Because I don't get you," he says, finally finding her strainer where he'd left it out and ready and waiting by his elbow. "And I have questions. Couldn't find any way of getting in touch the normal way, and trying to walk up to you in the middle of the street would've turned into a shitshow, don't tell me it wouldn't. So I figured, what the hell. Might as well make you something in return for pestering you, and maybe it'd be nice to not have to make it yourself after getting home from work. But mostly I'm here because I've got questions. Questions only you can answer, because none of the others mean as much as you do."

Her nails dig a little further. She knows what others he's talking about.

"C'mon," he says, looking at her properly. "Go sit. I'll bring the food to you in a minute."

She goes.

What choice has she got?

There's a dining table in her living room, parked by the window and with three chairs sat around it. There's a coffee ring stained into the wood that she's never quite managed to shift despite her best efforts, and more often than not she neglects it in favour of sitting down to eat on her sofa.

Cut has put coasters out, a mismatched pair of glasses filled with water sat on them. The mail she usually leaves on its surface has all been moved somewhere else, leaving the table free to serve it's intended purpose. Now the living room light is on, she can see that there's a vase full of flowers set off to one side, arranged so the flowers are mostly all turned in towards the room.

In any other context, with any other person, this could be almost something nice.

As it is, she finds herself sitting stiff and awkward at the table, looking out her open curtains and out at the street below and the city beyond it. Does anyone know Cut is here? He's escalated before. He might again. She has no idea what his range is (not that it matters if he can simply cut through her wall her ceiling her floor) and no idea how she would stop him if he decided to act. If he might get tired of her anger and decide to start cutting apart blood vessels instead of tendons.

She sits at the table, eyes drifting back and forth between the wall and the door to the kitchen.

Eventually he emerges, two steaming bowls awkwardly clutched in his hands as he walks over and sets them down. And then he looks at the table and turns back around, emerging again a minute later with forks. He drops into the seat opposite her and then they're just both looking at each other.

"Well, dig in I guess," Cut says, raising his glass of water to her. "Cheers for another day, eh?"

"Cheers," she says, stiff fingers grasping her own glass to raise in turn. "So. You have...Questions."

"Yeah," he says before immediately shoving a mouthful of spaghetti in his mouth. She mechanically takes a bite of her own, chewing mechanically as she waits for him to speak.

And then he doesn't.

He just keeps on eating, humming a few notes now and then, apparently content to just...Have dinner. He's put effort into this.

"This doesn't make sense," she says, slowly lowering her fork back down. "Why are you..." trying so hard?

"Felt like it."

"You broke in, rearranged everything, and cooked dinner because you felt like it."

"Well, yeah. Not like I really get to do it too often, do I? That and it didn't feel right otherwise."

Shannon stares at Cut like he's spouting nonsense. He stares back at her, brown eyes searching before widening a fraction as he seems to get what she's confused by.

"I mean like - Showing up and demanding even more from you like everyone else has so far," he elaborates. "All those tabloids who showed up to shove mics in your face and scream questions, did any of them ever give you anything for the hassle they caused? What about everyone else who took pictures of you as you just tried to get on with life? Or tried to argue you should be their personal fucking maid, moving water about like a glorified fucking sprinkler or rain cloud of theirs to prod about? I'm a selfish bastard, I'll be the first to admit that, but that shit was crossing a line. Sure, I'm here to get my questions answered, but at least I can give you something for the trouble."

"That is...Bafflingly considerate, I think?"

"No worries."

She takes another bite. Her brain belatedly registers that there are things such as "flavour" to go along with the texture in her mouth and immediately fails to recall anything about what that flavour is. Cut is still looking at her, brow furrowing down slightly in thought, and once she's done swallowing he finally speaks up again.

"...I had this whole plan, you know. The shit I was gonna ask you, how I was gonna try and steer all this so I got what I wanted. I was gonna ask about why you didn't just make the rags leave you alone first off, right? Because you could've. You could've asked for pretty much anything and they would've listened. But all you did was try and avoid it all, right, everything you could've had, and when it didn't work and they wouldn't go you just...Trotted out on international news to tell people to check their smoke alarms batteries."

"It's not like I wanted to be a superhero, you know."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Yeah, you sure didn't, did you."

"I don't even like the title they made up," she says, stabbing her fork down again. "What was wrong with my name? I like my name! My parents named me after my gran!"

"Oi."

"You chose yours," she points out, fork flicking up in his direction and making a little jabbing motion. "You literally carved it into a wall in forty foot high letters so nobody would miss it."

"They were like two metres tall max each, tops."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't think you know what 'literally' means," he grins, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up. You know what I mean. I didn't ask for them to single me out when all I was doing was my job. Everyone who was manning the helicopters and the boats to evacuate people - what about them? Nothing I did would've mattered without any of them."

"None of them were holding back the tide with nothing but their brains and willpower. Nobody but you did that, that's why everyone was so fascinated. Have you ever actually crunched the numbers? Do you have any idea how scary you are?"

He leans forward, voice gentle, tipping his head forward and slightly to the side to try and soften the blow.

"A quarter of a mile across at the widest, they said," he continues, watching her carefully as he says it. "When they finished and hoisted you out, it was smaller than that but still pretty decent, and that was after you'd been actively holding it all for hours. So if we put them numbers in-"

His phone is in his hand now, slowly punching numbers in as he talks.

"Please don't," she says. "Please just...Stop."

Blue eyes meet brown.

"Please."

(Mark had figured out how much it roughly was, in that first week of madness. Area of a circle, multiplied by height. Everyone spoke of the widest point, at her strongest. The average depth of the water at that point had been around half a yard.

He had also looked at the details from the end, when her range had shrunk back and the water had risen at the edges. It had been raining the whole time but not in the area she had taken control of, not nearly as intensely. Her darling brother had fudged some numbers together to try and calculate the volume of the final zone she had been holding.

Shannon's only seen him twice since then. It hadn't been the same. Not after she'd heard his voice when he recited those numbers, not when he went on to point out that the height factor was wrong if they considered the downpour she had been trying to mitigate at the same time.

He hasn’t looked at her the same way ever since, the distance between them far greater than the one he mapped out, and it’s only getting wider.)

(Her powers had come in on the turn of her sixteenth birthday.

Her brother Mark, three years older than her, never experienced the same.)

Here and now, Cut's face doesn't change.

"Anyone could've done the rest of it. Nobody else can do what you did. And then you just went back to work like it was all nothing."

”All I did was my job."

"Don't remember firefighters needing to be able to work miracles-"

"It’s my job to help people! We're fire and rescue. If it wasn't for my crew, nothing I did that day would've been for anything. Keeping people dry didn’t get them out of danger, it was only delaying it. Without the evacuation team, they would've been stuck on that road with their cars. I was there because it was my job. I chose it. I chose to help in those situations. And even if I'd been doing something else for a living at the time, I still would've tried to help if I'd been there."

"Why?"

"What else could I have done?"

"Could've done nothing. Could’ve done your job without clearing the water. Could've just gotten yourself out to safety and left everyone else behind. Could've used your cool water powers to become a pirate or some shit, I dunno. Take over the country. Be an influencer or something. Get paid better? Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, I know that one’s a long shot too. But you really could've just done nothing about it. It would've been safer, for one."

And with that one word, safer, she feels herself go cold and breathless like someone's just turned a hose on her. It would've been safer.

"Like, I'm the first supervillain, right?" he carries on, uncaring but not unkind. "But that doesn't mean I'm the first criminal with powers, see, it just means I'm the one who went loud enough that the news spotted me and started yelling. And that makes me a bit safer, right, because no idiot in organised crime wants to recruit the bloke whose face is all over the news. Government isn't gonna wanna press-gang a guy whose greatest strength is something they have absolutely no control over. And nobody's gonna touch you, because they probably could force you if it wasn't for how much you could do in response."

"Except you," she says dully. " You came from continents away. Why?"

"Wanted to talk."

"No. Why me?"

"Because it had to be you. None of the others get it. It had to be you, because as far as all the news I can read and follow care you're the first. A whole generation born since the solar disruptions, a whole lot of people like US in their numbers, but you're the first one who stepped up and went public and LOUD with what you can do. You say anyone would've done what you did, but you're not the oldest of us. So why didn't any of them? Why did you? You could've fuckin' thrown boiling water in my face or pulled all my blood out and somehow we're actually eating pasta!"

"...You think I would've done what to your blood?"

"Humans are like, seventy percent water aren't they?"

"I can't control your blood." she hisses. "What the fuck."

"Th'fuck do you mean, you can't control blood?!"

"I can do water. Blood's different!"

"No it fucking isn't. It's mostly water!"

"It's got too much stuff in it!"

Cut is the bewildered looking one this time.

"It's water or nothing," Shannon says. "Steam is... It's too dispersed for me to grasp ahold of. If it's ice, I can take control of it, but it's solid so it can't actually do much of what I want. If there's a thin layer of meltwater on top, I can use that, but not the ice itself. You know what happens if I try and use my power to do the washing up? It leaves bits everywhere. I once tried to use it to dry my clothes after washing them and my favourite shirt just was never the same after. The human body is so complicated that I'm scared of what I'd do to someone if I ever tried. It'd probably just... Kill them."

Cut slowly nods as her voice fades.

"You thought I would kill you."

"It's what most people would've done."

"You could kill everyone here before I even raised a hand."

"Not if you killed me first."

"Why would I kill you?"

"Because I could've killed everyone here before you even raised a hand."

And what is there that she can say to that?

They eat the rest of their meal in silence.

She's elbow deep in washing up the pans Cut used when he finally breaks the silence again.

"Don't tell anyone."

She looks over to find him leaning against the counter where she was earlier, turned to the side with his arms folded and brow furrowed in concentration. He only turns his eyes in her direction for a brief moment before looking away again, focusing on the kitchen door instead.

"I mean it. Don't tell them. It's keeping you safe. Nobody wants to fuck with the woman who could pop them like bubble. If they think you have a weakness, they'll use it against you."

"Why did you come, Cut?" Shannon asks, watching him carefully.

"Did you really do it just because it's your job?" he asks, still looking away. "Help those people for just that, and nothing else?"

"I had to," she says, looking back down at the bowl she's cleaning. "I couldn't have lived with myself if I didn't. Even if I was a normal person, I still would've been out there that day."

"It's gonna get worse, you know."

"Probably."

"I mean it. If it ain't the organised crime guys, it's gonna be the gov. Or someone like me. Someone who comes out swinging hard so nobody wants to touch 'em at all because they can't be tamed."

"Is that why you do it?"

"A lil' bit," he says, voice softening again. "It was annoying, you know? Everyone suddenly talking about all these ways I could use what I could do for the greater good, none of them even asking what I wanted to do. Just kept going on and on about it. Like I was just a fuckin' tool to be used, right? Not a person. Just a thing made to cut things."

"I'm sorry they did that," she says quietly, glancing back over again.

"I got tired of it," he says, closing his eyes. "Being the dancing monkey. Kept asking myself why I was putting up with it until I realised I didn't have to."

"Is that when you decided to start robbing banks?"

"Nah. Well, sort of. Had to cut it out with the hesitating first. Took a bit to work up the nerve for that, honestly, but it was worth it."

"And then the bank robbery."

"Why not? Not like I was hurting anyone the first few times. Banks are meant to be insured against being robbed, I'm pretty sure. I hit up different ones and everything."

"And the malls?"

"Needed clothes. Food too, honestly. Couldn't exactly go home anymore to wash my kit after all that, you know?"

"You...Really don't seem to mind telling me this stuff, do you? We barely know each other."

"Now I told you, and we know each other more." Cut shrugs. "Besides, I stopped myself from hesitating, remember? No real reason not to tell you that I can think of, honestly."

She blinks, slowly straightening up to look at him properly. He seems calm, not tense, but certainly not relaxed. The fact he's still not looking at her, which she's starting to suspect says the most.

"Cut. What do you mean you stopped yourself from hesitating?"

"I got rid of it." He gestures towards his head with a hand. "Didn't know I could until I tried."

And then he looks at her, smiling again, the same self assured and open smile she's seen all through tonight already, and she can already feel her blood go cold as he opens his mouth to speak again-

The next day, Shannon calls out from work and calls in a locksmith. She sets herself to the task of deep cleaning her kitchen whilst she waits, and then the bathroom once she finishes with that.

Tomorrow she will go to work, and she will come home, and hopefully this time there will be no supervillains in her flat trying to get to know her. She will not think about how he managed to get to the midlands of the UK from Australia with the international reputation he has. She will not think about him, looking away from her, pointing at his own head and making the same gesture he does whenever he's cutting through a wall or a metal door or a person.

She isn't going to think about it. Not today. Not tomorrow.

She has work to do.

She doesn't file a police report either, though.

(She isn't sure why she hesitated so much at the idea, and decides to not think about that either.)

She gets up. She goes to work. She comes home and checks the door is still locked and the hinges attached before she opens it. Beyond it her apartment is cold and dark, the same way it was the days before the unexpected visit.

She cooks a meal for two, ends up with enough for three, and sets aside the leftovers to reheat for lunch tomorrow and for later in the week like she always does. She washes up once she's done, and doesn't stop to watch the dirty water drain away. She doesn't even passively sense it happening anymore, these days.

Shannon goes to work. Comes home and checks the door. Rests. Goes to work. Comes home. Rests. Goes back to work yet again. The rhythm of her life picks itself back up and carries on like almost nothing ever happened.

The next time Cut shows up on the news, it's because he cut a hole into the side of the Tate Modern at 4am and let himself in to have a wander. She can't really remember the last time she went to a gallery herself; She unblocks him on twitter to go back and read everything he had to say. It's nothing particularly inflammatory or shocking. He seemed to have just been sincerely wanting to look around. The casualties of this latest brazen break-in are apparently limited to just the wall, an assortment of things taken from the restaurant on the top floor, and a tote bag from the gift shop.

There's some interesting exhibitions in the museum near her she could go to, if her phone is telling her the truth. Maybe she could invite her parents and see if they're up for it. It'd have to be a shorter trip so her father doesn't get too tired, but they could make a day of it. It could be fun. It would be good to see them again and not just phone once every other week.

She doesn't know why she's hesitating.

She sends a text and puts her phone down before she can second-guess herself.

There's a handful more people with superpowers cropping up on the news here and there. Most of them have learned from her situation and debut with a chosen nickname already prepared.

In the UK itself, another super is announced a little after the turn of the new year, with speculation bubbling away throughout January and boiling over in February.

The pictures on the news show a young man with short brown hair and blue eyes, smiling at something just off camera and wearing a navy suit. He's another one who decided to control his own debuting, posting a video on YouTube to declare his intentions and motives.

"Our national security is of vital importance, of course," the clips they play over and over says, his voice smooth and perfectly practised. "I strongly believe that I am more than ready to meet the mark to show I am, for all to see, ready to step forward towards the responsibility that has been granted to me. I look forward to proving myself as Rain to the public's satisfaction so they can sleep easy at night, knowing that they are defended. In fact, I plan to hold a demonstration shortly..."

"God, what a prick," she mutters as the news drones on before moving to a weather report. Arthur Gilder sure has a lot to say, but she'd be surprised if he ever actually does anything to back it up. Some people are just like that, though. There's no end of would-be influencers kicking around, after all, but even she has to admit he's a bit more polished than most. Rain is a fairly alright hero name, if that's what he's going for. Snappy. Probably a weather related powerset.

But what's all that he was saying about defence? Did the Ministry of Defence finally decide to trot out one of their own with powers as some kind of dog and pony show?

She has no idea. It felt like weasel-words, all of it.

The world continues to turn.

Politicians are arguing about whether or not how people use their powers should be legislated somehow, debating furiously if the current laws are adequate enough to handle matters or if they need to update policy and which ones if they do. Talking heads and media pundits are asking what really makes someone a superhero and what sort of social obligations a title like that might come with.

Some of them have started asking what it means to be a supervillain instead. It's a far more dangerous question, but it seems to be on peoples' lips more and more. Cut might've been first, but the number of so-called "villains" across the world currently can be counted on both hands with fingers to spare. Aside from his brief stint in London, nobody in the UK has been bold enough to follow in his wake yet.

Yet.

Cut goes where he pleases, and he has no qualms with taking people apart if they try to stop him. So far, nobody knows of any way of stopping him or countering his strength that doesn't consist of "shoot at him from far away and hope".

(Cut goes where he pleases but always in the early hours of the morning, slicing through ligaments instead of arteries. That's better than the alternative, isn't it? But he only does it because it makes his life easier. Can you call it concern if it's entirely selfish?)

It feels like she's in a holding pattern. It feels like the world is holding its breath. It feels like everyone is hesitating, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The next name to emerge. For something, anything, to really change.

The world keeps turning. The sun rises and sets, and the moon alongside it. The tide comes in, and slowly it goes back out again.

Shannon goes to work. She comes home. She rests.

No workday is the same, but it's all beginning to blur together.

(In her mind's eye, the ocean retreats faster and faster, further than the low-tide mark. Danger, her gut hisses, get off the beach.)

LIFEBOAT VOLUNTEER HOSPITALISED AFTER BEING ATTACKED

Local lifeboat volunteer Sam Smithson, also known to locals as "Grip Force", was hospitalised this morning.

The attack reportedly took place shortly after the lifeboat and crew returned from a callout. Onlookers report that shortly before arrival, the ocean water around them began to 'behave strangely' before surging and pulling Smithson out of the boat and underwater.

When asked for comment, local police sources have stated that "Based on the distance between the water surface and where the boat was present on the ramp at the time of the incident, we believe this was an intentional and deliberate act by person or persons unknown."

Police are calling on any witnesses or anyone who may know something about this event to please come forward and speak to them-

Grip Force. Grip Force. It's not-

There's no footage except for grainy CCTV footage of the rest of the lifeboat crew looking behind them before turning and breaking out running, and even that is almost immediately pulled from view and buried. Understandably, as it's in poor taste to keep airing it, but -

But it itches something at her. Something wrong just happened there, and she wants to know what and why and how to make sure it doesn't happen again. The best way to fight fires is to prevent them from happening in the first place, and this isn't a fire but it's still an incident and fire and rescue is what she chose.

The other shoe is dropping. The world is holding its breath. The ocean has pulled far, far away from the shore.

"Our national security is something I consider to be our most important issue. The United Kingdom was the first nation amongst the western world to find in our midst one we could laud as a superhero in this new age. Whilst I deeply admire the work of Aquarius as we all do, I have to ask you, the people of England: Is what she does enough? If danger came to our doorstep, can we rely on her to protect us?

"I'm not saying she's done a poor job, no, far from it! We all know she's a formidable force and would gladly step up to serve if called upon, of course. But whilst she laid the path, it is now down to those of us who follow to innovate on what she's started. And it was on meditating on this that I came to find the answer.

"There are many who would tell you that to be born with the powers that she and I, and indeed many others, now possess is a thing that comes with a great responsibility. Does that not mean that the greater the power, the greater the ensuring responsibility we must be willing to shoulder? Should the greatest of us therefore not be willing to become the strongest pillar?

"With this in mind, I call on you now to consider the story of King Arthur, the once and future king. He reigned before, and in the greatest time of our need, it is said that he would rise up once more. Now we face such troubling and uncertain times, when we need a strong core and a strong leader, I implore the nation to understand that what I now hold in my hands is nothing less than the divine right of a king-"

Reign. Not Rain.

The slippery little bastard called himself Reign.

She doesn't know how he did it, but Shannon knows in her heart that whatever happened to Grip Force is entirely his fault.

The news is quick to denounce Reign as a supervillain. Twitter is ripping itself apart. Someone draws a picture of him in a crown and a whole contingent of people who almost certainly didn't know anything about the Lifeboat Institute a week ago rise up to start screaming in opposition, furious that anyone would get on board with the idea of a monarchy headed up by someone who just attempted murder.

She has to do something. She has no idea what. But she has to do something because she's pretty sure she's going to be next. And even if she wasn't, she still can't just...Do nothing.

cuttycuttybangbang @dking369

what a prick

She doesn't like Cut's tweet, but she doesn't block him again either.

"Hi Mum."

"Oh, sweetheart."

"I'm okay, Mum."

All she hears from her mother in response is a muffled sob. She can practically imagine it now, Grace Waters covering her mouth with one hand and clutching her phone in a white-knuckle grip in the other.

"He's not gonna get me. I'm not gonna let him. I promise, Mum. It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna be okay, Mama, I'm gonna be okay..."

Her dad takes the phone away from her mother after a while, his voice cracking a little but trying so hard to stay strong as they talk. She ends the call with a bye, love you, see you soon after she realises they've said all of what little there is to say.

She never did invite her parents to go to the museum with her. As soon as this is done, as soon as she's dealt with the danger in front of her - it's something. A goal to hang onto. It's another reason to survive this.

Shannon rings Mark next. He doesn't pick up, but she closes her eyes as she listens to his voicemail message.

She doesn't know what to say. She hangs up instead just before the tone plays and just texts him 'love you' instead.

It's not enough. It'll have to do. There isn't time for better.

Reign knows where she lives. The whole world knows where she lives. They all know the county where Aquarius debuted.

He doesn't need to know her home address. All he has to do is lure her out.

Even if it's a trap, she still has to go. How could she do otherwise? How can she look at herself if she doesn't do something? It can't snap shut on anyone else if she steps into it first.

If she can get to him first, she can at least try and minimise the fallout of whatever he does next.

Aquarius UK @aquariusOfficial_UK

That's it, I've had enough. Name the time and place. Let's sort this out.

modernmerlin @MA-drizzler

@aquariusOfficial_UK we'll be in touch

The media are in uproar. Nobody knows what to make of the fact that she's finally stepped up to use her designated official twitter account to demand a grudge match against the latest supervillain and self-declared rightful monarch. A lot of people think she's doing the right thing. A lot of people are questioning what right she has to do it when the police are right there; This situation is the sort of thing that falls under their jurisdiction.

She doesn't want to be doing this, but the words Reign nearly drowned Grip Force have sunk themselves deep into her heart. They sit there, irritating her, slowly condensing and building up into something new. Reign nearly drowned someone and turned around and smiled about "security concerns".

And why them? If Reign is what she suspects he is, Grip isn't anyone he would need to worry about. They had a combination of superstrength and something that meant that once they had a hold on something it was hard to let go if they didn't want to. Was it meant as some kind of...Practice run or something?

Shannon has endless questions and zero answers.

The answers won't help. Punching Reign might.

Center of mass, aim for the solar plexus. The face is tempting. The face is so tempting. She's been ordered, extensively, to not punch him in the face unless she wants teeth in her knuckles.

She simmers. She double-checks the date and the time. She gets ready, and then she's going.

The agreed on place isn't public, though if someone was really determined they could probably follow one or both of them there. As it stands, it's the 15th of March in England: Even in the middle of the day it's cold as hell, with dark clouds hanging low overhead and threatening rain. Virtually nobody is going to be coming down by this particular beachfront today.

And then there she is, walking out towards an already waiting Reign.

He's shown up in a navy double-breasted coat with a white belt, black trousers, and black leather shoes. Someone's gone through the effort to add silver epaulettes to the coat, the fancy sort she's only ever seen on military dress uniforms. He's brushed most of his hair back, styling it so some of it still tumbles forward over his face in a way that makes it look a little like he just waltzed in off the red carpet. There's a thin, plain metal circlet sat on top of it all that seems to be doing double duty for pinning his hair out of his face. It's annoyingly good looking on him.

On the other hand, she'ss shown up to this whole thing in her work boots, cargo pants, a grey shirt and her favourite leather jacket because it's waterproof and tougher than anything else she has to hand. She's opted to tie her hair back in a bun to keep it out her way as best as she can. She wonders how she must look to him right now.

They both stand there, the gap yawning between them as they assess each other. To her right, the beach stretches out with the ocean churning away. To the left, there's a smattering of flat-ish sand dunes coated in grass and a car park further out. The air smells like seaweed, and the only thing she can hear is the distant cry of gulls and waves tumbling and crashing over each other. The wind is cold and sharp, biting at every inch of skin it can reach.

"Are you sure?" Reign calls out, spreading his hands out to each side. "Together, we could be something magnificent. You know what I mean, surely?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"You're the one who came looking for me," he points out calmly. "I hope you don't mind that a few of my people are here? They won't interfere, of course, they're just here to record things. Precautions, you understand."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Hm? Do what, exactly?"

"You know what I mean. Don't play games."

"I'm afraid I really don't know," he smiles. "Could you be a little more specific for me, please?"

Reign snaps a finger and throws his left arm out in a commanding point at the same time Shannon flings her right arm out palm-first. The world goes silent as the waves freeze in place under their combined force, both trying to rip the water towards them and away from the other's control. Strands of water slip through her mental grasp as fast as she claws others out of Reign's grip. She spreads her feet out, lowers her stance slightly, and mentally yanks.

The sea splits, water surging eagerly to meet them both. Shifting that which she controls up into a sphere behind her feels as natural as breathing, the weight of it in her mind's eye setting easily against her back. Across from her, Reign is doing the same, a set of three smaller orbs orbiting each other behind him.

He flicks his right hand out before making a throwing motion in her direction, a tennis-ball sized ball of water whipping out and towards her face. Her head twitches slightly to the side and it bursts two metres away from her, droplets tumbling harmlessly to the ground. She returns fire with a test volley of three water balls of her own: Reign twists and sidesteps them.

In the blink of an eye water is flowing down Reign's arm and twisting itself into shape, a long rapier of ice forming itself in his hand as he starts charging. The gap between them feels like nothing as she tries to step either forward or backwards, not sure where to go, hands raising up as she commands. It works: The sword shatters in an instant as he lunges forward. It leaves her unprepared for the rest of him to follow through, his off-hand coming up and jabbing out at her jaw. Her teeth clash together as she staggers under the hit, and he's grabbing the front of her jacket-

A wave of water crashes over them both, leaving her untouched and violently shoving him several feet back. He's drenched but grinning with vicious satisfaction at her, ice reforming over his hands to sharpen his fingers into claws.

She lashes out again with a far larger tendril this time, whipping it forward and forcing him back. It flicks out once, twice, almost three times before he cleaves through it with hands and powers both, ribbons of numb ice weaving their way through the water where he's stripped her control away. His hands lash out again as he keeps pushing forward: He's met with a stream of water to the chest, knocking him even further away this time.

The meat of her upper arm is screaming in pain, cold burning through her flesh. She spares a second to glance down as he rises back to his feet. Her stomach feels like lead as she looks back at the man she's now fighting. If she hadn't been wearing leather, that would've been far worse than shallow scratches. And that-

She can keep peeling the water away from him, negating his powers with her own, but this is something she can't counter. The middle of a fight is truly the worst place to realise you don't know how to fight at all. She needs to stop him. He won't stop on his own. She doesn't want to go overboard and accidentally kill him because she's practised her skills over and over again against fire but never a person. She's losing too much water at this rate. In the time it takes for her to call more over from the ocean, he'll be able to close the distance again. Reign wants to hurt her, to really fight her, and her desire to stop him isn't enough to get her to stop flinching away from actually doing much.

She's gotten in over her head for thinking she could do this-

A long, low whistle cuts through the air. She jerks like she's been hit, head snapping around to find the source.

Ambling up to them from the path she used to get here is, of all people, Cut.

"Nice day for it, right?" He grins, nodding at the both of them. "Toasty."

Cut's rolled up in a heavy waterproof coat, the front of it zipped nearly the whole way up and with a scarf poking out the top of the collar. He looks both better and worse than last time, face a little less gaunt but his eyes soaking up details hungrily as he looks around.

"Ah," Reign says. "I don't believe we were expecting additional company. Would you be-"

"You already got company," Cut interrupts cheerfully, pointing at a few of Reign's people nearby. "See? They're videoing you, like. Want me to get them to knock it off?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't." Reign smiles. "Those would be some of my volunteer Knights of the Sphere. They're simply here as a precaution."

"Against what?"

"They're streaming to a private server, you know. Just in case things get a little... Nastier than expected."

Cut doesn't say anything, just looking back at Shannon again a little more intently. "He already got you?"

"It's worse than it looks," she says. Over his shoulder, some of the camera holding figures are starting to edge away. "It's-"

"It's simply further evidence that of the two of us, I am the one better prepared for the realities of what needs doing here!" Reign butts back in, looking a little annoyed.

"I don't really care. What's with the whole Circle Knight thing?"

"The Knights of the Sphere, in recognition of how the world has changed and expanded since the times of King Arthur-"

"Bit of a pretentious asshole, aren't you? What's with your boner for Arthur?"

"Excuse me-"

"Seriously, you let this hit you?"

She grimaces a little. "Don't say it like that, please."

"I was winning, thank you for noticing," Reign chimes in.

"Yeah, because she's holding back. If she stopped, you'd be a smear already."

"But she won't. She cannot help but hesitate." Reign says, apparently getting his conversational feet under himself again. "It's a noble stance, but rather misplaced for the situation you find yourself in. If you cannot steel yourself for a fight, you shouldn't throw yourself into one when you cannot commit to it. Please just think about I'm saying, both of you. Think about all the things we can do with the power we've each been gifted. Why shouldn't the three of us and those like us step forward to lead the way into the future? Cut - if I were to take control of this country and rule it as is right, you would never need to steal again. I would see you pardoned and paid so you may enjoy all the finer things in life you so clearly enjoy. And Aquarius, why, someone like you! The whole world saw you avert a flood with nothing but your own determination and strength of will. You could be running your own station if you wanted. You should be running your own station, with strength like that. You're practically a fire engine all on your own, after all. And there's people all across the globe who agree with me. We're the first of a new generation, a new era! It's our duty - nay, it is our right to rise to the occasion!"

"...What about Grip Force?"

"What?"

"Grip Force," she repeats. "The lifeboat volunteer. The person you tried to kill not even two weeks ago. They're gifted fit to rule by your measure. So why?"

"They used their skills to stock shelves," Reign spits, the veneer of civility flaking away. "All that power, all that potential! Armies would kill for someone with a fraction of what they can do! And they squandered it. It's an insult to the very IDEA of having superpowers in the first place. All the things they could be doing with themselves! Imagine it! Imagine if they actually used that strength for something that MATTERED!"

"We're not tools, dipshit," Cut snaps out.

Reign snarls and suddenly all three of those orbs he had been holding back are surging forward, water slamming into Cut's torso and looping around him, the coils of water freezing themselve sinto place and pinning his arms by his sides before the ice loops around again to pin his hands even further into place. Cut wheezes with the force of the air knocked out of him.

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Reign bellows. "I WON'T LET YOU!"

(And at long, long last, the tsunami finally hits the shore.)

Aquarius straightens her back as the world feels like it slows down around her, her mind absorbing every detail that could be the difference between life and death. In the corner of her eye, she sees Cut jerk his head back to get her attention. Her attention pivots from Reign to Cut for a brief moment.

Blue eyes meet brown.

Her head jerks up and back slightly. A half-twitch motion of a nod. His eyes widen in response before narrowing again with focus. His hands are pressed flat against his sides, not even able to move his fingers a twitch. And then his eyes go wide again, brows still furrowed down, and his gaze flicks to the side before deliberately slicing its way across her. It's a slice.

She can feel the change immediately. What he just did. What he's just cut away from her.

(Inside her mind, the weight of her own hesitation crumbles away like a broken dam.)

She turns her attention back to Reign who has both his arms raised. He's wrapped ice around himself as well: On him it's armour, instead of the mess of restraints he's employed to try and keep Cut from doing what he's known best for. He's been pushing her gently away from the water so far, reliant on his skills to carry him past what she can achieve with dumb brute force. She's been too aware of the damage water can do to push too hard: Water might flow easily to match the shape of any container it's put in, but it doesn't compress. A bad hit in the wrong place could be lethal.

All she needs to do is push him away without touching him.

It all seems much simpler, when she puts it like that. The orb behind her streams forward as she calls on it, the surging torrent twisting around her over and over until it's all gone and only a orbiting ring of water remains. The ring thins a little as she pushes it to move as fast as it can, twirling and spinning around her, and then she looks Reign in the eye as her new weapon tilts to one side and effortlessly carves a line through the ground to her side before it levels off again. She keeps watching as he tries to calculate a way past her newest defence.

He throws more orbs of water. She bats them aside and into the ring, slowly finding the traces of salt and letting them get expelled out by centrifugal force. Another orb curves in her direction, this time the size of a bowling ball and faster. She tilts her head to one side to dodge it and bursts it into pieces like she had his very first attack before stealing that water as well.

She takes a large, firm step forward. Reign steps back.

The water sings to her senses. She's the center of her very own waterjet cutter. He can't get close. He can't even dream of it. Her arm throbs in time with her pulse, and her pulse is keeping time with the crash and roar of waves. If she stretches herself she can feel the rainclouds far over her head, thick and heavy, and she gives a gentle tug on them as she watches her opponent try to figure out his next move, or any kind of move at all.

"You've lost," she tells him bluntly.

"No," he snarls. "Not by a long shot. We've not even gotten started, not really!"

"No," she says again as the first raindrops hit the sand around her. "You've lost. It's over."

Another raindrop, and then a third. Slowly but surely, the heavens open and it begins to rain in earnest.

Aquarius stands tall in the center of a perfectly dry circle, and watches.

Watching Reign and his lackies flee should've felt more satisfying than it actually is. Mostly she just feels a twinge of annoyance as the last of them slips out of her line of sight behind a sand dune, the water of her improvised defence dropping and scattering as she gently releases control over it.

The only other person left behind nudges her shoulder with his, traces of ice still clinging to his jacket from where he's been hacking it away piece by piece. She doesn't think twice about mentally nudging the remaining ice to let go of him already, and he just grunts in reply. The rain is gentler than it was when it started a minute or two ago, but she feels like it's only going to be a brief lull. She broadens the dome she's keeping around herself to give him a little more clearance as well. Why not?

"You let him go," he observes.

"I don't actually know how to do a citizen's arrest," she says with a shrug. "If I kill him, it's just my word that he's the responsible one for what happened to Grip."

David snorts in derision. "More like there's no prison that could actually hold him, and unlike you he wouldn't play fair and pretend to be held by one."

"I meant it."

"I know you did," he sighs. "Are we gonna stand here all day? Because we should probably be going already is the thing, like. We've only got a minute or two before they realised I fucked their vans up."

She snorts at that, pressing her shoulder into his for a second before turning to make her way back to her own car.

"...So. Did I come out swinging hard enough this time, do you think?" She asks, looking towards the horizon.

"I think you're gonna scare the shit out of people if you pull that one again any time soon."

"Perhaps. I think I want to go somewhere, after this. Once Reign's been dealt with. But even when we handle him, there's all his Knights of the Sphere after. It could take a while. But after that... After that, I think I'd like to go somewhere. Take a break. See something new."

She listens to David hum consideringly, and when she sees him start to bring his hand up towards his own head she makes a choice to look away and towards the ocean instead. It's grey and chopppy, the surface of it scattered and breaking up from the rain dappling down on it, but it's comforting to look at anyway. Too huge and vast to be controlled, collared or contained.

"I'll probably be moving on soon too, I think," David says cheerfully. "Got some business to wrap up first before I go. Needs properly dealing with, like. After that... Eh, we'll see."

"Absolutely do not kill him."

"What makes you think I'm gonna kill him?"

"You sound like you're going to kill him. Which would, again, stop him from actually facing up to what he's done."

"Please," David snorts. "He's bullshitting on half of what he said and we both know it. He doesn't give a shit, he just wants power."

"Which is why we aren't going to grab power by declaring ourselves judges. He can go through the justice system the same way everyone else does. He's not special."

She bites the word out with so much vitriol that the supervillain next to her just throws his head back and laughs.

And that should be complicated too, shouldn't it? She loathes Reign for what he's done, but Cut has a well earned reputation and a long rapsheet at this point. He broke into her house. He's hurt people. People are terrified of him and what he might do, given what they know he's done before. Despite it all, she can't help but kind of like him anyway. After all, when push came to shove, in that moment where he could have simply torn Reign to shreds with a flick of his eyes and not his hands like he's let them all believe instead... In that moment, he came through for her instead and made good on what he'd offered. David hadn't even needed her to say it out loud. And then after, he let her handle things - he had trusted her to do so.

(In her heart of hearts she knows that it won't last. Eventually she'll have to square her fondness for his blunt honesty against the circle of his apparent indifference and callousness towards the majority of the world. There is no happy ending to their friendship here that she can see.)

She pushes that fragment of the future away to dwell on the present instead for a little longer. She really does want to go away on a vacation after all this, now she thinks about it. She wants to go to the museum with her parents, like she promised. Maybe go see the Tate Modern and find out what made David decide to break in for a private tour of his own in the first place. Go places. See things. Do things. Get a couple of little souvenirs to bring back to her flat after. It all seems so easy, when she lays it out like that.

And when the next supervillain steps up, she'll see what sort of person they are. Whether they minimise the damage they do or revel in it. Roll with the punches, go with the flow. Adapt. Deal with it if she's needed to deal with it. The future lies before her, an endless river of branching paths made of potentials and could-bes, time flowing ceaselessly forward and carrying them all with it. It's easier to think of it like that. A series of choices and changes to navigate, each a fork in the river to navigate on its own, and not one just big solid mass.

Her name is Shannon Waters. They call her Aquarius.

She thinks she can see how to be both now.

(Months ago, or maybe just weeks ago, standing across from each other in the kitchen, brown smiling eyes had met blue wide ones.

"I could do it for you too, you know," Cut had offered her casually. "It won't hurt or anything. Won't make you the sort of person who suddenly just goes out doing whatever, like, it doesn't work like that. But if you want-"

"No," Shannon breathed. "God, no. Don't - please, no."

"Offer's open if you change your mind," he had said mildly, and that had been that.)

Cut slips away from her at the beach and then off the radar with ease once more. She doesn't hear anything about him or from him for another two weeks, and when she does it's less hearing anything and more coming home to find an unknonw someone has broken the inside of her door lock again and left her three boxes of takeaway pizza. The pizza isn't quite cold yet, but it's kind of getting there. It's almost nice.

Mostly it's just a major hassle, because now she has to call a locksmith again.

Two days after that, news breaks that Reign has been found dead. Someone slit his throat without breaking the skin.

Not announced to the news was the fact that he was found with a USB stick cellotaped to his forehead holding nothing but a clip of her fight with Reign, a minute and ten seconds of video in total.

"What about Grip Force?"

A minute and ten seconds, the audio on it containing nothing but two voices and the sound of the sea.

"What about Grip Force?"

An accusation.

"What?"

The not-quite-confession that answered. The motive.

"Grip Force. The lifeboat volunteer."

The video itself showing two of them wreathed in water and ice; The means.

The fact that David did something like this shouldn't feel like a betrayal, but it does. Which in turn stings all the more. Two conversations doesn't make a friendship, but he'd treated her with more respect and trust in those two conversations than her own brother had in their last ten. She hadn't asked why he'd shown up during her fight with Reign. She'd never thought to question it at all. She'd just... Assumed.

Too many questions.

Why did he stop to leave the video? But she knows why. She told him exactly why he should, after all. (Or so she assumes.)

Why did he kill him? Why did he kill him? But she knows why. He told her his reasoning, after all. (She remembers it. Not the exact words, but she knows.)

She rolls the choice back and forth in her mind. He cut away a measure of her reluctances and hesitations, but not all of them. And no matter how she turns it around in her head and examines it, it feels like the answer is already a foregone conclusion. Either she can choose to do absolutely nothing about this, or she can choose to go after him. She can go do what others can't, not because they're unwilling but because doing it would only see them cut down for their efforts.

Shannon has a gut feeling he's not going to do the same to her.

Aquarius knows with confidence that she could match him blow for blow if he tried.

There isn't a prison built that could hold either of them and no name for the weight class they're punching in. But she has her morals - the very same ones that drove him to come seek her out in the first place. She can't keep pretending that someone else is going to step up to the plate to deal with him. And noone else knows how his reliance on gesture is nothing but a bluff. Only her.

(Inside her heart, the tide begins to pull away from the shore.)

She knows what she's decided on.

It's time to meet the challenge ahead of her. She rises from where she's been sitting, hands idly pulling her hair out of its bun and retying again. She'll need to call her parents to let them know, and her boss after. There's so many people to call, plans to make, things that need doing if she's going to do this.

Aquarius has her supervillain to hunt down.