Nightstalker came back to herself on the bed. Judging by the light filtering in from outside the bedroom, it was morning, which meant she was probably actually waking up. Her back was slick with sweat—the flat wasn’t too hot but you shouldn’t really sleep in a jumpsuit. Her shoulders and wrists ached and rather slower than she should have, she realized she was tied to the headboard.

“Hey,” she said, loudly, then winced, because she was in this fix by trying to go toe-to-toe with Dominique unprepared. But she needed out of these damn handcuffs. They were probably hers anyways.

It was Cabot who came in, thankfully, sipping a mug of steaming coffee in a oversized men’s white tee shirt and panties. Her breasts stood perkily up against the fabric and her nipples poked through above that. Nightstalker felt her breath suddenly come sharp. She needed to focus. She was here to rescue Cabot, damnit, not have her grind on top of her while she strained helplessly against the cuffs.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said Cabot, with a cheerful slurp of the coffee.

“Help me out of these,” said Nightstalker, as firmly as she could.

“Not ’til Mistress gives me the go-ahead,” said Cabot. Another slurp.

“You can fight it,” urged Nightstalker, a little despondently. Cabot clearly wasn’t going to break free on her own anytime soon.

Cabot stopped with the cup half-lifted to her lips, and sighed. She put it down on the side table and then sat next to Nightstalker on the edge of the bed.

“You are labouring under a misconception.” She looked down at Nightstalker and sighed again. “And I’m going to get the same damn speech from you over and over until I clear some things up, evidently.

“I am here of my own free will, and am not going to help you fight Kay no matter what you say.” She held up a hand to quiet Nightstalker. “If you start on some solipsistic ‘how do you know it’s your own free will’ argument I swear I will get my own back for that crotch kick last night.”

“But- you-”

“She kidnapped me? Yeah, I guess I should be a little proud that that story’s still holding up, even after a year of me obviously working for her.

“I’ve known her since forever, back when I was a child of money back in Boston and she was…” Cabot got a sly look on her face. “She was someone I knew with no identifying characteristics I’m going to tell you. I was in love with her before I even knew I could love another woman. And then one day I found out she was in love with me.”

Nightstalker was silent as she tried to think through all of the ways she was fucked.

“We couldn’t be together, of course, not even close to each other, enough, in that damn town. Boston marriage my ass. It was all we could do to keep them from noticing, the damn -” She paused to focus herself again. “So when Kay’s power started coming in, it seemed perfect. She practiced on me and it was even more wonderful than – you’ve felt her touch. You know how it is.” Nightstalker couldn’t stop herself from nodding. “But it’s not flexible enough or long-lasting enough to give us any space. We couldn’t be together and we couldn’t make them let us be together and—”

“And so you decided to elope,” whispered Nightstalker, her mouth dry.

“Elope?” said Cabot, and then laughed. “It’s close enough, I guess. And you can see the rest, yes. Kay and I decided to make our own way in the world. Bonnie and Clyde. We weren’t intending to go that way, originally, but it’s simpler and it’s not like social convention ever did anything for us. By the time we realized that I was being reported as “kidnapped” by the mysterious new supervillain Dominique, it was easier just to roll with the punches.”

“You thought so, my dear. I still think of us as Robin Hood, with a little sideline in ironic justice.” Nightstalker’s eyes snapped to the door. Dominique was there, just as casually underdressed as Cabot was. She had a mug of coffee too.

“And you’re still wrong. True love against the world is much more romantic.” It didn’t sound like an argument. It sounded more like a private joke Nightstalker was somehow being let in on, an impression only strengthened when Dominique walked over to the bed and affectionately nuzzled the crown of Cabot’s hair.

Nightstalker’s mind was awhirl, trying to fit the suddenly shaken-up facts of the case back together. If Dominique hadn’t actually kidnapped Cabot, then her power was in fact just the one Nightstalker already knew. Which was clearly more than enough; except that without the hostage-taking Dominique—“Kay”—seemed much less like a supervillain and more like an unusually stylish con artist. Which was still in Nightstalker’s wheelhouse; but Cabot’s speech had struck on Nightstalker’s sympathies perfectly. That was the danger in con artists, obviously, but that sympathy connected with Dominique’s words about “ironic justice” and she suddenly realized why they’d treated the banker like that. She understood perfectly.

Which left only one unanswered question. “Why are you telling me this?” asked Nightstalker.

“Isn’t it obvious?” retorted Dominique, raising an eyebrow and unlocking Nightstalker’s handcuffs. “We need a woman on the inside.”