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Coupé could do this on her own, but also, she liked having Punch Up around and any social interaction in which he did the talking was guaranteed to go better.
And anyway, why would she deprive him of the chance to see the hot stranger again?
So he was on her shoulders as she flew up to the ledge of the billboard where one very drunk Mecha Man was trying to figure out how to get down from the billboard.
“Need a hand?” Punch Up called jovially, startling the poor man, and Coupé tensed, ready to dive to catch him if he didn’t manage to regain his balance. He did, thankfully, so she relaxed.
“Nah, I'm good,” Mecha Man replied, not quite slurring but not doing a convincing imitation of sobriety. He waved them off.
Or rather, he waved Punch Up off, because when she half-questioned, “I didn't know Mecha Man could fly,” he jumped about a foot in the air with a harsh swear like he was trying to prove her wrong.
Coupé dove, not particularly worried when Punch Up fell off her shoulders at the sudden movement. The pavement would be worse off than he was. She caught Mecha Man in a smooth bridal carry, and when she glanced down, Punch Up was laying in the middle of a small patch of cracked asphalt, grinning up at them and shooting a thumbs up.
“Good catch, lass!” he called.
Meanwhile, Mecha Man twisted to look down. She had to tighten her grip to keep from dropping him. “Holy shit - are you okay?” the hero demanded.
Punch Up stood easily, brushing himself off. “Oh, yeah, don’t you worry about me, lad,” he dismissed. “I'm sturdier than I look.”
He looked plenty sturdy, so that was a feat, but it was still a true statement.
“Did Blonde Blazer just leave you up there?” Coupé asked, and Mecha Man startled again, like she wasn’t currently cradling him.
“I think she forgot I can’t fly,” he said. Then he squinted suspiciously. “How’d you know I was with Blonde Blazer?”
“You weren't the only one who got kicked out,” she replied simply. “Flambae went home to sulk and look up a dentist for the morning, and when Punch Up and I went back inside, we were informed we weren't welcome. So we went looking for you, but you were already flying up to the billboard. With Blazer.”
Carefully, she landed on the ground, gentle and graceful as if from a jeté and not a mad dive to save a hero from getting splattered on the sidewalk.
“Why were you looking for me?” he asked, still suspicious.
“I wished to congratulate you on your extremely elegant takedown of Flambae,” she said, placing him on his feet with caution. She didn't let go just yet, and she was proven right not to because immediately he wobbled, but then he managed to stabilize.
“I wasn't really trying,” the hero mumbled, embarrassed. “That's why I used water…”
“Aye, lad, that's part of what made it attractive,” Punch Up replied. Mecha Man's face went bright red.
“Do you - would you like to go elsewhere and continue to spend time with us?” Coupé asked. Merde. This was why she let Punch Up do the talking. Hopefully that wasn't too abrupt or awkward or - y'know. Anything. Too anything.
“Why?” Mecha Man asked again. Coupé thought that they had already answered this question but she kept her mouth shut because Punch Up would know how to say that without sounding like a bitch.
“You’re interestin’,” Punch Up said. And funny, in her opinion, but she held her tongue. There was a reason he was handling this. “For all the reasons we already mentioned. Plus, I'm curious what Blazer was talking to ya about.”
Coupé nodded. That was another good point.
Mecha Man shrugged. “Whatever,” he agreed. “Not like I was gonna sleep anyway,” he added in a way that made Coupé think it was meant to be under his breath but was barely quieter than the rest of what he'd been saying.
She opened her mouth to ask why but Punch Up shot her a glance and shook his head. She closed her mouth.
They ended up at a café and Mecha Man looked confused, like he expected another bar.
“You're already plenty sloshed, lad,” Punch Up explained. “Figured we could get a hot drink and some snacks.”
Coupé waved hello to the proprietor, an owl hybrid who she was pretty sure was Sonar’s ex-girlfriend. She didn't have evidence yet, but he always got weird whenever anyone mentioned the café or its owner. It was the premiere - and sole - night café in town, so while most chose bars for their two a.m. drink, anyone who wanted a coffee or scone ended up here. Coupé spent many an insomniac night curled up in their armchairs with a chamomile and her e-reader.
“If you're buying, who am I to complain?” The hero shrugged. “If you're not, I vote more bar.”
Coupé snorted. “Yes, we're buying,” she assured him. “It would be quite rude to invite you out and not pay.”
“Is that a rule?” Mecha Man asked, seemingly genuine and. Oh, maybe he was like her. Her heart did a weird little stumble.
“Yes.” She nodded decisively. “The person who does the inviting pays. That's how it works.”
Punch Up smiled at her like he knew something. She hoped he would share because she didn't feel like she knew much of anything right now. Why the hell was Mecha Man so pretty? How was that fair? She wanted to use her eyeliner to turn his freckles into constellations and brush his stupid patchy eyelashes that somehow didn't detract from his appearance at all -
Punch Up nudged her and she snapped back to awareness. Thank God Mecha Man was drunk as hell - she'd been told she had unnerving eye contact and she stared like she was analyzing you. Which she was, but people didn't tend to appreciate that answer.
Punch just said he thought it was cute. She was pretty sure he was the odd one for that, but she appreciated it nonetheless.
Mecha Man tried ordering black coffee and no food. Punch made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Absolutely not,” he declared.
Mecha Man blinked slowly. “What…do you mean?” he asked.
“We're not takin’ you out just for you to order the plainest, cheapest thing on the menu and no food,” Punch said with finality. “No.”
“You look like nothing but bones under the suit,” Coupé added. “And by my count, you didn't have enough alcohol at the bar to get drunk unless you hadn't eaten anything in hours, maybe even all day.”
Punch Up made a face. “Aye, good catch, lass,” he praised. She preened, just a little, and he smiled. “Sometimes I forget what a normal alcohol tolerance looks like.”
She made a face right back at him. “I keep telling you I'm not actually a lightweight,” she reminded him.
Punch made a frankly offensive skeptical noise. She waved him off and redirected her attention back to Mecha Man. “Anyway. Pick something else. Or I will.”
“How do you make something nice sound threatening?” the hero wondered aloud. “I mean, it's hot, but I'm confused.”
He didn’t seem to realize he'd said that second part out loud too until he heard Punch Up laughing. Then, his pretty freckled cheeks turned pink and he stumbled over his words, “I’m so sorry, just ignore, apparently I really am trashed -”
“It's fine,” she cut him off, mostly to save him from himself. “The fact you find me sexually attractive is something I do on purpose. Frankly, I would be more concerned if it wasn't working.”
Her frankness didn't seem to help. If anything, it might have made it worse.
Mecha Man groaned. “I think I agree with the people on the news who said it'd have been better if I died…” he mumbled, blushing. Still with no volume control, but seeming unaware of that fact as he startled when Punch Up grabbed his hand.
“Don't even joke about that,” Punch Up said sternly, fixing the hero with his own intense stare. “Even if you never get back in that mech, lad, the world is still better with you in it. I doubt you'll stop tryin’ to do good in whatever form you can, and besides, you just bein’ alive and around makes other people's lives better.”
“Like who?” Mecha Man challenged skeptically, but he didn't pull his hand back.
“Us,” Coupé answered, because that was one she knew the answer to and theoretically couldn't screw up. “My night is better having met you.”
He really was such a pretty shade of pink. It was a shame he had given no indication he would be receptive to a kiss.
Probably. She would have to ask Punch Up just in case she missed it.
The barista cleared her throat. Punch Up and Mecha Man were still distracted, but Coupé was fully capable of ordering for the three of them.
“Still get him the black coffee,” she directed, “but also get him a cinnamon mocha. And…” She scanned the treats for a matching flavor profile. “The thickest slice of banana bread you've got.”
Those were fairly inoffensive, and close enough to what Punch Up got her back before she got out of her own black coffee phase. Less Spanish, sure, but what could you do on this side of the Atlantic?
Cela nodded, tapping a couple things into her terminal. “And the usual for you and yours?” She tilted her head in Punch Up’s direction. Coupé agreed and slipped the girl her card.
She never called Coupé or Punch Up by either name, hero or legal, though she definitely knew them by name. Always “you and yours,” “miss,” “sir,” whatever polite epithet you can think of. Coupé was pretty sure it was out of respect for their purported ‘secret’ identities, even though Punch Up wore the same things to work that he wore to the bar or at home or really anywhere. He was rather visually identifiable.
Coupé had more of an alter ego (of sorts) than he did, but she had no illusions the domino mask did that much. It mostly just hid the worst of the scarring on her face. When she had it off, that tended to be what people focused on more than anything else, so unless she was with Punch Up and people put two and two together, she enjoyed some amount of anonymity. Invisigal hadn’t even recognized her the one time they were at the same supermarket.
She’d never mentioned it, but occasionally on shift she would drop comments about things that were in the other hero’s cart just to get the mildly disturbed “How the hell do you know that” look. The girl with invisibility powers wasn't used to being the one who didn't see someone.
And irony was one of Coupé’s favorite forms of humor. That, or a good insult - which was why she had almost become the target of Flambae’s ire for laughing at the “sunglasses at night” joke.
“Even if you win, you're still a loser.”
Honestly, she’d be tempted to have sex with Mecha Man for that joke alone; the fact she found him incredibly attractive just made it that much easier.
Cela hooted softly to get Coupé’s attention, handing her a tray with 4 drinks and an assortment of baked goods. Notably, more than she’d ordered.
She raised an eyebrow at the hybrid. Cela gave an awkward shrug. “He saved my baby brother once,” she replied. Coupé figured a lot of people probably had stories like that. “I have a soft spot for him. Was glad he wasn’t dead, ya know?”
When she glanced over, Coupé was happy to see Mecha Man was looking back and he had heard the praise. Good.
“Silas, right?” he asked.
Cela stiffened. “Yes…”
He chuckled. “I would never have guessed - you look nothing alike. But I remember he wouldn't shut up about his older sister the whole time we were escaping. Cela.” He gestured to her name tag.
Both her hands and her wings flew up to cover her face. “Oh, God,” she mumbled, but all the tension left her frame. “I'm so sorry about him - he is always running his mouth.” She peeked out quizzically. “But…what do you mean? Everyone always says we look so similar.”
Mecha Man shook his head. “No, you're - you have two different face shapes. He's rounder, you're more like a heart. And the colors are different - your browns are more reddish, but his are more yellow, and also you have like. Waaay more gray all over. And your skin is also several shades darker.”
Cela blinked slowly. “We have different dads,” she replied. “No one ever notices…any of that stuff.”
“I dunno, some people just don't pay enough attention.” Mecha Man shrugged. He was much steadier on his feet now than when they had first rescued him from the billboard, but it was still a bit disjointed of a movement.
Cela gave a pleased chuff, and Coupé could tell the girl was happy, even if her beak couldn't smile like a full human.
“You're too skinny,” she decided, and plopped at least three more pastries onto their tray. Coupé raised an eyebrow and received a dismissive wing flap.
Mecha Man tried to refuse. “Oh, no, I couldn't…” Cela stared him down, unblinking.
“You won't win, lad,” Punch Up laughed. “She's a stubborn bird.”
The hybrid narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, telling Punch Up very clearly he wasn’t as funny as he thought. The man chuckled anyway. “Sorry, lass.”
Mecha Man sighed, shoulders slumping as he accepted his defeat. “Thank you, Cela,” he said, sounding genuine, even if incredibly awkward. “Tell Silas I say, ‘hello.’”
They guided Mecha Man over to their usual table (not Coupé’s, because that was only suitable for one person, but the one they always used together). When he got to the booth, he slumped into the vinyl seats like a puppet with their strings cut.
He was on Coupé’s side.
She debated momentarily whether to sit next to Punch Up, but the idea made her anxious. She decided this was…probably fine? Carefully, she slid in next to Mecha Man, feeling soothed by her clear view of the door and the wall behind her back.
Even though she had deliberately left space between the two of them, Mecha Man still jolted with a full body flinch when Coupé landed in the seat. He grimaced apologetically. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said softly, seeing herself in that movement. She wondered whose soldier he was. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked his arm, the way you would a skittish cat.
“Aye. Ya just got blown to smithereens, lad, anyone would be jumpy after that!” Punch Up reached across the table to pat Mecha Man’s hand, and Coupé wondered if he was just being polite or if he genuinely didn't see what she saw. She would ask later.
Instead, she pressed the ceramic mug of cinnamon mocha into his free hand. “Try it,” she directed.
Tentatively, Mecha Man took a sip. He made a face, but then he took another…and made the same face. “It's…sweet,” he observed.
Punch Up looked honestly crestfallen. “You don't have to drink it if you don't like it, lad,” he said, face a little like a kicked puppy.
Coupé could see the panic rising in Mecha Man's eyes, that dire need to please everyone with no thought to yourself. “No, it's - it's not bad,” he back-pedalled, taking another sip only to grimace again.
Coupé smothered a chuckle and rolled her eyes, plucking the mug out of his hands and replacing it with her own. “Here. Have this one,” she directed.
When he gave a little half-there smile, she honestly didn't even really mind that he was drinking out of her mug - the one she had since she came here frequently enough (and was a “bit particular” according to Gertrude, the owner).
“Better?” she asked.
“I mean, it tastes kind of like I licked a leaf, but…yes.”
Coupé smirked. “Now watch this,” she directed, and proceeded to mix the black coffee and matcha between the two mugs until she ended with something that was a blend of both.
He kept his eyes trained on her hands with a startling intensity for a drunk man, and she wasn't sure if it was because she'd told him to or because using a tendril of shadow as a teaspoon was out of the ordinary.
The first time Punch Up had taken her on a proper date, he asked her to hold his card while he ran to the restroom. This came on the tail of a several minute argument about who was paying that he won specifically because Coupé didn't actually have her wallet. He was relatively quick in the restroom, but her arm was still starting to get tired from holding up the card when he got back. When he saw it, he had a laugh and explained that he didn't mean it quite so literally and she could have put it down.
She was reminded of that night by the way Mecha Man's eyes didn't leave the mug until her shadows gently placed it back in his hands. Then he looked up and held her gaze.
God, but his eyes were beautiful. Even with those ridiculous patchy lashes. She wanted to know what happened there - was it hero work? An explosion? Or was it the same reason her left eyebrow hadn't looked quite right since she was fourteen years old?
“This is better,” Mecha Man agreed, breaking her internal monologue. He was still drinking from her mug, but she still found she didn’t mind, sipping the mocha from the mug that had been his. And if she carefully fit her lips to where his had been, well, that was nobody's business but hers.
Punch Up raised an eyebrow and she wasn’t sure if it was because he’d noticed the silly romance novel move she’d just pulled or because he was surprised she was letting someone else use her mug. She’d killed a man for less.
She rolled her eyes at him and he broke into a smirk.
Mecha Man munched on the banana bread, seeming to prefer the cinnamon in this form. When he finished the slice, he made no move to pick up another pastry until Coupé physically placed a cherry turnover into his hand, closing his fingers around it. He gave her an incredulous look, but she met his eyes easily, holding until he looked away first. She’d never lost a stare-down, and tonight wouldn’t be the first.
They chatted about inane things, with Mecha Man pulling lots of information from them but giving little away himself. It was mostly Punch Up carrying the conversation; Coupé was watching them both with her hawk-sharp eyes, drinking in the scene in front of her as much as her mocha. Punch Up told stories from his time in the circus, from when he went home to find his Mam working as a nurse for the IRA, from his and Coupé’s time together exploring the world, from their time working with their new (for a given definition) teammates…
If there was something besides the obvious that Punch Up was skilled at, it was telling a good story. And he never ran out. His voice was soothing to listen to, and he had definitely rambled Coupé through many a panic attack. She could see the same effect on Mecha Man now, watching his shoulders lose the tension they had been holding, likely for days. He hadn’t been out of the coma for that long - she could imagine it took more than a week to put your life back together, especially when your entire purpose for existing was an unsalvageable wreck.
(She recognized that look in his eyes at the press conference. She saw it in the mirror, too.)
Mecha Man yawned. “Fuck,” he said with his hand still half covering his mouth. Coupé followed his gaze to the clock on the wall. “I have to get up and go to a fucking…job in the morning. I gotta go, guys. Thanks. It was actually fun.”
“Wait a moment,” Coupé requested, pulling one of Cela’s permanent markers across the café with the brush of a shadow. The hybrid didn’t even look up, she was so used to it now.
Mecha Man startled as Coupé shoved up his sleeve. “Hey, wait - what are you doing?” he demanded, watching her scrawl 10 digits down his forearm.
“We should do this again,” she said simply. She blew on the marker even though it was already dry against his skin, just to watch him shiver, then rolled down his sleeve and patted his forearm. “Farewell, Mecha Man.”
Punch Up joined her in watching him leave. “D’you think he’ll actually call?” he asked.
“I hope so,” she replied.
Invisigal is going on about how she’s already seen their dispatcher naked, how he has a ‘total dad bod,’ whatever that means. “Covered in scars,” she adds, “which really does it for me.”
Coupé rarely agrees with her on much, but that’s something they have in common.
Robert’s voice sounds familiar to Coupé; Invisigal’s next statement confirms it. “Yeah, he’s got someone’s phone number scrawled across his forearm with one of those…thick-ass sharpies.”
The rest of the team hoots and hollers and comments about his ass, but Coupé? She just smiles.