Ayda winced internally as a slim needle ran underneath her skin. Her surrogate nurse was already nervous enough, and didn't need any outward shows of discomfort to make things worse. Despite her best efforts, she could not hide the slight clenching of her jaw. The man aiding her formed a loop above the gash in her arm and then paused. Concerned eyes looked up at her. She shot back a hard stare, and he continued on.

The teenager once again found herself in naught but a bra and jeans, her boots, jacket, and tanktop discarded in a pile to the right. But, the circumstances and present company made this occasion much more pleasant than the last. Within Elliot's apartment, there were no unworthy stares to scrutinize her every inch. Elliot would never belittle her for having so many scars—or "survivor's marks," as he called them—and the gentleness in his gaze filled her with a sense of comfortable confidence. Simply put, Ayda knew she could trust him. Besides, it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before.

All that familiarity didn't make it any less painful, though. Ayda took deep, long breaths. The corners of her eyes scrunched just slightly with each pass of the needle. For some reason, tending to this little gash on her bicep hurt way worse than the gaping wound on her back had. Ayda didn't understand the science behind this and, in the moment, couldn't be bothered to care. She put on her best face to hid the pain, though, all for Elliot's sake.

For his part, he tried to work both quickly and carefully, a task which was exactly as difficult as it sounded. This wasn't the first time he'd stitched Ayda up, and most certainly wouldn't be the last, but that didn't mean he felt any more confident about doing it. He'd majored in programming, not biology. This was still a relatively new concept for him.

"Almost done," Elliot said slowly. "Just a little more."

Ayda would've nodded, had she not other things to worry about. She shifted her weight between needle strokes. The plastic beneath her crinkled. They'd learned since the first time Ayda had wanted stitches. Instead of adding to the bloodstains on Elliot's couch, Ayda instead sat upon his miniscule expanse of kitchen counter, ducking her head beneath the suspended cabinets. A clear sheet of thin plastic separated her from the gray stick-on countertop.

Elliot did his due diligence to finish as quickly as possible without screwing anything up. He wanted to minimize the pain felt by his friend, but to make a mistake would be even worse. Fixing it would cost both time and further hurting. Again and again he passed the needle beneath her separated skin, pulling it together with a taught loop. Every stitch closed the wound up further.

True to his word, he finished in just a few more strokes. He took a second to inspect his work, checking for any gaps or loose loops. Satisfied, he grabbed a pair of tiny scissors and cut the slim thread close to the skin.

"There, all done. With that one, anyway."

He hesitated a moment. His eyes fell upon the remaining cut in Ayda's side, and a chaste breath escaped his lips. Steeling himself, he began to move toward it, but a swift grasp on his wrist stopped him short. A stern gaze met his own tentative one.

"I got it," Ayda said with an air of finality. Elliot looked from her, to the needle, and back again before turning it to the sky. Ayda grabbed it between thumb and forefinger. Elliot rose to full height and took a short step back. With the lightly bloodstained tool in hand, Ayda wasted no time diving in.

The gap in experience between the two was immediately apparent as skilled hands got to work. Deft motions passed the needle beneath the skin and pulled it together with a loop in seemingly one, fluid motion. As the seeds of a second stitch were laid, Elliot realized he'd never actually seen Ayda patch herself up. He wasn't sure whether to look away respectfully, or take notes. Though, there were other things he wanted to do now that his attentions were freed.

"So..." He began slowly, rocking back on his heels. "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

"About what?" Ayda said without pausing.

"About the fight," clarified Elliot. "I mean, you weren't hurt too badly, so I'm guessing it went well."

Ayda hesitated, collecting her thoughts. The needle hovered over her skin.

"He got away," she said after a moment. She resumed her task. "I had him, but then some asshole started shooting at me, and he escaped." There was no malice or anger in her voice, just exasperation.

"It sounds like you beat him, though," Elliot challenged, earning a hum in response. "Did the freeze bombs work?"

Ayda smirked, despite herself. "You should've seen the look on his face. He was so confused. I don't think anyone's managed to hurt him while he was all metally before."

"I knew they'd work." Elliot shared in the revelry, clenching a fist in celebration.

"Also," Ayda interjected. "I might have cut his arm off, so there's that."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, he wasn't healing all of the frozen parts, so I don't think he could." Ayda spoke a bit faster than normal, unable to hid the excitement from her voice. "His right arm was really damaged, and I hit it really hard and it just sorta fell off."

"Ayda, that is kick ass!"

"You're telling me? It was awesome!" Enthused the girl, still stitching herself up. "I don't know if he'll be able to fix it when he thaws out, though."

"Still, you showed him who's boss," contested Elliot. "He won't be messing with us again any time soon."

Ayda nodded in agreement. A contented silence fell over the two, just long enough for the teenager to finish up the work on her side. It was done in a few more passes. Ayda grabbed the mini scissors from where they rested on her opposite side and snipped away the excess thread. A ginger fingertip inspected the sutures. Not a loop out of place.

Satisfied, she leapt off the counter and made for her shirt. Ayda quickly acquired the garment and slid it over her head. Glad to finally be in some state of modest dress again, she began to make way out of the kitchen, maybe to lounge around on the couch for a bit. She stopped, however, when Elliot's eyes fell upon her with a familiar expression, one with annoyed her to no end.

"What?' She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's... it's nothing." Elliot tore his gaze away in favor of the living room wall.

"El, come on," she implored him. "I know that look. Something on your mind?"

He let out a huff. "I'm not going to say I disapprove, because it was your choice, but why did you take your shirt off back there?" he asked, and Ayda's heart sank. "What was that whole 'fight like a man' quip about?"

For a moment, Ayda said nothing. She knew that moment would be controversial, but had hoped to either delay a conversation about it, or avoid one entirely. But, the realistic part of her brain knew it was probably better to get it out of the way now.

"That..." she leaned her hip up against the counter. "That was a long shot. The freeze bombs needed contact with Tahoe's skin in order to be effective, and I know I could've just frozen his clothes and destroyed them, I didn't want to take that chance. Tahoe is a dangerous opponent, and I knew I couldn't bank on getting a few extra hits. Taking off my shirt was a ruse to make him do the same. I'm just glad it worked." She rubbed her brow. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't like doing it."

"Well." Elliot paused, collecting his thoughts. "Again, I'm not arguing with you, but there are probably other ways you could've—"

"Yeah," she cut him off. " Yeah, there were. I understand that, but they were all risky. Tahoe's power is a perfect counter to mine. I needed to leverage every advantage I could."

"No, I get that. Really, I do. I just—" Elliot let out a quick breath. "I just wish you would've talked to me about it."

"What? We did talk about it. In the car ride a few days ago, remember?"

"You talked about the freeze bombs and how they work. We never actually discussed strategy."

"Because I hadn't thought of anything yet."

"Maybe, but you could've said something when you did."

Ayda had no response to that. Elliot was right, of course. She'd been so excited to finally get rid of Tahoe, that maybe she jumped the gun a bit. Elliot deserved better. She sighed.

"I don't wanna argue with you," Elliot continued. "I won't pretend to know what you do. I don't. But if we're gonna be a team, I need to be kept in the loop. This isn't the first thing you haven't told me."

Ayda snapped her head up at the accusation. She met his eyes with dim embers burning in her own.

"What else didn't I tell you?"

"For starters, I didn't know you were gonna torture that one guy."

"You knew how I treat the Triad," Ayda countered.

"But you didn't tell me you were gonna do it. I wasn't ready, and you didn't give me a chance to offer my own input." Elliot gave her a chance to respond. She did not. "But that's not the only thing. We didn't talk at all about your strategy at the school shooting, and I didn't even know about the cage fights until after your first match."

"You also didn't ask about either of those things!"

"That's fair, but I shouldn't have to."

"Communication is a two way street, Elliot. Maybe I should've talked more. I'll own that. But you never seemed to care."

"Of course I do!" He took a half step closer. "Do you really think I don't care about any of this? About you?"

"Elliot," Ayda breathed. "That's not what I—"

"It's fine." He broke eye contact with her, preferring instead to look at the ground by his left shoe. "Look, I think the real problem here is we don't really know what we're doing." He returned his gaze to her. "Neither of us has ever been on a superhero team before. And it's not like my old comics are much help. "

"Maybe," Ayda shrugged. He had a point. Captain America didn't exactly deal with his problems in the most realistic of ways, and he had a bunch of other people backing him up. What were a teenager and her engineer friend supposed to do when faced with similar circumstances?

"Just something to think about," Elliot said. "I think we both have some thinking to do."

"Yeah, you're right," Ayda agreed. "Not just about this, but a lot of stuff." She scoffed and looked away. "I can't believe I let Tahoe escape."

"He didn't exactly play by the rules. Don't blame yourself."

"He's a criminal," asserted Ayda. "I should've known he'd have something up his sleeve."

"And this is why we should talk more. We could've been ready for him to pull a fast one."

"You're right." Ayda sighed. "You're right, and I hate that you're right. It's my fault."

"He got us both," Elliot deflected, perhaps halfheartedly. "So, what do you think he'll do now?"

"Honestly?" Ayda raised an eyebrow at him. "I have no idea. He'll probably thaw himself out and then regrow his arm, but I'm not so sure."

"Why not?"

"Because he wasn't healing the damage I did to him. I don't know what's up with that, but maybe he can't?"

"You said that," Elliot said. "It could have something to do with the freeze bombs. Or maybe he can only heal his flesh? Like, he can't heal damage he takes while he's metal?"

"I don't know, dude. Your guess is as good as mine. He didn't exactly stick around for me to ask."

"Not that you would've, anyway," Eliot joked. "We've already established you never talk to anyone."

"Don't be a dick." Ayda gave him a playful jab to the bicep, which she followed up with a big yawn.

"Tired?"

"A little. I think the adrenaline is wearing off."

Elliot wore a weak smile. "Then go get some rest. You had a busy day, today."

"Yeah, sure. Thank's, El."

Ayda shuffled past him, and he watched her as she went. The teenager disappeared into the office. Elliot heard springs and faux wood creak as she collapsed onto the futon they'd set up for her in there. Distantly—and in search of a distraction—Elliot wondered if she was still mad at him over buying that for her.

He looked over his shoulder back into the kitchen, and spied her leather jacket still in a pile on the cold tile. With a sigh, he picked it up. A dark brown streak danced across the place where it had been on the dirty factory floor. Elliot brought it over to the washing machine and tossed it in. He needed to do a load of laundry anyway.

For Ayda's part, she stewed on the futon for a bit. Blank pupils stare up at the ceiling. Elliot was right, because of course he was. She certainly did have a lot to think about. They were a team, and it was time she started really acting like it. As long as Elliot met her halfway, partial victories like tonight's wouldn't happen again.

She thought back to the fight for a moment. It had been a good win, but utterly fruitless in the end. The skin around her scars crawled. Thoughts of the fight brought her back to what she'd done in order to win it. She remembered Tahoe's eyes scanning her form while her shame was laid bare before him, counting each mark for the failures they immortalized in her flesh.

It wasn't just his gender. Elliot was also a man, and she couldn't have cared less how much of her he saw. But, he was also her best friend. He'd seen her scars before, and had been there to witness the formation of new ones. He wouldn't judge her, ever. Indeed, Elliot was nothing but supportive of everything she did. Even that little spat from a few minutes ago came from a place of caring. Elliot earned the right to see her scars. Tahoe hadn't. Ayda didn't trust him, and he cared nothing for her. He was just a villain, plain and simple. Ayda knew better than to show weakness to her enemies, even if those weaknesses had happened a long time ago.

Ayda turned onto her side. Facing the wall, she curled herself into a loose crescent. She wished her sister were there. Jackie would know what to do.