I Don’t Date Superheroes

by S D Rogue

  “Is there another way out?” Bashir asked, scanning the room.

  Hana’s head motioned behind them. “Bedroom.”

  Bashir took Hana’s hand and, ducking, led her towards the back of the apartment. As they made it past the couch, the door was knocked down. Hana turned as they ran and could make out only the silhouettes of two large men holding some kind of semiautomatic rifle.

  “There,” she heard a man say.

  Bashir pushed her in front of him and quickly pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and shined it in their eyes. He knew they were wearing night vision goggles and the bright light would be enough to buy them a few seconds; it wouldn’t blind them like it did in the movies, but it would take away their focus.

  They made it to her bedroom and locked the door. Bashir went to open the window, and Hana went to the white Ikea dresser pushed up against the wall.

  As Bashir opened the window and knocked off the screen, the bedroom door was knocked off its hinges. The smoke had not yet entered the bedroom and the streetlight illuminated the room just enough to see the figures more clearly. They were both dressed in dark clothing and had the buzzed haircuts all too common at the base.

  Hana had pulled a Beretta M9 pistol from her dresser. She aimed it at the first figure as he entered the room and fired at his chest. He was wearing a bulletproof vest, but the force of the hit was strong enough to toss him backwards and onto the ground.

  She dropped to the ground with a barrel roll and was able to take out the second figure before he knew what had happened.

  Bashir looked at her, surprised. “You sure you were just a medic in the Special Forces?”

  “Trained as hard as everyone else,” Hana said, kicking away their guns then tying her robe which had come undone during the roll. They weren’t dead, but they weren’t going anywhere. She turned to Bashir. “They need to get to a hospital.”

  “They were trying to kill us. They’ll be fine.”

  “They were trying to kill you,” Hana pointed out. She looked down to one who was moaning. “You know them?”

  “Never seen them.” Bashir looked down. “They’re probably hired guns—there’s no military branding on their uniform.” He said thinking for a moment, then continued, “One thing I’ve learned is when there’s one group of mercenaries, there’s probably several more just like them not far behind. Let’s get out of here.”

  Bashir started for the window, and Hana said, “You really have something against doors.”

  Bashir started to speak but Hana cut him off. “Someone is coming!”

  “Quick,” Bashir said, taking her hand and helping her out the window.

  It was only when she was outside and she felt the breeze going through the opening of her robe that she realized she hadn’t gotten dressed.

  As Bashir climbed out the window, she began jogging barefoot. Her car was parked a block over and she kept a spare key in a magnetic box under the driver’s door.

  “Let me drive,” Bashir said when they reached the car. Her feet were killing her, and she didn’t protest.

  Hana looked around as he sped off.

  “Anyone?” Bashir asked.

  “I think we’re safe.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me about your superpower?” Bashir asked.

  “My superpower?”

  “Come on,” Bashir laughed, “no one’s hearing is that good. How did you know they were coming—twice?”

  “The first time I saw the shadows.”

  “The second?”

  She was quiet. Finally she said, “It’s dumb.”

  “Try me.”

  “There wasn’t anyone there. It was just a cat—my landlord’s. I saw it in the house right after I climbed out the window and I didn’t say anything because we needed to get out either way.”

  Bashir quietly laughed. A second later he asked, “Now you believe me?”

  “I believe someone is trying to get you, but that doesn’t equate to some conspiracy inside job.”

  “I’m still working on that part.”

  “You realize I’m just a medic, right?”

  Bashir nodded.

  “So why’d you come to me?”

  “Because you’re a medic,” Bashir said, then explained, “You seemed like someone I could trust—and—I think something’s wrong with me. I might need help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I was leaving, my power left me—it’s never done that. When I ran here tonight, I got tired. It’s like I need a recharge now after a few minutes.” He explained. “I was unconscious before they brought me in. I think they did something to me—or took something from me.”

  “I’m not sure I can help with that.”

  “You’re my best help.” Bashir paused and looked over at Hana; she was staring straight ahead at the darkness with her hand tightly clinching the gun she had used in the apartment.He couldn’t figure out if she was scared, confused, or trying to figure out the best way to get away from him. His tone relaxed and he tried to add with more comfort, “Look, I know how this looks—you don’t know if I’m the good guy or bad guy and I haven’t exactly given you the most convincing story. But consider what you just saw.”

  Hana’s expression didn’t change, and Bashir continued, “When I broke out of the hospital, I was careful that no one was following—and even if they were, my power is speed—they couldn’t catch up. And yet they were able to track me down to the apartment of a woman I have only met once. They were trying to kill me, but they weren’t exactly trying to not kill you.”

  Hana studied the road. She considered what he said, then finally said without looking over, “Ok—so now what?” She turned and added, “Whoever is after you is probably not going to stop.”

  “Up for a trip?”

  Hana looked down at her robe. “I’m not sure I’m dressed for it.”

  “What’s your size?”

  “My size?”

  “Dress size—there’s a mall on the way. I’ll grab you one.”

  “You’ll just run into the nearest 24-hour department store?”

  “My ability is speed—I can break in and out before the alarm even sounds.”

  “What happened to losing your power?”

  “That’s the thing—it comes and goes, but I feel fine now.” He turned from the road and looked over at her. “What do you say? Got a size?”

  “Six.”

  ###

  Hana had a lot of questions, but right now she was most concerned with someone following them. She silently sat with her hand on the trigger of the gun carefully watching the rearview mirror for any signs of trouble.

  Thirty minutes later, Bashir pulled into a Nordstrom in Escondido.

  “Got any suggestions?” he asked, pulling into the parking lot.

  “Something cute,” Hana offered.

  “Cute?” Bashir smiled. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Could you also…” she said, then added softer, “get panties?”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Bashir replied, doing his best to make her feel comfortable. “I’m the one that sort of barged in while you were getting dressed. What about a bra?”

  “I mean, if you have time.” Hana smiled.

  “I have seconds—that’s plenty of time for me. What size?”

  “36D.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Shoes—size seven.”

  He got out of the car and Hana admired his ability at work as he flashed off. Hana had quickly learned that the abilities you see in the movies aren’t what happen in real life. Had Bashir been in a movie, his superpower would have shown speed by showing him disappear, then reappear. She could see Bashir’s movements, but she would never have been able to make out who he was. It was like seeing a blurry line dance in front of her.

  Seconds later he was back with a shopping bag. “I have to warn you that I don’t have t
he greatest taste.”

  Hana looked at the names inside the bag: Rag & Bone and Theory. “You didn’t do too bad.” The Rag & Bone dress was a simple black mid-length dress with thin white trim along the collar and sleeves. The Theory dress had a white collar and a front zipper that gave it a more industrial feel. Below the clothes were a pair of red Arche flats.

  “So how’d I do?”

  “Aside from the fact that this is stealing, you did pretty good.”

  “I’ll have the agency charge them later,” he said as he started driving.

  “Do you mind if I change in the back?”

  “I expected it.”

  Hana tossed the bag over the seat, then pulled her robe tight as she started to maneuver over the seat. Bashir saw her struggling and stopped the car. “Let’s make it easy on you—why don’t you use the doors?”

  “Since when are you for using doors?” Hana teased.

  In the back, she kept a watch on the mirror making sure he didn’t try to peak. A part of her, however, wouldn’t mind if he did.

  She carefully maneuvered her body as Bashir drove; she picked the Rag & Bone dress. When it was on and adjusted, she gave Bashir permission to turn around. “How do I look?”

  Hana watched in the mirror as his eyes moved from the road to her, the moon reflecting off them; they got wider as she came into his view. “Enchanting.”

  “You’re still not off the hook for busting my window and nearly having me shot,” Hana sternly warned.

  “When this is done, I’ll replace it myself,” he said, sounding sincere. “Just give me time and I’ll earn your trust.”

  Chapter Three

  H

  ana returned to the front seat and sat quietly for several minutes. She tried to process everything before finally asking, “How did they find you?”

  Bashir, whose eyes had been intensely focused on the road and mirrors, turned and looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you were careful. You’re obviously fast, which makes you hard to catch and harder to follow. How did they find you?”

  Bashir sighed as his expression turned to that of someone who had been caught in a lie. “Maybe I wasn’t too careful.”

  Hana’s eyes widened as she waited for him to continue.

  “The campus was empty. Just the guards. It was easy to sneak out undetected. But before I did, I used a computer to find you—I guess they tracked me down from that.” His eyes returned to the road. “I didn’t really think it was this far inside—that they were watching me that close. I thought it was an inside job to get me killed. Now—I don’t know. They must have had a chance to kill me, but they didn’t.”

  Hana looked at him closely. He looked different—he looked tired, but it was more than that. He looked broken. She had seen the look before in combat—men who had been through too much turmoil who didn’t want to fight any longer.

  When she was first hired by the agency, she had tried to be the friendly trainer and nurse, but it had backfired; Paladins just wanted to see her as a toy they could play with—a helpless woman who they could treat more as an object than a human being. It hadn’t taken her long to change her attitude, to be professional and drop the friendliness—to make it clear that she wasn’t a shoulder to cry on. She had a job to do and that was it.

  But there was something about Bashir’s brokenness that made Hana want to reach out. He was a wounded soldier who needed to talk. “Tell me about the mission—tell me what happened.”

  Bashir’s eyes did not turn this time. She saw emotion in the way he stared at the road, but she sensed him fighting it. “It was an easy mission that went south fast.”

  Hana watched him. She watched the way he stared. He was thinking about the mission and it was hurting him. Softly she asked, “Tell me who you lost.”

  Bashir jerked his head as he turned to look at her, but he didn’t speak.

  “I’ve seen the look before,” Hana explained with compassion. “I’ve had that look before.”

  He was quiet for several seconds as he turned back to the road. Finally, he said in a soft voice, “Kid named Mason.” His voice shook with emotion as he said, “Like literally, a kid—a rookie fresh out of training. First job.” Bashir bit his lip as he reflected, “He was a cocky SOB, but he had this ability—he could make things happen in slow motion. It was pretty cool—and what a pairing, right? Me Mr. Fast, and him Mr. Slow.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were in France, escorting a senator to some gala the Prime Minister was hosting. I was in the lead car, and Mason was in the back with the senator. He was a talker—he had charmed the pants off the senator, and he wanted to talk to him about his future career. Never seen a kid so ambitious.” He stopped speaking. It was dark, but Hana could still catch a glimpse of a tear in Bashir’s eye as he continued, “We were almost there and the driver stopped, took the keys, and got out of the car. I get out of the car. The senator’s driver had left too. Of course, I knew that something was up. And before I knew it, both cars completely exploded. But exploded from the inside—not from something hitting it. I felt this shooting pain in my leg—I knew it was a piece of the car. But then I felt a second pain on my other leg—more like a small sting or prick. I don’t even know where it came from, but it completely paralyzed me. I collapsed to the ground, and then something hit me in the face—I swear it felt like a piece of plywood coming across my face—but I didn’t see a thing. I started blacking out, but before I was completely out, I saw the kid dragged from car.” He wiped his eye. “When I came to, I was back at Pendleton.”

  Hana was quiet for several seconds before finally offering, “It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could have done.”

  Bashir didn’t answer. He kept quiet. Hana knew that was all she’d get out of him right now.

  ###

  An hour out of Escondido, they arrived at a small airstrip in Pauma, next to a casino. It was still dark, and the tall casino almost seemed like a mirage next to the nothingness of everything around them.

  “Now what, hot shot?” Hana said as the car slowed on the runway.

  “Come with me,” Bashir said, leaving the car and using a flashlight to illuminate the darkened airstrip.

  “Expecting someone?” Hana asked as she followed him. She couldn’t see what was around them, but it smelled strongly of citrus. Most of the land in this area was used for agriculture, and she knew they were close to a farmer’s orange field.

  “Or something.” Bashir walked around the air strip kicking his feet in the dirt every so often. After walking in circles several times, he said, “Here we go.”

  The ground began to shake. Behind them, a hangar began to rise from the ground. As it rose, lights inside it illuminated a Cirrus SR22—a small four seater plane with a prop engine on the nose of the aircraft. Next to the plane were two oil barrels.

  “You’re just full of tricks,” Hana said, staring at the hangar.

  “Let’s just hope it flies. It’s probably been buried a good five years.”

  “For occasions like these?”

  Bashir nodded. “For the rare chance an agent has to go rogue.”

  “And you know how to fly?”

  Bashir smiled. “We are about to find out.” He went to the oil barrels next to the plane and began to fuel the aircraft.

  After a few minutes of waiting, Hana turned, alarmed. “You expecting someone?”

  Bashir looked at her curiously, then followed her stare. In the distance, he vaguely made out headlights heading their way. “That can’t be good—come on!”

  He quickly climbed into the plane. By the time Hana was inside, he was already in the cockpit powering it up.

  “We need to go,” Hana said, watching the lights quickly get closer.

  “This isn’t a movie—airplanes don’t just start up like a car.”

  “Then I think we need some kind of backup plan.”
>
  Bashir turned and pointed behind the seat in the back. “There’s a safe behind you. Combination 77456—there’s some weapons in there.”

  “So we’re shooting our way out?”

  “Any better ideas?”

  “You’re the superhero.”

  “The superhero who used up his powers getting you designer clothes.” He said. “There’s less than a minute. Can you handle this?”

  Hana rolled her eyes, annoyed, and went to the locker. She was surprised by the contents. She expected a small gun, but the safe was deep. There was a small gun, but also an assault rifle and a rocket launcher. “You guys don’t mess around.”

  “If you saw who we deal with regularly, you’d understand.” He paused. “Speaking of which—those guys are getting closer. You better take cover.”

  Hana quickly climbed out of the airplane and took cover behind the oil containers near the plane. As the car got closer, she could see it was a black SUV with tinted windows. It stopped several feet from the plane, and two tall caucasian men with identical crew cuts immediately got out. They were unarmed.

  “Hana Nakamura?” One of the men called loudly.

  Hana didn’t answer.

  “We know Bashir has tried to tell you there’s a mole within the agency,” the man calmly explained. “We are unarmed. We want to help him. He’s not well, Hana. You need to let us help him—help you.”

  The other man began, “Bashir killed three men when he broke out of the hospital tonight—I believe you are friends with one of them: Frank Kim.”

  “Frank?” Hana quietly said. She prayed it wasn’t true. She rose slightly and took aim at one of the men.

  The man saw her and smiled at her. “We aren’t the enemy here.”

  “You’re from the agency?”

  They both nodded.

  “What’s this week’s code to get in the front door?”