A/N: Thanks to those of you who keep up with the story -- it really makes writing fun. Almost done with the month of August . . . come September, stuff is really going to start picking up in and around the Emerson household . . .

And Justice For All: Year One
Chapter 37

“You ever go out with that hot waiter?” Danny asked, breaking the long silence. Mark looked up from the comic book, regarding his friend’s casual half-naked sprawl across the floor.

“What kind of a question is that?” he retorted, turning the page and wiping the sweat from his palm on the ratty shag carpeting.

“Just askin’,” Danny defended, rolling over to his side. His Superman boxers were nearly hanging off of his hips; he was thin, and the elastic was old. Mark was pretty sure Danny had been wearing that exact pair for as long as they’d known each other.

Mark sighed, abandoning all pretenses of reading the comic and rolling over, fanning himself with the comic to try and move some air around. August was always baking hot in Portston, and this year was no different. Living with Sander, and spending so much time in the basement, Mark had almost forgotten what it was like to live in a cement walkup without air conditioning. Almost.

“Once or twice,” he finally allowed, scratching at the line of hair below his bellybutton. He smirked briefly as he flexed his abdomen, looking down at the crease in his hip with satisfaction. He was buffing up, for sure.

“Yeah? You do him?” Danny asked.

“Once or twice,” Mark repeated, yawning.

“And?”

“What, you going all girly on me? Want the details?” Mark teased, swatting him in the arm as he stretched.

“Well you said he was hot,” Danny said, as if it explained what he was getting at.

Mark shrugged. “Dark hair, nice pair of eyes—”

“You got a type, Ruffele,” Danny teased.

“Maybe,” Mark allowed. “Anyway, the body was okay. Not great, but okay.”

“Too bad,” Danny said, not sounding upset at all.

Mark rolled his eyes. Jealous idiot. “Anyway, the kid was too honest, you know? Wanted to like, take me out and shit. Stupid idea. I don’t know what he was thinking. Not like I can go out anywhere all date-like and not have it hit every front page in the world the next day.”

“Whatever Mr. Famous,” Danny laughed.

“Not ‘cause of me, but ‘cause of Sander. They freakin’ stalk me, like I’m gonna do something that’s gonna help them get some dirt on him. Far as they care, I’m just some scandal. Kinda pisses me off.”

“Yeah?” Danny asked, crawling over to Mark and straddling his hips. “There gonna be pictures of us everywhere?”

“Maybe. Saw a flash go off when we were getting ice cream,” Mark replied, sliding his hands up Danny’s thighs. He really was way too skinny. “Anyway, if it goes in the papers it’ll go in the society column. You know, all ‘Emerson’s Ward Goes Back to His Roots’,” he said in the best affected accent he could muster.

“Speakin’ of, how long you got before you need to go back?” Danny asked, leaning down until Mark could feel his breath.

“Gotta leave at nine,” he said, trying to control his own breathing.

“Good,” Danny said, grinning down at him predatorily, “we got time.”

Mark walked away from Danny’s apartment, glancing up towards the fourth story window with a nod and a wave. He looked around the nearly deserted alleyway. It seemed like even the most obsessed paparazzi weren’t willing to stay in gang territory after dark for a shot of a former street urchin in his natural habitat. Mark snorted to himself, shifting the weight of his backpack on his shoulders. He ducked into a dark alley, knowing he was close enough to the R train that he wouldn’t have any problems with the Bloods.

Mark looked around the alleyway carefully before swinging his bag around and unzipping the top. He stuck an arm in, rooting around for the mask and little adhesive jar. He balanced the mask carefully on a dumpster while he put on the adhesive solution, waiting for it to get tacky before pressing it to his face. He looked around the alleyway again, checking to make sure no one had seen him put the mask on. Satisfied that it was still deserted, Mark dropped the jar back into the bag before picking up the lightweight belt and clipping it on over his sweatpants, pulling it tight and twisting the combination lock after it snapped into place. He dug through the bag for the last important items, and found each glove without too much trouble. He pulled on each over his bare arms – just a black tee shirt today – and flexed his hands. Mark reached back into the bag one last time, attaching the grapple gun to the gauntlet and the spare cable to his belt, carefully checking to make sure his hook was secure.

After zipping his backpack up again, he slung it over his shoulders and fastened the strap the wrapped around his chest, lifted an arm, and aimed his line at a fire escape down the street. He yanked, using the elasticity of the line to swing himself up to a five-story building. Carefully, he swung across an intersection to eight-story building, unable to keep the grin off of his face at the feeling of flight. As he leapt across a rooftop and dove off across another intersection, he heard someone shout, “Look! It’s Nightwalker!” and laughed to himself before tumbling into the shadows on someone’s balcony.

As he landed on the roof of a fourteen-story building somewhat closer to mid-town, he saw a dark shape move out of the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to block the nerve strike Nightwalker would have used to bring him down like a sack of bricks. He got in a glancing blow to Nightwalker’s shoulder before dancing back out of the way, forcing Nightwalker to follow him onto a slanted roof where he would have more maneuverability. Sure, Nightwalker was stronger, but he was faster and could jump higher.

Mark flipped off of a ledge onto the pointed roof of an old house, balancing carefully on the slippery tiles as Nightwalker advanced after him. They traded hit-for-hit, dancing back and forth along the rooftop. Nightwalker sprung forward to tackle him; Mark evaded by letting himself slide down the slick tiles of the roof towards the factory building he knew was next door; he pushed off of the drain pipe at the end of the roof and landed an easy somersault onto the rooftop of the factory. Nightwalker, who had likely anticipated his move, landed just in front of him, and kicked him soundly in the ribs.

Mark let out a little ‘oof’ of breath before doing a perfect few handsprings backwards along the ledge to avoid the next few attacks from his rapidly advancing mentor. He got in one solid high kick, forcing Nightwalker to jump down off the ledge or risk having his balance compromised. With the height advantage, Mark dove down, tackling Nightwalker solidly to the rooftop, where they proceeded to grapple with one another for a few minutes. He knew what a disadvantage not having any real weapons gave him; if he had anything with which to threaten or secure the older vigilante, he would have had a one-up. In a battle of pure strength, though . . .

Mark whipped the cable of his jumpline around Nightwalker’s neck, trying to force the man down with a knee to his back. Nightwalker twisted around, cutting Mark’s line with a knife Mark hadn’t even known he had in his hand. Mark saw Nightwalker reach for his belt and ducked just in time, using the severed hook of his grapple to stop Nightwalker’s staff from giving him a slap upside the head. He pushed Nightwalker backwards, having barely enough time to reattach the hook before having to spring out of the way of Nightwalker’s staff again.

The third time Nightwalker’s staff spun around, Mark was ready for it, and caught it with two hands just in front of his face. He sighed; Nightwalker had just as good a grip on it, and it would be a battle of strength from there on out. He tried to push Nightwalker off balance and knock his legs out from under him, but of course the vigilante wouldn’t be fooled by the oldest trick in the book. Nightwalker kept gaining ground, pushing him backwards across the rooftop with Mark unable to change the direction. Mark knew full well Nightwalker was steering him towards a low lying pipe on the southeast corner of the building and tried to side step it, but Nightwalker knocked him backwards so hard he tripped over it anyway. Suddenly, he was flat on his back with someone straddling his hips for the second time that day. This time though, Nightwalker’s cape shrouded them on all sides, and a staff was pressed flush against his windpipe. Mark looked up at the ghostly white face and eerie mask of his hooded mentor before reaching up to tap twice on Nightwalker’s shoulder. Nightwalker stood up immediately, collapsing his staff and offering a hand.

“Well done,” he rasped, leveling an appraising look at his student.

“Yeah, considering I had nothing but my grapple to work with,” Mark replied.

“Your choice of the peaked rooftop, accidental or not?” Nightwalker questioned.

“That I did on purpose. Knew I’d be able to move around better than you on it, so I figured it would give me an edge.”

“That was a good decision. Your kicks up there were well above average in height and strength,” Nightwalker observed.

Mark grinned. “Well you told me that I had long legs and short torso, and hey, I like the kicks better anyway. They’re more fun.”

“You get unexpected height with them,” Nightwalker added.

“Yeah?” Mark asked, trying out another high kick. He shrugged. Maybe Sander was right – despite the fact that the man was taller than him, he would have no problem making any of his kicks hit Nightwalker in the jaw.

“Perhaps that’s where we should shift our focus,” Nightwalker mused.

“What, flashy kicks? Thought you liked the practical,” Mark said.

“If your body type makes flashiness a practical alternative to a battle of upper body strength, then it may merit investigation.”

“You calling me a Rockette?” Mark teased, not expecting Nightwalker to respond.

“You’re missing the Santa hat,” the vigilante responded absently while scanning the skyline. Mark let out a startled laugh.

“I’ll tell Edna all about it when we start working on costume design. Hey, so, what are we doing tonight? Last few weeks we’ve been bouncing around on rooftops, you using me as a glorified punching bag . . .”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Nightwalker growled. “We’re going to head back to the warehouses and work on your strategy.”

“The warehouses? Really?” Mark groused, sighing and trudging after Nightwalker.

“You have a problem with the warehouse district?” Nightwalker asked, not waiting for a reply before stepping backwards off the building. Mark rolled his eyes as he watched the dark shape cut across the street. He sprinted into a dive, knowing that he’d need the momentum to catch up with the man. After sprinting clean across two more blocks (when he wasn’t swinging through the air) he finally found Nightwalker standing silently at the corner of a rooftop, looking over his shoulder.

“Yes there is a problem with the warehouse district,” Mark bit out, trying not to let on how out of breath he was.

“That being?” Nightwalker asked. Mark watched, amused, as Nightwalker surveyed the streets below him. They were probably following a planned patrol route.

“Well, we’re going there so I can work on my new ‘strategy’, as you put it. You’re talking about kicks and stuff, well . . . most of the kicks I do mean I have to cover a lot of ground, to get height and force and stuff.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.”

“Awh come on, Walker – the rooftops over in the warehouse district are a hot mess and you know it,” Mark complained, shaking his grapple at the older man.

“Hm,” Nightwalker answered, and dove off the building.

Mark sighed, annoyed, and jumped after him, following him downtown and westward towards the warehouses. Several blocks later, he found Nightwalker waiting for him on a fire escape.

“I woulda caught up with you, ya know,” Mark frowned, crouching comfortably on the railing of the fire escape.

“This is a warm-up – your cardio for the evening, if you will – and it wouldn’t make sense to tire you too quickly,” Nightwalker replied.

“Yeah, I get it, the real work is gonna happen once we’re on the crazy complicated and bizarre rooftops of the warehouse district. Thanks,” Mark rolled his eyes.

“I think you’ll find the rooftops there to be less of a chore if you start thinking of some of the interesting rooftop features as props rather than obstacles. After all, some of the pipes, billboards, and ducts would be more than ideal both to wrap a grapple around, and to spring off of.”

“Are you suggesting I start trying to make them a part of my whole routine, and not avoid them?” Mark asked. “I mean, I know sometimes you gotta make do with what you’ve got, but you tend to use them to trip other people up, not to run over and through ‘em yourself, right?”

“Just so. In your case, however . . . let’s just say, if you feel comfortable perched on the thin little railing provided by this fire escape, you might find yourself with a home field advantage on even the most bizarre terrain,” Nightwalker replied.

“What, don’t you feel comfortable up here and in the air and stuff? I thought that was the point of all the somersaulting on girders you had me do – to make me feel comfortable up there,” Mark shrugged.

“Comfort is different from preference. I think you might prefer a place where you have a lot to work with.”

“Okay then.” Mark jumped first this time, seeing the first of the warehouses appear on the horizon.

He could feel Nightwalker close behind him, merely following at first. Several rooftops later, once they had crossed the imaginary boundary into the warehouse district, something about the way Nightwalker was following him changed. Mark glanced back over his shoulder at Nightwalker’s approaching form while zig-zagging along a rooftop to avoid the debris strewn everywhere. He had looked just in time to see Nightwalker reach towards his belt. Mark knew when he was being followed by someone with intent; it made all of the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A barely audible click let him know that Nightwalker had chosen the staff, and was closing in quickly. He felt his heart rate speed up, and took a deep breath, coaching himself quickly. High kicks, maneuverability, flair. He nodded, satisfied, as Nightwalker drew near before breaking into a sudden sprint. He leapt over a metal barrel and used the momentum to spring himself up on top of the duct that ran nearly the length of the roof; the rounded surface would be easier for him to navigate. Nightwalker, of course, followed him up, spinning his staff menacingly.

Mark grinned and danced backwards along the duct, fists up, daring Nightwalker to follow him. He allowed his mentor to get closer and closer, leading him backwards towards the unstable stack of rotting crates just to his right. He had seen them several times already, and knew full well that the ones closest to the duct were in the worst shape. He would be able to make the leap to the higher, more intact crates – he could only hope that Nightwalker wouldn’t be able to, given his body type. It would buy him time, at least, give him distance, and hopefully distract Nightwalker suitably.

After a few more steps, Mark turned, used several consecutive handsprings to give him more momentum than a short sprint could, and vaulted himself over several rotten crates up to the top of the pile. His hands had put enough pressure on the rotting crates to break them, and the wood nearly collapsed down onto Nightwalker. Mark grinned over his shoulder before quickly and carefully hopping down to the ledge of the roof. He glanced around, seeing the crates shake as Nightwalker was forced to climb across. To his right lay a heap of discarded metal machinery, next to which were several plastic boxes with all sorts of cans and bottles inside He hedged his bets, sprinting over, relieved when he saw he had read one of the cans right from a distance: WD-40. Mark grinned to himself, picking up the can and leaping to the neighboring roof in one fluid motion. He backpedaled across the sloping metal roof, spraying over his tracks. He paused at the perfect distance in, tossing the can into the shadows and yanking the grapple off of his gauntlet. He pulled out just enough slack as Nightwalker suddenly appeared, flying across the gap between the two roofs with the cape flapping behind him.

Nightwalker landed unsteadily and began to slip, but managed to use his staff to keep himself from losing his footing. Mark swung his grapple overhead twice, throwing it manually just the way Sander had taught him, incase of equipment failure. He hooked Nightwalker’s staff easily and jumped while yanking, using the resistance from Nightwalker’s strong grip to throw himself at the stumbling vigilante feet-first. His booted foot caught Nightwalker soundly in the jaw, knocking him backwards onto the slick roof. Mark landed on top of Nightwalker, knee to his throat with one hand on the staff and the other on his grapple; they began to slide down the roof at an alarming pace. Mark swung the grapple overhead once more before throwing it towards the apex of the roof; it caught just in time, with Nightwalker’s fingertips just at the precipice of a ten-story drop. Mark stared in shock, breathing heavily as Nightwalker wheezed, winded, beat, and unable to move.

“I . . .” he began, unsure what to do before Nightwalker tapped twice on the roof, the sound of gauntlet on metal clear as a bell. He scooted backwards, keeping one arm on Nightwalker as the other securely held the line. “You got me?” he asked. Nightwalker reached up to grab onto his belt and Mark twisted his body, hauling them up the line hand-over-hand until they reached the apex of the roof, which Mark had wisely left unslicked.

Nightwalker sighed, a sharp smile playing across his face as he leaned back against the roof, pulling his WD-40 coated cape out from under himself and letting his hood drop back against his shoulders. “Now how do you feel about the warehouse district?”

“Jesus Walker, I’m so sorry I kicked you in the face – I didn’t think there was any way I was actually going to land that,” Mark replied, barely even hearing Nightwalker’s question. He reached up to touch the older man’s face, which was noticeably reddened and slightly scratched up on the right side.

Nightwalker snorted. “I deserve no less for not blocking it.”

“Will it bruise?” Mark asked, prodding at Nightwalker’s cheek.

“Almost definitely,” Nightwalker replied. “That was quite a stunt you pulled back there.” He ran a gloved hand along his cape before bringing it up to his face and sniffing. “Tell me, the WD-40 – fortunate accident, or part of your plan?”

“Both?” Mark offered, still a little shaken from the fact that for once, he actually beat Sander at something.

“Both,” Nightwalker repeated, clearly not amused.

“Um, well, I put it there, but it’s not like I was planning it when I first got to the district, I just jumped up on the duct because it would make it harder for you to follow me, then went over the crates because you’d have a harder time getting through than me, then when I was at the edge of the roof I was out of ideas and saw the boxes full of maintenance supplies. I knew the roof behind me was metal and slanted, so I kinda crossed my fingers and ran for the boxes. I was just looking for anything slick, and there was WD-40 in there, so I guess I lucked out,” Mark explained.

“And the use of the grapple?” Nightwalker prompted.

“Well, you said flair, you know? I thought of it before, when we were on the fire escape, but I knew it’d never work unless you were having a tough time staying balanced,” Mark replied.

“Well executed.”

Mark beamed. That was high praise, coming from the king of anal retention. “So, uh, are you . . . ?”

“I’m more than alright. If you’re feeling in any way guilty about the minor injuries you justifiably caused me, think about how happy Edna will be with you when she finds out their source,” Nightwalker said, smirking.

“Awh shit,” Mark said, collapsing backwards onto the roof, staring straight up towards the sky.

“Language.”

“Sorry – she’s gonna kill me, though.”

Nightwalker snorted again. “If you tell her the whole story, she might tell me I deserved it,” he allowed, voice somewhere halfway between Sander and Nightwalker.

They both stared straight up at the dark sky for a few moments, working to regain their breath and slow their heartbeats back to normal. After several minutes of silence, Mark turned his head to regard Nightwalker, whose sweaty hair was sticking up on all sides. “So . . . that qualify as ‘knock-down-drag-out’?” he asked.

A sharp little grin appeared on Nightwalker’s face as he turned to regard his (future) partner. “You could say that.”

“Word.” Mark returned the grin before folding his arms behind his head. He snickered softly to himself.

“What?” Sander asked, Nightwalker’s rasp-and-growl thoroughly abandoned for the night.

“Gonna have to put some ice on that pretty face of yours, Mr. Billionaire Heartbreaker. Can’t disappoint the ladies.”

Sander reached over to punch Mark playfully in the shoulder. “You keep that up and I’ll make sure we match.”

Mark laughed, sitting up. “Yeah Sander? You’ll have to catch me first,” he said, firing off his grapple. Just as he disappeared over the side of the slicked-up roof, he shouted back, “And we all know how bad you are at that!”

Sander laughed out loud, pulling up his hood and diving off the edge of the roof. Mark Ruffele wasn’t the only one with a trick or two up his sleeve.