An Odd Couple (Solo)

For weeks, months, the two of them worked together. It was a working relationship, to start out. For one of them, it was about doing something. It was their responsibility. For the other, it was about making them feel better about the terrible decisions they’d made— by doing something to address the bad karma. Personally, that person thought the whole “responsibility angle” was an excuse made up after rescuing a cute girl to justify reckless endangerment of one’s self for a thankless job. But then, what did that person know? He’d been a criminal! And pretty much a terrorist, if they were splitting hairs.

Crime went down in the area. The working relationship changed from one where they bickered like a married couple to one of mutual respect. And friendship. It was odd for the one who’d called himself a criminal. Friends, in his experience, were a rarity.

They took on bad guys in situations both interesting and provocative. And stupid. Very, very stupid. They helped a lot of people, saved a lot of lives, and started up rumors in the area about someone in a motorcycle helmet who went around fighting crimes. The helmet design varied, but they were always agile, always fast. They were an odd couple, but the partnership worked. Sadly, it wasn’t fated to last.

—

The man had been a terrorist, from the same group Elliott had once served. Ragnarok. Maybe it had been karma baring its teeth as if to say “all your good work doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what you’ve done.” Maybe it had simply been a bad situation, and everyone involved had done the best they could with what they had.

There was a bomb, saved up from Ragnarok’s weapons stockpiles. There was a building full of people. Choices were made.

They caught the guy, got him unconscious. He was crazy, had been ranting, but it had still been unclear why he’d done what he’d done.

“They were a chaos faction,” Elliott had told Benji. “Nothing they ever did needed to make sense.”

It hadn’t mattered. The bomb had already been set. The guy had been knocked unconscious in the scuffle. He wasn’t telling anyone how to defuse the bomb. It’s not something one can resolve via google answers. Their only visible solution was to get the bomb away from people, before it went boom. Side to side wouldn’t work. The only way was up. And Elliott didn’t have the hops to reach the top of the area where the explosion would result in the least amount of damage to buildings in the surrounding area. But Benji did. Damn Korean ninja.

It was to save people. It was his responsibility. That was a load of horse $h@t. He had to. It was dumb. It was the only way! But he would die. The argument was brief, but poignant. Elliott lost.

The entire method of resolving the situation to get the height was ridiculous. It involved a lot of jumping, bursting forward to get extra height, wall running and extra jumping. A massive kick off a massive kick. And Benji had double jumped to gain the extra height. And then there’d been the explosion, the flaming helmet shrapnel, and the fall. Not a single person had died. Well, except the one. But he’d done so willingly. Braver than any goddamned x-man.

Elliott had gone home furious.

The papers the next day had blamed early fireworks. July fourth is still on the 4th, kids! That had only made Elliott angrier and more bitter. The only light in the darkness of the whole situation... could have been blamed on Benji, too. Source of the darkness, source of the light. Freaking idiot. How typical. He’d left behind his art supplies. In the middle of the freaking living room.

When Elliott had arrived at their apartment, he’d thrown down the charred remnants of Benji’s motorcycle helmet. The only thing left of the man. Then, he’d kicked it at the blank canvas left out in the middle of the living room. And left paint splotches from the paint the helmet had fallen into. He’d been possessed by the urge to do that a couple more times. It was oddly cathartic. He got all his anger out on the canvas. And what went onto it... well, apparently that was art.

Benji has always been trying to get Elliott into the things he liked. Music. Art. Even the stupid books he read. Haikus about battle strategy, of all things! And the art? Well. It wound up becoming an outlet to his fury. Almost like Benji hadn’t died. Like he was still with him, in spirit. Except he was still dead, and Elliott didn’t believe in ghosts.

The end. Except it wasn’t. And it would take some time before he recovered from it all. Benji has left him with ghosts, and he’d left him with an example that brought up more questions than anyone would ever want to field. They were an odd couple, Elliott and his ghosts. The worst part was that smile. That damned smile.

Before Benji had gone, before Cheshire had gone, he’d raised his visor and smiled at him. He’d left him with that Cheshire grin.

‘You’re dying, idiot. So why are you smiling? What do you know, that I don’t?’

Benji was the real Cheshire. All future Cheshires would be imitators. Even him. And it would be a long while before Elliott ever spoke about the man holding his own death in his hands, and smiling.

‘Why the smile, Cheshire? Huh? What’s so funny about trading lives...’ Superheroes. Elliott wasn’t sure he’d ever be one of those. Or even your tasteless vanilla hero. But he could try. Benji had left him with one hell of an example.

((He’d totally been the sidekick in that relationship. Teary-eyed wimp.))