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Sirens sound and tires screech as Nymphia waits at the top of the staircase. Then, the trademark clanking of chains, the whoosh of air.
Jane is smirking, tongue poised on the back of her teeth like she’s about to say something, and Nymphia rolls her eyes and says, “Let’s go.”
She walks down the stairs, and Jane says, “Uh, I think you mean, ‘Thank you, Plane, for accompanying me on this assignment to save my ass and increase my visibility’.”
“No, I don’t.”
She can feel Jane’s eye roll and smiles a little before shifting into hero mode.
“Thank you so much for helping us,” a policeman says.
“No, you guys are the real heroes,” Jane says warmly, patting the guy’s shoulder. “We’re just glad to be able to help.”
Nymphia wants to barf but there’s no time, they have people to save or whatever.
“Where’s the shooter?” Jane asks.
“Thirty-first floor.”
She’s gone before one can even blink, flying up and shattering the window. Nymphia turns to the cop and asks where the elevator is.
Jane is waiting for her on the floor, leaning back, arms crossed, and Nymphia adjusts her costume as she walks down the hall.
“You do know you can fly, right,” Jane quips as she follows. “Just imagine all those little people down there who could have been saved two minutes earlier-“
“And you know that he hasn’t been shooting at all for five minutes,” Nymphia counters. “And people don’t have time for stupid shit like breaking windows.”
“They do if the person doing it looks cool.”
“So, not you.”
Jane’s jaw drops, and Nymphia smirks and puts a hand on her hip, looking up at the blonde with satisfaction.
“You haven’t changed your costume in two years, the people are getting bored,” she continues.
“Okay, Big Bird.”
“You called me that last week, try harder.”
Gunshots sound, and they stop on opposite sides of the door.
“See, that’s why I love you,” Jane says. “You’re the only one who tells me the truth.”
She busts down the door, walking in to face the shooter with Nymphia flying around her. The brunette has the man in her grasp in a second, holding him out to Jane, and with the flash of a chain and the squish of his flesh that problem is solved.
A pause, then Nymphia asks, “Remember when they told you to tone it down just a little bit?”
“I got excited, I’m sorry,” she says in her hero voice, a smirk playing on her lips.
She flicks a chain in Nymphia’s direction, just a flash, and Nymphia squeals, making Jane laugh. Nymphia flips her off.
Jane holds up the man’s machine gun with one hand, resting it under her arm, and says, “You know the drill, he shot at us first.”
Nymphia sighs, rolls her eyes, then stands still and lets Jane shoot her.
The blonde holds the gun up and blows the smoke off the muzzle, grinning, and Nymphia shakes her head before looking away to hide her smile.
“The things I let you do to me.”
“We‘re not even dating anymore.”
That makes Nymphia turn back around. Jane knows it, too. Jane knows what she’s doing in all of this, showing up to this assignment, bantering with Nymphia, walking around with that stupid little smirk while she’s doing it.
But Nymphia also knew what she was doing calling her here in the first place.
She takes a few steps forward, heels clacking, then her eyes are closed and her lips are on Jane’s and Jane’s are on hers. Jane wraps her arms around her shoulders and Nymphia wraps them around her neck, pulling her down, pulling her close.
There’s a decapitated man on the ground and Jane is holding a machine gun, but Nymphia only cares about this kiss.
Jane tilts her head, kisses her harder. Nymphia always jokes that the only way to get Jane to break her perfect posture is to kiss her, but it’s not a joke, and she smiles and it makes Jane pull back and murmur, “What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing.”
Jane seems to realize she’s still holding the gun and tosses it in the direction of the shooter. Nymphia takes a step back, looking around, awkward.
“Maybe we should take this somewhere else,” she says.
“Yeah,” Jane says, glancing at the blood on the floor.
“Your place?”
“Sure.”
“Name a time.”
“I’m ready whenever, baby.”
“Well, some of us have a job to do.”
Jane presses a hand to her chest in offense and says, “This was my day off, I’m doing more work-“
“Yeah, yeah,” Nymphia waves her hand. “I think I’ll be done around eight.”
“Sounds good.”
Nymphia walks past her, to the window.
“Ahem.”
She turns, hand on hip.
“No breaking windows, remember?”
“It’s already broken. And I look cool.”
She winks and flies out.