Emily set down her cardboard tray. “We should do this more often." 

Seth and Martin both hesitated. She had to hand them each their own coffees, grumbling as she did. “Can't you read the names on the sides of the cup? It's not that hard."

“I was a little distracted, I guess," Martin said. The fox glanced at the TV screen above the little shelf of sugar packets and too-thin straws, as if trying to confirm that it hadn't yet attacked. The very serious news ticker along the bottom had mostly scrolled away to the right, but one didn't need to read any more than “-ngerous supercriminal heist!" to know what was going on in the footage shown. You really didn't need to read anything. Everyone in the tri-county area recognized Tradewind and Accord, and would be able to guess that since they were fighting on top of an armored car, the crow was trying to steal it and the fox was trying to stop him. That was what they did.

“Oh, yeah!" Emily squeaked, “I can't believe that was happening right outside my work and I didn't even notice till it was over!"

“Well," Seth sipped his coffee as Emily took a seat, “Capitalism makes us all miss all the important things in life."

Martin paused, halfway through the peanut butter cookie, and frowned at the crow across the table, but his mouth was full of peanuts and crumbs and he couldn't respond.

“So," Emily was now fully done with that topic and stepped to the next as if it had never been brought up, “You're probably wondering why I invited you two here!"

They weren't. They'd both known the irrepressible chipmunk long enough to know that her two goals in life were, firstly: become friends with everyone, and secondly: force all her friends to become friends.

“I thought it was high time the two of you were introduced to eachother!" she said, ignoring how instead of either answering her rhetorical question they were both trying to look as if each wasn't glaring at the other.

“Yeah," Martin said, very carefully, “so, how about you do that. And introduce us. To eachother. So that we both know the things, about eachother, that you know."

“This is how introducing works, yes." Seth chimed in.

“Caprese salad croissant sandwich for… Amelie?" called the ferret at the counter.

Emily jumped to her feet. “Oh, that's me, you two introduce yourselves and I'll be right back!" She left the crow and the fox like passengers who've just heard the captain say 'you can figure out how to manage a lifeboat, right?'

“You put her up to this, didn't you?" Martin finally broke the silence, somewhere between a growl and a whisper.

“Why would I do that?" Seth hissed. “You think I think this is funny? This is torture!"

“You," Martin growled back, “Think a lot of things nobody should think are funny are funny!"

“Back!" Emily sang as she plopped herself back into her seat. “Are you two getting along?"

“It's like we've known eachother for years," said Martin bitterly.

“So how did you meet Martin?" Seth was sitting unnaturally straight in his chair, the feathers down the back of his neck were puffed.

“Oh, I've known Martin for just ages!" Emily laughed, “why, almost as long as I've known you, Seth! Oh, one second, they forgot the balsamic on this sandwich, I'm gonna check if it's over at the self serve place!" And she was on her feet again and heading for the table under the news program, which was now airing a discussion of how Tradewind's power to turn his body into air made him such a dangerous threat to Our American Way Of Life, but Accord had trained to be prepared for any threat, just like our Brave First Responders, who were the real heroes after all, etc.

“They can't even give you credit for having powers, huh?" Seth smirked.

“They," Martin frowned, “don't know I have powers. Some of us take 'Secret Identity' seriously!"

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Goes Into A Trance With Precognitive Reflexes Man, if some of us don't get to have powers that look like not having powers!"

“I'm back!" Emily slid cheerfully back to the table, “I had to ask the guy at the counter for the bottle of balsamic, which, really? If you're not gonna put it on the sandwich yourself, then at least put it out for the customers, you know! Not that I minded, he's pretty cute!" She glanced over her shoulder at the ferret. “What do you guys think?"

“About if he's cute?" Martin said, “I guess, I mean, he's not really my type."

“Yeah," agreed Emily, “you always went for the arrogant rebel type, in high school."

“I think," commented Seth, “he's at work and it's deeply unfair to objectify him when he can't tell you to stop without being fired."

“Ohmigosh you're so right!" Emily blushed crimson, “I need to go apologize and be so gracious and friendly about it that he gives me his number!" And she was gone again.

“That was a dirty trick!" Martin frowned.

“I'm a supervillain, haven't you heard?" Seth rolled his eyes. “At least I'm trying SOMETHING to get out of this."

“You think I'm not trying? I've been flickering my precog on and off since I saw who she BROUGHT and it's not giving me ANYTHING!"

“Back!" Emily said, “He didn't really get the hint but I told him it really wasn't any trouble about the balsamic, anyway, how are you two doing?" The chipmunk stuffed each half of the sandwich into a cheek pouch while the both of them waited for the other to answer first. Before either could, Emily announced she had to use the restroom.

“Seriously, how much does she know?" Seth snapped.

“Why? So you can exploit the information for some kind of nefarious scheme?"

“Because I do in fact take my secret identity seriously!"

“As if you're going to have villains targeting your friends and family if your identity is compromised!"

“Yeah, I will, they'll be called the Department of Homeland Security!"

“I have no idea how much she knows," Martin turned away, arms crossed, “She sure isn't acting like she knows anything. Asking mutual nemeses to lunch isn't the kind of thing you do on purpose."

“I suppose so." Seth rolled his eyes. “Alright, for the sake of our safety, this? Is a truce. She doesn't know, so we just act normal and get through however long it takes her to leave. Agreed?"

“Agreed!"

“I'm SO sorry," Emily said, back from the bathroom without even sitting down, “but my lunch is almost over, I gotta get back to work, but it was so good to see you both! We need to do this more often!" And she swept out of the cafe before either of them could reply.

“Well," said Accord. “So much for the truce."

“At least until the next time she pulls something like this." Tradewind agreed.

“See you next time you rob a bank," Martin shrugged, “or whatever it is you're going to do."

Seth finished his coffee and left a generous cash tip, as if he'd somehow gotten away with a lot of cash from something like an armored car, on the table. ““You've got the future sight," he headed for the door, “you tell me."

“Omigosh!" Emily squeaked, “can you believe Chet and Brenda are engaged!?"

“Uh," Martin raised an eyebrow, “That's why they're having a party you invited me to? So… yes? I can."

“I'd maybe be more surprised if I'd met Chet or Brenda before tonight…" Seth grumbled, too low for Emily to hear.

“Omigosh I have to go tell them how happy I am for them!" announced Emily, who'd already done that, and then went to do it again.

“We," Martin glowered over the glass of store-brand sparkling moscato, “are on truce again!"

“You don't have to tell me," Seth scoffed, “I'm not going to attack a backyard barbecue in a suburban culdesac of which I am a guest, I'm not a fairytale wicked witch!"

“Wicked fairy," Martin corrected, “and that was a christening, not an engagement."

“Should you be drinking?" Seth was holding only a ginger ale in which someone had impaled a chunk of pineapple on a plastic sword. “You may not have noticed but this is a tense situation!"

“Precog reflexes took the glass when it was offered, so it must be alright," Martin took another sip. “And if I've got to deal with you all afternoon, I can see their point."

“Could you focus, please? We need a plan to get out of this!"

“'We'? 'We' need a plan?"

“You're here too!"

“Just say congratulations and leave! People are doing it already!"

“Not out of this party! Out of this thing Emily's doing!" Seth snapped.

“What am I doing?" Emily popped back into conversation like a magic trick.

“Uh…" Martin thought quickly, “Seth said you're trying a new diet?"

“Oh yeah and it's really going great! Did you know eating quinoa gives you way more vitamins and proteins than wheat or other grains? It's really good for you!"

“And leads to higher food prices for poor farmers in South America…" Seth muttered, but Emily had already seen someone else she needed to say hello to right now, and left.

“What do you mean 'this thing' she's doing?" Martin snarled.

“Asking us to the cafe might've been a fluke." Seth brooded darkly over his ginger ale. “Doing it a second time isn't. Look around, you see anyone else here who looks like they don't know these people already?"

Emily was back before Martin had a chance to answer, bustling them both over to congratulate the happy couple again, and make sure everyone was in everyone's photos because “you never know when's the last chance you'll get to be in a photo with someone you know!" And he and Seth spent the rest of the afternoon trading looks full of resentment at the fact that their shared enmity was the closest thing either of them had to a lifeline.

“So," Martin was dressed as some combination of roman centurion and space captain, “I asked. Very quietly."

“Asked?" Seth raised an eyebrow. He was wearing an old fashioned drab suit and skinny tie, and his feathers were slicked back with a great deal of hair cream. “Who? About what?"

“Omigosh happy halloween you guys!" Emily was wearing a pale pink dress with a waist so high it was almost to her shoulders, a wig that would've been perfect if she'd meant to dress as goldilocks, and twirling a lace parasol. “Seth, that's a great costume! I always thought you'd be a great college professor!"

“No, I'm Rod Serling! From the Twilight Zone!" Seth explained for no one's benefit but Martin's, as Emily was already gone.

“I queried the Paladins support database for an information security check on Emily," Martin resumed, “Which is what you do if someone might have sensitive information about a secret identity."

“And?" The only signs of agitation were the small eddies of turbulence that whirled through the artificial fog around the crow.

“Well…" Martin popped a handful of gummy bears in his mouth, chewed nervously, “they sent me a little pamphlet with Helpful Tips about How Your Secret Identity Keeps You Safe."

The pause was filled only by the distant sound of a house remix of The Monster Mash.

“I'm impressed," Seth finally said, “the Paladins found a way to fail even my expectations. The lowest possible bar, and they still managed to fall face first over it."

“Look," Martin's face blushed red under the plastic golden laurel wreath with the fake HUD eyepiece hanging from it, “I'm sure that's just what they do when they can't find any leaks or concerns or anything!"

“Or when they aren't bothering to read your letters."

“It's not like you tried anything!"

“I did, in fact. I don't exactly have authority figures or all the resources of a surveillance state on my side," Seth said, “but I can still just ask people. As far as I can tell, nobody's trying to figure you out. Nobody's got any grudges against you, or considers you a nemesis, or even a threat. Probably because I'm the only person whose schemes you ever foil."

“Who'd you talk to?"

“John Doe, Pretty Lavinia, Otherwoman," the crow counted off on his fingers, “the Vermilion Pedant, Untameable Shrew, Mr. July, Pascal's Rager. Oh, and Feather Daddy."

“The peacock who brainwashes guys into his bondage henchmen?! You talked to him?!"

“That's all consensual! You hero types really will kinkshame anything spicier than a Victorian Sunday School-"

“I was worried he'd do it to YOU, you self-righteous asshole!"

They both froze when they realized how loud Martin had said that. But the rest of the party continued to wander by in cheap costumes and cheaper sugar, as blissfully unaware as innocent bystanders ever were.

“The point is," Martin dropped his voice again, “Emily's not doing it by accident, but she's not doing it because she knows anything dangerous. The quicker we figure out why she is doing it-"

“-the quicker we can get back to the hated archenemies we're supposed to be." Seth finished, “I know."

“What'd you get?!" Emily squeaked.

“A magic 8-ball," Seth couldn't tell which was more distasteful, the tacky kitsch the gift exchange had left him with, or the deliberately ugly sweater the effervescent chipmunk was wearing.

She went on her tiptoes to peer across the room, and Seth realized that yeah, the sweater was worse. The 8-ball didn't have multicolored LEDs in the wreath, the hawaiian shirt worn by a be-sunglassed Santa, and the frozen margarita said Santa was drinking. “Well…" nor did it say 'Gettin' Lit' anywhere! “It looks like Martin wound up with that travel blow dryer I think you wanted? I could call him over if you want to trade?"

And then she went to do it before Seth had a chance to object.

“Did you," Martin asked, a little baffled disbelief in his voice, “really want this three dollar hair dryer?"

“Of course not!" snapped Seth. “I don't suppose you've got any burning desire for a magic 8-ball?"

“Not particularly, no," said Martin. They traded the gifts anyway. “Had any luck figuring out what she's up to?"

“I," Seth sniffed, “have been focusing on my career, thank you. A chain of payday loan offices aren't going to flatten themselves in a freak windstorm."

“So that was you, after all?"

“Course it was," Seth only looked smug for a half a second, “where were you, though?"

“I've been… unsure. About this whole thing. About her." Martin fidgeted. “Every time I reach for my precog, I wonder… why didn't it warn me about Emily? Why isn't it walking me out of… whatever trap this is going to turn out to be? And then I don't feel like I can trust it, and it's literally my only edge when I face you, so…"

“Is this a surrender?"

“This is an extension of the truce!" Martin huffed. “Just till I get to the bottom of Emily's thing. There's definitely something deliberate about the way she's doing whatever this is. Like, why did she want me to come over here to you, instead of you coming over to where I was?"

“I might have just put it together," Seth said, quietly, like the movie detective whose bumbling assistant just accidentally said what will turn out to be the final clue.

“What? How?"

“Look up."

The fox followed the crow's gaze up the wall to the sprig of plastic mistletoe taped to the ceiling above their heads.

The both looked at eachother for a long moment, then their eyes turned in horrified unison toward the chipmunk in the hideous sweater, standing by the punchbowl at the other end of the room, pretending not to watch them.

Sudden hurricane winds wrenched the corrugated steel door off its tracks with a sound like a distant train crash, and tossed it backward like a crumpled soda can to block the driveway just before the police cars could pull in.

Tradewind, the infamous superterrorist, laughed boisterously as he strode into the building, feet a good ten feet above the concrete. “How little," he announced as the second shift fled, “do they pay you to put up with the likes of me? And people call me a villain!"

“That's enough, Tradewind!" called a voice from the catwalk. The only 'worker' not to flee tossed aside his disguise and leapt down. Accord couldn't exactly block the crow's path, but the villain halted anyway. “I knew you'd hit this distribution center!"

“I bet you did," Tradewind fumed. “But is that any reason to interrupt the first bathroom break these people have had all day?"

“You're not getting your hands on that shipment of processors!" the fox shouted.

“Oh I think I am!" With the sound of two claps of thunder, the crow's hands disappeared into bursts of cloudy air. Turbulent gusts filled the room, lifted several boxes, and carried them toward the door. But Accord reacted too fast, and a smooth series of flips, jumps, and acrobatics bore each box bodily to the ground again.

“Incidentally," Tradewind said, “have you heard from our mutual friend?"

Accord stopped in his tracks. “You want to talk about this NOW?!"

“It's been longer than usual since she last tried anything, I just wondered if you knew why!"

“I don't know, her social calendar is full maybe, can we concentrate on you trying to steal other people's computer hardware?"

“You could just let me take it. It's only going to wind up in a cryptocurrency farm otherwise. I can think of much better uses."

“Like what?"

“Hospitals? Schools?" Tradewind smirked, “Maybe… weather forecasts?!"

But of course Accord's reflexes had already seen the gale blast Tradewind unleashed, he was already taking shelter. And when the villain swooped to grab a box on his way out the hero's tonfa had already been thrown to strike him in the elbow, too late to turn to air. Tradewind dropped the box from numb fingers and stormed off into the sky, foiled and cursing.

Accord took a moment to glance at the shipping label before he made his exit. The package was addressed to “Sick-A-F Apes Club, LLC."

He really hoped he hadn't actually hurt Seth.

The news that night didn't manage to get an interview with the brave hero Accord. They never did. But the anchor did comment that she thought he looked troubled, before moving on to a story about a man who had gotten his genitals trapped in a folding chair.

“You're sure you invited him?" Martin's voice was worried, and not only because when he'd arrived his precognitive reflexes had shied away from accepting a drink.

“Oh yeah," Emily said. She wore a rhinestone tiara nowhere near as fancy as the one Brenda sported, and her t-shirt said 'A Hard Man Is Good To Find.' “I double checked with Brenda that she had his email right and everything!"

It was difficult to have a conversation in this room. Apart from the lights and loud music, there were the dancing men in rapidly decreasing amounts of clothes, and the women raucously cheering them on. Several of them wore rhinestone tiaras that matched Emily's.

“Maybe he felt like it was offensive?" Martin guessed, “Just cause he's gay that shouldn't mean he goes to the bacholorette party, not the bachelor party?"

Emily's face looked stricken.

“I'm not saying," Martin hastened to clarify, “that that's how I feel, just trying to think, like, what's the kind of thing he might say!"

“No no, that's not it..." Emily stared gravely at her phone. “I got a text. I think you should head home..."

…When Martin got home he found his door unlocked and slightly ajar.

Accord clamped down on his panic.

This was what they mentally prepared you for.

A villain's found you out.

Crisis.

He closed his eyes, slipped into his precognitive trance.

That it calmly opened the door for him instead of fleeing startled him out of his concentration.

The lights inside were off. The only visibility came from the streetlamp behind him through the slowly opening door.

It poured in and lit a crow, huddled like a frightened animal on the sofa Martin never used.

“How did you find me?" Accord said, voice carefully flat.

Tradewind started to answer, coughed heavily, grimaced in pain. Blood from his side and shoulder hissed like a frying pan in water as it turned to plumes of air before it could drip to the floor. “Texted Emily, of course," the crow's breath was ragged and fast, “Needed some place… nobody'd think… to look for me." He blinked blearily at the fox. “You take your secret identity seriously."

“How'd you know there wouldn't be anyone else here?"

“You're a superhero," Tradewind tried to laugh, only managed another cough, “Means… nobody but you's been inside your house in years. Didn't expect her… to send you to check on me."

Accord shut the door behind him and made sure the blinds were closed before turning on a light.

“What happened?" Martin asked. Seth's shirt was off as Martin bandaged his side, arm, and nearly everywhere else from an impressively complete first aid kit that lived at the bottom of the closet. “Shouldn't you be able to regenerate out of, well, thin air?"

“Stadius Quo." Seth winced as the bandages pressed on bruised ribs, “He apparently gets upset if his 'stand down and surrender' compulsion doesn't work on you. He hit me with some kinda… Perception Scramble."

“What do you mean, some kinda perception scramble?"

“He didn't explain what it was, he just did it." Seth would've grimaced but he was already grimacing. “He yelled, and time and gravity went wrong, and I couldn't… pull myself together." The crow laughed bitterly. “And THAT spooked him, at least, he left in a hurry when I started falling apart. Lost a lot of blood, just sublimating at random. Even the solid bits of me were going to pieces, crashing into things, getting scraped up. I dunno how long it was before I was coherent enough to think of you. Hard to tell how long anything was."

“I can tell The Paladins, I can report this." Martin fought to keep a whimper out of his voice, “That's not just disregarding the safety of an antagonist, that's superhuman brutality, that's maybe even homophobia-"

“And when they ask how you know?" Seth said, voice flat.

Martin looked at him a long time before his eyes fluttered and unfocused. “Oh."

“What'd the precog say?"

“Nothing encouraging." The fox ran fingers through his whiskers as if trying to disentangle the future from them. “Either Stadius Quo tries to explain it away, says it was your own powers backfiring because that's what happens to villains. Or they try to pin it on me, for being your nemesis. Or best case scenario they try to just sweep it under the rug, pretend it never happened."

“Bet they've done it before."

Martin took a seat on the couch beside Seth. The crow was looking better, he thought, more coherent. Maybe because he wasn't bleeding anymore, maybe because his head was clearing.

“It's pathetic, isn't it," moaned Seth.

“Getting injured?" Martin started to reach out, paused, drew back. “It happens. We're both in… kinda the same job, so I understand. It's dangerous."

“Not getting injured," croaked the crow. “That when I was injured, I came crawling to you. Pathetic."

Martin wasn't sure if that had been meant as an insult, and if so, who had been the target. So he just said “What now?"

“I should be regenerating again by morning. Next time I don't let Stadius Quo get close, is all. You watch your back around him, I know he's supposed to be on your side, but-"

“No, I mean," Martin interrupted, “what do we do, right now?"

Seth blinked. “You've got the future sight. You tell me."

So Martin did.

And when he came out of the trance, Seth repeated back to him what he'd said, with some incredulity, and after discussion they agreed on a course of action. It began with the crow leaning, gently so as to spare his injuries, back against the fox, and the fox putting his arms around the crow, and then the two of them remaining there until the crow was confident enough in his power to use a tiny but powerful downdraft to flick off the light.

The sky was barely light, but in the city beneath it was still night when they stepped out into the lightless back alley.

“You don't owe me anything, you know," one of them said.

“That's what I was going to say to you." It was impossible to tell, in the darkness, which was supposed to be the hero, which the villain.

“I mean, I don't want you thinking you're stuck with me just because your precog said you would be!"

“My precog is still me. If it says I love you, that's still me saying that, just… ahead of schedule."

“But then you're trapped in-"

“Oh shut up for once. You can't possibly have any predestination objections that I haven't already gone through figuring this out at thirteen."

“What about your career?"

“Not really an option after tonight. Even if we aren't… together, what I saw… maybe the heroic thing would be to bring the Paladins down. At least find a way to hold them accountable? I dunno. But… are we?"

“Are we what?"

“Together."

“I don't know how to answer that. Do you want us to be?"

“I mean… It'll suck going to Chet and Brenda's wedding alone."

“Shit. That's today."

“In like six hours."

The two silhouettes held eachother in silence a long time. Finally one rose into the air, with a sound like a whirlwind, and vanished into the early grey of sunrise.

The temptation to look into the future, to see if he would make it to the wedding after all, was strong.

But a hero wasn't supposed to use their powers for themselves.

The fox in the alley let his eyes close, and just barely peeked…

The organ was already playing when a figure in a dark outfit bustled his way to the chapel's back garden and scrambled to take his place.

“You're late," whispered the fox as the crow slid into the seat beside him. “They already asked if anyone had any objections."

“Apart from 'how blandly hetero this all is'?" the crow grumbled and straightened his tie, which seemed to have become somehow windblown despite the calm weather.

“I didn't bring that one up," the fox gently shushed the crow, “because I'm not an insufferable ass." He took his hand, and held it through the rest of the ceremony to keep him quiet.

“I don't see," Seth resumed grumbling, even as he politely applauded for the newlyweds rushing down the aisle, “why Chet and Brenda need any of us here for this part! We could've just shown up to the reception!"

Martin's eyelids fluttered. “Oh, the reception's gonna be the dangerous part, actually. Emily's going to try to manipulate one or both of us into position to 'accidentally' catch the bouquet."

“It's not too late, is it," Seth looked appalled, “for me to just attack the wedding? Like a fairytale wicked witch?"

“Much too late, sorry." Martin smirked. “We already bought them a wedding present, in case you weren't aware. But we could…" he kissed the side of the crow's beak, quickly, stealthily, as if he were long used to maintaining a secret identity, “sneak off till the coast is clear?"

“We're not supposed to do that," Seth said.

“We sure aren't," agreed Martin.

Emily was briefly concerned when she realized she'd lost track of both her particular guests, but she was far too busy, as part of the wedding party, to be really disappointed.

They'd reappeared by the time the cake was cut, so she didn't trouble herself about it. They both had always seemed like the sort who kept to themselves. Only natural they'd do that together, now they were, in fact, together!

She did so love weddings. People should do them more often!

“Police are baffled," explained the tv in the small cafe, “at apparent thefts from several safety deposit boxes! According to detectives who spoke off the record, the break-in displays several hallmarks of known supercriminal Tradewind, but very unusually was not detected until nearly a week after it must have happened. Sources say it was as if he, quote, 'Knew in advance where all the security was going to be, and what to do to avoid it.' Deposits emptied belonged to private individuals and non-profit groups, and reportedly contained documentation of no monetary value."

“In other news, a statement on behalf of the Paladins officially denies recent anonymous claims about a pattern of covering up incidences of excessive force. When pressed, they claimed to be unable to produce documentation, saying it was misplaced when-"

Emily dismissed the news report from her attention when the handsome barista called “Raspberry White Mocha for… Amelie?"

“It's Emily, actually," the chipmunk gently corrected when she took the cup.

“You alone today?" the ferret asked, “you're usually in here with friends."

“Oh," Emily smiled, “they're busy. Important work together. You know how couples are when they share a career."

The news continued ranting, but Emily found it easy to ignore. She'd had, she knew, unparalleled success at her life's work of making all her friends be friends with eachother, but now it was time to press on to new horizons. Such as this handsome ferret, named, as she soon discovered, Eduardo.

She had a feeling they were going to be great friends.