Free Powers by Brian Michael Bendis Page B

live in the present. The past was too damn hard.
    â€œSo,” he’d responded, tracing gouges in the table. “You’re single?”
    The conversation had gotten easier after that, chiefly because they’d focused on flirting and work. She asked about his commission, and Aaron evaded every question. He, in turn, pried into Walker’s life, and she pivoted toward the intriguing shit that they had seen or solved. She caught him up on Retro Girl and Triphammer. The Powers virus and Olympia’s death-by-orgasm. Z and Wolfe, and then Chicago and the setback with the bureau (which he, as a Washington insider, knew about). She skirted certain issues and elaborated on others, choosing to conceal her brief stint with powers (and ensuing pregnancy) as well as Walker’s more intimate, personal details. Aaron picked up on her fading passion, though—the way she described the events in her past, the manner in which her body language changed from confident to sorrowful made him wonder if she’d become disenchanted with the job. She admitted that the years had taken their toll. Deena balanced on the precipice; she loved law enforcement, never felt more alive than when using honed detection skills to solve a case. But the raft of bullshit that came with that high had begun to outweigh the wins. And truth be told, she had explained to Aaron, Deena wasn’t sure how much longer she could endure it.
    I haven’t even expressed that to Walker, Deena thought. Aaron is the first person I’ve told about how I’ve been feeling, That must mean something, right?
    She remained wary, worried he might be leveraging their history and minefield of a relationship to dig up dirt for his commission. But when Aaron’s face softened after that and he’d invited her to dinner, espousing the virtues of a Polynesian stew joint on Dougan and Alimagno, Deena lowered her shields to see where this might be going. She really needed a night out, despite the way her gut recoiled when she thought about how they’d left things. Her last date had ended badly—like “boot in the crotch” badly. So she’d said yes, even though she’d sensed warning lights when Aaron offered to help navigate the red tape of her open investigation: the high-profile corpse in the morgue.
    She’d hesitated, and then the call had come in. But they’d gone on reminiscing for another ten minutes, so of course Walker had left her behind.
    And now here we sit, she mused, ignoring questions best left unanswered. Meanwhile, I’m forced to cut a swath through snow-covered streets to reach a crime scene in which my superstar partner—who isn’t actually on the job—has probably solved the Hoffa disappearance. She slammed her palm on the wheel, eliciting barks of protest from her straining horn.
    â€œCome on, dammit! Homicide! Out of the way!” Deena sharply turned to the left, driving up and onto the sidewalk, spattering bystanders with slush. Commuters and tourists scrambled to clear a path, flattening themselves against walls as she steered toward Ellis Station. Three policemen warned Deena back, but the squeal of her tires as she launched off the curb sent them hustling for safety, too. She banked right and then left again and brought the SUV in behind the cordon that had been created for the ambulances. Shifting into park, she waved at the shouting cops and then glanced sideways to gauge her passenger’s reaction. Hand welded to the dash, left foot wedged against the glove compartment, Aaron was wide-eyed and his breathing was very still. After a moment, his chest unhitched, and he extricated himself from the crash-landing position he’d assumed until Deena inevitably, thankfully, stopped the car.
    â€œCome on, Blitzen,” she said, smiling sweetly. Deena exited onto the street, and Aaron joined her after a moment, visibly shaken. Deena started toward the doors, ignoring