Chapter Text
A gruff swear and the sound of a metallic object crashing into the wall sent a file slipping from Jordan’s uncooperative fingers. They caught it just in time to stop loose papers from going flying across their office, leaving corners sticking out in a jumble of odd edges. Jordan groaned under their breath, shoving the pages back into place.
Brink’s raised voice filtered out from behind the closed door of his office, too muffled to make out more than one word in ten without pressing their ear to the door. Jordan was too preoccupied with staying upright while nursing three kinds of hangover to stir up the curiosity to wonder what prompted the usually affable professor to this litany of expletives. They stayed at their desk, sorting through papers they could have sworn were better organized yesterday.
They had four sets of syllabi and readings to photocopy and staple before the first day of class tomorrow, which should have taken no more than an hour. But the labels might as well have been written in hieroglyphics, for all the sense Jordan could make of them. The words seemed to swim and distort before their eyes.
In retrospect, going out when they had to be functional before noon hadn’t been their brightest idea, even before Andre nearly killed a woman because he couldn’t think of a better way to impress a cute girl than sending razor sharp metal flying through a crowded club. Jordan had yelled at him for a good five minutes after they fled the scene, and sure, Andre acted contrite. But as soon as the video dropped of Marie Moreau saving the woman, it was all “lesson learned” and “no harm done, right?”
Like hell there was no harm done, but Jordan had convinced Andre to run while Marie Fucking Moreau, the freshman they’d rejected, saved the day. So what ground did they have to stand on?
Finally, they found the last folder, hefted the stack of books and papers into their arms, and headed toward the crimefighting program’s staff offices, where they could copy the lot without charging their student account. Brink liked to give out physical copies of everything, even though it was posted online, so no one could claim they hadn’t seen the assignment. Some students always lost track anyway, before they realized Brink wouldn’t cut his students slack for anything short of a coma.
Jordan had thought, looking at Marie’s application, that she was a clear-cut case of more ambition than ability, just like a hundred other would be heroes every year, but even more utterly unprepared for the realities of a life under Vought. Who the fuck came to God U for Crimefighting without at least a carefully curated online persona and a half dozen cats rescued from trees or stopped muggings? They hadn’t given a second thought to rejecting Marie’s application until they found out she was the mystery girl who helped Andre catch some rampaging maniac. Now, after watching her last night, Jordan had begun to wonder if an opportunity really was all that Marie needed, if she might be in a class all her own.
Someone was storming down the hall toward them, and for a moment Jordan thought they might be hallucinating, but no — speak of the devil, that was Marie Moreau, ready to start spitting blood.
They had just enough time to think that Marie looked unfairly good after the night they had, before she snapped. “Did you know?”
Jordan wasn’t sure what possessed him to follow her back down the hall, shifting to lengthen his stride and catch up with her. “Know what? Marie—”
“That I’d be left holding the blame for saving someone you left to die?” She snapped.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Marie scoffed, dismissive, as if Jordan could know what she was accusing him of if she wouldn’t fucking say, and pulled open the doors to Brink’s office before he could stop her.
“Professor, I —” An apology died on Jordan’s lips at the sight of Brink’s expression. He was smiling, always smiling, yet a fury lived in his eyes like Jordan had never seen before.
“Cancel that call to Jeff, she’s here,” Brink said, and hung up his office landline with an audible click.
“I’m not going down without a fight.” Marie launched into a rant that sounded like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times on the way there, yet made Jordan wonder how no one had ever put her behind a camera before. “You can take your fucking sacrifice and shove it so far up your ass it infects the pathetic lump of coal you call a heart with some actual compassion, unless you want to find out whether I can control your blood while it’s still in your body.”
Brink — laughed? Not his usual fatherly chuckle, but a low rumble with the slickness of an oil spill. Jordan was still confused, thoughts trickling at the rate of molasses on a subzero winter’s day, but something about the way Brink was reacting didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like the mentor who’d been the first to encourage them to shift.
Marie bristled, and Jordan itched to — what? Stop her from attacking? Pull her away to somewhere safe until the alien in Brink’s clothing returned his mentor to himself? Maybe Jordan was the one possessed.
“Marie Moreau. Thank you for saving me the trouble of tracking you down,” Brink said, when his dark mirth faded. “It seems I’ve been overruled. There will be no need to pack up after all.”
None of this made any fucking sense, but Marie seemed to know exactly what Brink was talking about. The anger faded from her face, replaced by a sunrise of fragile hope. “Wait, does that mean…?”
“It means I’ll be seeing you in class tomorrow.” Brink sounded like he forcing the words out through a mouthful of taffy. He held up a hand pre-emptively, cutting off whatever Marie might have said. “Don’t thank me, it wasn’t my idea. This narrative they’ve cooked up has far too many holes for my taste, but it seems you have friends in high places.”
“If I did, wouldn’t I have been accepted into your class in the first place?”
“Maybe she can learn. Good. I certainly won’t be going easy on you.” Brink’s chuckle was closer to himself, yet sounded all the more strange given what their conversation seemed to be implying. After last night, Jordan should have been competing with Marie to keep his place as Brink’s favorite. Instead, it sounded like…
But it couldn’t be. “Professor, what’s going on?”
“Nothing for you to worry about it, Jordan, but those files can wait. Take Miss. Moreau here to studio C, will you? An interview’s been set up for her with some youtuber.” It was a clear dismissal, so Jordan backed away toward the hall, dropping the files on his desk and gesturing for Marie to follow. She did, but not before sending a parting glare over her shoulder at Brink.
They hadn’t gotten far before Brink called after them. “Oh, and Miss. Moreau? There’s this new invention called a cell phone. I suggest you acquire one.”
Marie’s hands balled into fists as she visibly swallowed a retort, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead. Just yesterday, Marie Moreau had been just one among Professor Richard Brinkerhoff’s league of fans, hero worship shining in her eyes at her first glimpse of him. Now, she was set to become his most combative — and most interesting — new student. As they walked, a relieved and victorious smile began to play across her lips, making Jordan feel like he was witnessing something private.
And still fucking confusing.
Jordan hated feeling like he were missing something obvious, even when at least half the cause was the sledgehammer of a headache threatening to split his head in two.
Studio C was halfway across campus. That was plenty of time to get to the bottom of things.
Jordan shifted as she spun to walk backward with her hands clasped behind her back, tossing longer hair out of her face and smirking up at Marie. “It sounds like someone has a benefactor. Any idea who it is?”
Marie stuck her hands in her pockets and shrugged, not so much as glancing at them. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Come on, you’re not even the slightest bit curious? Someone’s secretly sponsoring your education, probably your entire fucking career, and you don’t want to know who or why?” Jordan certainly wanted to know how much of a threat she was up against. She’d thought that when Luke graduated and took off on his free ride to the Seven, Andre would be her biggest competition, thanks to his father’s connections. Andre, and the board of trustees itself, who would never think Jordan had ‘broad enough appeal’ but were happy to use her to advertise their supposed inclusivity through commercials that only aired in blue states and appearances on an endless parade of queer youtuber’s channels. Marie hadn’t been at God U a week, and already she had a sponsor capable of making Brink bend.
Jordan could sense Marie coming for her spot, even if Marie didn’t know it yet herself.
“Your precious Brink tried to have me expelled. Excuse me for not looking a gift horse in the fucking mouth.” Marie shoved past them, striding ahead, despite not knowing where they were headed.
Jordan had to catch her elbow to redirect her down the right path. “Bullshit. Why would he do that? You saved that woman’s life."
Marie shrugged off their hand. “The son of a board trustee nearly killed a random bystander with his powers, accompanied by a future member of the Seven — you know, the highest profile team of superheroes in the world, that happens to already be down several members while embroiled in scandal — and two other top students. And the nobody freshman with horrifying blood powers is the only one caught at the scene. Why do you fucking think?”
Okay, when she put it that way. Jordan could see the board of trustees spinning it like that, Andre’s dad in particular. But Brink? Jordan’s Brink, when Marie should have been his latest protégé? “Your powers are fucking incredible. I’ve never known Brink not to reward talent when he sees it.”
They were coming up on the film studios, a group of passing performing arts majors gave them curious looks, though thankfully none of them pulled out a camera. As they reached the studio doors, Marie whirled around, throwing up her hands. “Yeah? Well he called it a sacrifice and said I should be proud. Does that sound familiar?”
Jordan froze.
The rasp of breath into an anesthesia mask as the dead weight of an unconscious body nearly pulled them to the floor, burns on their hands and arms from being almost, almost too slow. Instantly forgotten with the promise of recognition in exchange for hiding a violation from a friend. Praises that all too briefly filled the hollow in their gut that craved approval, yet left them itching to claw off their own skin, drowning in the knowledge that all it took for them to sacrifice honesty and innocence on the alter of their ambition was a few kind words and the bribe of a job they’d chosen to believe meant trust.
“Being a hero is about sacrifice,” Jordan whispered. Yes, it sounded familiar. She couldn’t deny that.
“Not like he was condemning me to lifelong imprisonment while Andre would’ve gotten off with a slap on the wrist or anything,” Marie grumbled under her breath. Jordan didn’t think Marie intended for her to hear. “You’re a resourceful girl, my ass.”
“What do you mean, life imprisonment?” Jordan had never heard of a supe receiving anything worse than a fine for an accident, especially when they were little more than a kid who lost control.
Marie laughed, harshly, incredulously. “Because you can go all the way, but I’ll always be the orphan who killed her parents.”
“Bullshit.” Instinctive denial dropped from Jordan’s lips before she could really process that.
Marie opened her mouth, about to retort — and the studio door opened, releasing a bundle of energy with a curtain of dyed-brown hair in a pink knit crop top and baggy jeans.
“Hi, are you Marie Moreau? It’s so great to meet you. I saw that video before Dean Shetty asked me to interview you, you were badass. But we only have the studio for thirty minutes. So here’s an outfit. Get changed, and meet me in five.”
The bundle of energy shaped like a girl shoved a bundle of clothing into Marie’s arms and bounced back inside, leaving Marie staring after her.
“What just happened?” Marie asked.
The question was probably directed at the air, given how royally Jordan had just pissed her off, but she answered it anyway. “That would be Felicity Park-Fontaine. Her power is transmutation, triggering chemical reactions with a touch. They could have given you far worse — she’ll just do your makeup and ask the scripted questions. If you nod along whenever she references something, she’ll think you know who she is.”
Felicity was a senior, a friend of a friend of Luke’s. Her powers were impressive, and she’d earned the name recognition so many God U students hustled for before she ever set foot on campus thanks to her color-changing makeup brand, and her channel, where she talked with a guest-of-the week about skincare and queer politics or news. But she was a research and development major, spending her time building a better sunscreen in the lab rather than training, as well as a biracial lesbian, and so her ranking was eternally stuck in the seventies, no matter how many times her Perfect Match™ foundation sold out.
Jordan mostly knew her from parties, and because she had been a guest on Felicity’s videos a few times. The board of trustees thought they appealed to the same demographics.
Marie headed inside, glaring at Jordan while juggling the precarious stack of clothing. She still managed to slam the door in her face.
“Fucking rude.” Jordan accused the glass door, and trailed in after her. While Marie got changed in the bathroom, Jordan found the slimly stocked craft services table and perched on it, grabbing a water bottle and downing half the contents in one go. If it eased their headache, it was only barely. Neither Felicity nor her camera operator-slash-girlfriend paid them any mind, fortunately.
Marie emerged after five minutes on the dot, in a red denim jacket over a black satin camisole that revealed just a hint of cleavage and white jeans that hugged her thighs. The effect was tastefully sexy, befitting an attractive young supe without an established marketing strategy, but Jordan found there was no safe place to look. Certainly not at Marie’s face, projecting a determined confidence that Jordan knew, intellectually, she couldn’t possibly feel. Yet somehow, the seams of the facade were entirely invisible, and Jordan was not immune.
“Right on time. Are you familiar with my show’s format?” Felicity gestured for Marie to sit in a salon chair in front of a backlit mirror, and sat in an armchair herself. A selection of powders and palettes was set up on a small, round table nearby.
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are,” Marie admitted. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Felicity’s smile froze.
Jordan winced, the motion sending a bolt of physical pain through their temples. Well, if Marie got eaten alive, she couldn’t say Jordan hadn’t warned her.
But then, to their surprise, Felicity laughed. “Wow, honesty. That’s refreshing. Just follow my lead and don’t admit that when we’re recording, okay? You’ll be fine, I promise.”
The interview proceeded with questions asked between bouts of Felicity poking at Marie’s face with brushes, the colors of each new powder shifting to complimentary reds and golds on her eyes and lips and cheeks until she glowed like she was illuminated from within by the setting sun. Too bright to look at directly, and yet Jordan couldn’t look away.
“So you’re a Freshman, classes haven’t even started yet, and you were already out partying with Golden Boy. How did that happen? Plenty of us here at God U would love some pointers.”
“This kid was freaking out, and I helped Andre Anderson and campus security subdue him, so he could get the help he needed.” That was the third version of Marie’s answer, and she’d improved with each try, until she landed this one perfectly, treating the camera as an extension of herself. “Andre was impressed by my powers, so he invited me out with his friends the next day.”
“I should warn you, from one girl to another, Andre Anderson is a bit of a fuckboy.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I noticed.” Marie’s nose wrinkled, and Jordan caught themself thinking it was cute. “I think he really was just interested in my powers. He said my superhero name should be ‘Bloody Marie.’ Or ‘Coagula.’”
“No, those are terrible!” Felicity groaned. “You heard it hear first folks, Andre Anderson is the king of terrible puns.”
Jordan could already hear Andre whining about the hits to his reputation, but after yesterday, it was the least he deserved.
“At the club —” There would be no explanation of how four underage supes got into a club with Golden Boy, no mention of Cate at all. Better to let people think they all had fakes, like ordinary humans. “— a woman’s throat was tragically cut by glass from a broken bottle, and you saved her. What were you thinking in that moment?”
Marie took a moment, thinking her answer through, and when she spoke, she looked right at Jordan with an intensity that made them momentarily certain their heart would stop beating. “I was the only one who could do something. So I did. I saved her.”
“Can we get a demonstration of your power for the channel?”
Marie pulled out her pocket knife and flipped it in the air before opening it. She sliced across her palm, and waves of dark blood rose from the cut. Marie’s brow furrowed in concentration, and the blood shaped itself into a recognizable knife. “Is that good?”
The camera operator gave a thumbs up, and the blood retreated back into the cut. Marie closed her hand, and a moment later held it up to the camera, showing that the cut was completely sealed.
“You have some very impressive offensive and healing abilities. Why haven’t we heard of you before now?”
“That was the first time I manipulated someone else’s blood,” Marie said. Which was — concerning, honestly. Had no one even tried to help her figure out what she was capable of?
“Hold up. Don’t admit that, it’ll scare people. Let’s try again.” Felicity counted down from three with her fingers, and repeated the question.
“Putting someone’s blood back in their arteries is a very delicate process. I’ve been focusing on controlling my powers for a long time, so I haven’t built up record some supes have yet. And blood isn’t exactly known for being photogenic.”
This time, Marie’s answer was flawless. A serious answer that skirted the truth without outright lying, followed by a quotable joke people would remember. She was a natural.
“I think you’ll really be able to save some lives, in more ways than one.” After a pause, Felicity added. “That was much better, Marie. You may be new to this, but you really have a sense for the camera.”
The questions were softballs, avoiding anything that might have Marie giving away her past or opinions on anything meaningful, which made Jordan think that Marie had been telling the truth about her parents, and Vought didn’t want the new getting out.
And It was the perfect explanation. Weaponizing blood could easily be dangerous, especially if Marie hadn’t known how to control her powers at the time. But Jordan found it difficult to believe. Marie was just so — so — determined to do good. So naïve about the purpose of this school, and the world around them, despite everything that happened over the past few years. Compound V and Stormfront and civilian deaths, and a thousand other horrors. Marie Moreau had killed people as a child, her own parents, and yet still she wanted to save the world.
If her life wasn’t as charmed as Jordan had assumed, then that just made them an asshole. Maybe they should, ugh, try to be a little nicer.
Jordan was still going to crush her in the rankings, though.
The interview was wrapping up with Felicity shaking Marie’s hand and beaming. “We’ll post the video this evening. You’ll be in the top hundred on your first day of class, mark my words.”
“I’m flattered you think so.” Marie said. Already, she was learning to measure her words and play to expectations.
In Jordan’s opinion, it wasn’t a question of whether she would make the top hundred tomorrow, but how fast she would rise, and how she would cope under the pressure. Based on today, the answer was exceptionally. Part of them — the part that wasn’t panicking over the impact Marie’s ascendancy could have on their chances — was excited to finally have some real competition around here. Someone with the talent, drive, and ambition to race them to the top.
“What are you still doing here?” Marie demanded, suddenly very close, and Jordan realized they had zoned out, staring at the place Marie had just been. Brink would be disappointed in their failure to keep track of their surroundings.
And Marie was right — Jordan glanced at their phone for the first time since they’d arrived, and found three voicemails waiting. Fucking three, and a text saying not to waste their time on a freshman who doesn’t have what it takes. It somehow hadn’t occurred to them that Brink expected them to escort Marie to her interview and come right back. Yet they couldn’t make themself regret it.
“You ignored my advice.”
“Seems I was right to. Felicity was perfectly nice.” Marie crossed her arms over her chest and Jordan did not let their gaze drop to the increased volume of tits revealed by the motion.
“Maybe, but most people won’t be around here. I was trying to help, fuck.”
“You rejected me from my dream, and now you want to play nice?” Marie scoffed. “I don’t think so.”
“I was fucking wrong, okay? In my defense, what kind of wannabe superhero doesn’t have social media?” Jordan knew the instant the words left their mouth that was the worst possible thing they could have said.
Marie’s expression shuttered, going cold and flat. “I don’t know, maybe one who grew up in a facility for publicity nightmares?”
She stormed off before Jordan could even begin to think of a retort. After what Marie had told them, they should have guessed. But no, they were a fucking idiot, and if Marie bit their head off, they would deserve it.
“Fuck me.” Jordan rubbed their eyes with the heels of their palms. Their head was still pounding, they felt like they were coated in an oily layer of cocaine-laced sweat, and Brink would be expecting those copies. But all they could think was Marie Moreau was dangerous, and incredible, and Jordan had gone and made an enemy of her.