Mark & Amanda, Friday noon

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Mark and Amanda talk about the events of the previous night, and discuss the implications of what they've done.


Mark had been uncharacteristically quiet today. Which meant he had the demeanor of a normal person for a change, and that kind of brought the whole office's spirit down. When noon struck, he fired off a quick text to Amanda and grabbed his coat. When she came down, he waved and smiled weakly. "There's a new kosher deli a couple blocks down. Sound good?"

"Sure." If Mark was quiet, Amanda was moreso. Subdued, even - dark circles ringed her eyes, and she was paler than normal, tired-looking. Healing demanded a high price. She tucked her hands in her jacket pocket, falling into step beside him as they headed for the elevator. "Heard from Ange - Alejandra's going to be all right. Might be a bit of tendon damage, but she wasn't up there long enough for it to be really bad. Miguel's still in intensive care."

"But she's OK," he repeated. "Good. I . . . We've seen some awful things. Belladonna tryin' ta destroy a quarter of New Orleans just for the power, and that retard summoning the Warwolves just to get revenge against some school bullies. But this was just brutal."

"It was." The elevator arrived, fortunately empty, and Amanda propped herself against the back wall, hands still in her pockets. "Like I was saying, religion can be so completely fucked up... thinking they're doing God's work seems to take away any kind of conscience from some people." She closed her eyes for a moment, looking exhausted and wan. Then she opened them again, fixing Mark with an almost lost-looking expression. "Mark, do you ever regret it? 'Bout what we do, to do the job?"

Mark considered lying. If it had been Remy or Pete or Sofia asking, he wouldn't have been able to get away with it, so it was a tempting option here. "Yeah," he answered honestly. "I mean, I don't want to hurt anyone, you know? And I wonder if maybe sometimes it's overkill."

She shivered a little at the use of the word 'overkill'. "What they did down there... they had to pay. But..." She shivered again, almost a shudder. "I killed them, Mark. The ones that were left. Used them to stop Miguel from dying."

They stepped out of the elevator and left the building to be greeted the chill of New York winter. "But see, the way I figure is that we stopped them from doin' this to someone else. 'S'not a matter of justice or retribution, it's prevention. And I don't think that just a beatdown would do anythin' to step them. S'what I've been telling myself, at least," he added quietly.

"I know. I know you're right. It's not even that I'm worried about killing them. I just... I switched off, Mark. Just went ahead, did what I needed to, and that was that. Took myself to Sofia after I left you and fell apart there, pretty much. Did all the right things." She gave him a wan smile. "I guess what worries me is we have a fucking procedure for this sort of thing, and don't think twice. I knew what the job needs us to do sometimes, but I don't think I really believed I'd need to do it, I s'pose. 'Specially that way." A gust of wind forced her hands out of her pockets to tug her jacket zipper higher.

"I kinda went down the nasty route, too, usin' electricity instead of regular energy blasts like normal. S'a bit more dangerous." He paused, considering. "And I've kinda stopped thinking of it as a job, 'cuz it's not. It's a calling, a duty. To call it a job kinda trivializes it, y' know? You saved lives last night. That ain't trivial."

"They'll be fitting you for the leather next," she teased a little. "But you're right. What we do... it's more important than we are, in a way." Squaring her shoulders a little, she looked over at him, really taking him in this time. "You were a bit of a star last night. Without that magnet trick of yours, Alejandra would have been stuck there until the X-Men showed up."

"Bitch, please," Mark snorted, and opened the door to the deli for Amanda. "I am many things, but I'm not a superhero." Following her inside, he rubbed his hip gingerly. "Star, I'll take. Near-gimp, too. Even lifesaver. But not superhero."

"Hip still playing up? How's the physio going?" she asked, avoiding the more sensitive aspects of his previous statement in favour of the crowded deli-safe one.

"It's a pain in the ass - pun intended - and I hate it. I haven't been able to go to belly dancing classes since we came back." Mark pouted theatrically. "You know, we get put through way too much therapies for only young twenty-somethings."

"But think of how manly the scar is." She grinned at him a little more naturally this time, a degree of animation returning. "And it's the price of the jet setting lifestyle we have - lots of travel, exotic locations, interesting people and lots of therapy."

Mark smiled at Amanda, the first genuine one to be seen today. "Keeps us in one piece so we can keep doing what we do. Overall, I suspect a small price ta pay."