Docca and Ollie, Once Again

Doors locked? Check. 

Windows barred? Check. 

Pills taken? Check.

Alarm activated? Check. 

What was she missing?...

Alvira’s eyes roamed the marble floors, the pillars, the few accessories of her home, all visible from the front hallway. First the bathroom, to the right of the front door. Then, to the lab, at the end on the right side. 

Not there.

Next she scanned the kitchen, its wooden cabinets painted black, contrasting with the copper countertops. That room was open to the hallway, though the floor was raised two steps higher to give it a better vantage of the hall itself. Finally, the bedroom, which was dark. Frowning, she at last turned to the front door. 

Ah. The plant. 

Not sure why she bothered, Alvira hiked up the sweeping hem of her rode and ascended the two steps that ran the length of her sparse, open kitchen to fill a glass with water. The slap of her bare feet echoed through the hall as she crossed back to the diminutive pot hosting the weary, thirsty plant. 

When was the last time she had watered it? 

Odd that she had remembered tonight. 

Just in time to save it.

Alvira unceremoniously dumped the water over the wispy life form, frowning when a stream of drops rolled across a leaf to splatter on her bare feet. She returned to the kitchen and tried to avoid the sight of the orange prescription bottles lined up on the counter as she retrieved a towel from the drawer directly beneath. She sat in the kitchen’s single chair, and she began dabbing the water from her feet. A few dabs in, she noticed her hands were unsteady, and she stopped to take a few deep breaths before resuming the task. Dry once more, she put away the towel, and continued to make her way to bed. 

Time to brush her teeth. Four minutes. 

Copper handle on the faucet. Copper kills bacteria. 

Water off while brushing. No need to waste it. 

That done, she turned to her final task: going to bed. The sooner she went to bed, the better the odds of waking up before the groceries were delivered in the morning. The silk of her robe whispered against the two-piece pajama set as Alvira paced to her bedroom, turned the copper handle on the door, slipped into the dark room and let the solid barrier slip back into place behind her with a comforting snick. 

Three steps to the foot of the bed. 

One step to the left. Two more forward. 

Watch off. Set on the side table. 

Robe off. Hang over the chair.

Lift the covers-

*BANGBANGBANG*

Alvira’s fingers jerked apart, releasing the soft fabric. Eyes wide open in the dark, Alvira turned back toward the front door. 

How? 

Her custom-built house was set on a block of concrete that lifted it 20 feet into the air, its only access was a small elevator that she controlled with a remote, and the remote was in the pocket of her robe.

*BangBang*

Who?

She stumbled to the bedroom door, nausea rising. Out into the hallway, bare but for the table with the plant.

*bang*

*thump*

She made it to the front door, the source of the obtrusive noise. Her fingers fumbled their way through the familiar motions of unlocking the latch, the bolt, the keypad. 

As her hand closed at last on the copper doorknob, she heard a muffled scraping sound. 

*whoosh*

She’d meant to crack the door open, to peer out at the intruder, but it was heavier than it should have been. It caught her shoulder, then suddenly became lighter as the figure on the other side lurched away. 

Vilnig Ollfallow caught himself, barely, before falling off the front step to plunge the twenty feet to the ground. 

That wasn’t right. 

He had perfect balance. 

Villow, as the public knew him, shivered and swayed. A few drops of blood dripped from his left hand, the right being occupied cupping his armored side. 

What could have hit him? 

She had tried numerous times. Numerous ways.

Focus. 

His eyes had a glassy quality as they passed over Alvira, then he blinked, hard, trying to clear them. 

The odds were good that he had been poisoned. 

It was the logical first step to bring down his defenses.

What possible method could they have used?

How had they gotten past the defenses of the Escapist? 

He had always defied probability before.

He swayed once more, his body in impressively bad shape. His lips moved, sluggishly, trying to form words. 

“... didn’t know where else to go...”

Those glazed eyes rolled back as the Escapist rolled forward.

Alvira’s frozen body jerked into action, stepping to meet him. She caught the bulky man in her slim arms with a grunt, lowered him to the floor. 

She would have liked a moment to consider, but there was no time. If the others were coming, she would do well to help their friend. 

With her luck they were already on their way.

But if not...

His armor scraped a complaint against the marble as she dragged him across the floor, then leaned him up against a pillar. Now that he wasn’t in the doorway, she could begin to hide the evidence of her visitor; she threw down a towel to soak up the blood. 

Now for the visitor himself. 

Across the main hall, into the lab opposite the kitchen, she darted. It was actually a converted office, and boasted only what supplies she could order without raising too much suspicion from her government handlers, but she emerged with basic medical supplies. Her fingers worked at the clasps that secured the armor, a design she knew by heart. The chest plate released, and she pulled it away from the site of his injury. It was bad, but she’d seen worse in her time as a surgeon. She quickly staunched the bleeding, thinking through his body’s condition, referencing her extensive knowledge of him. She knew he had started with 6.2 liters, and it looked as though he hadn’t lost much more than one liter; this wouldn’t kill him. 

So the poison must be the real issue here. 

But upon closer examination, she realized that he hadn’t actually been poisoned, just drugged.

She had assumed the most likely outcome.

It was wrong.

No matter.

Presumably, the drug had slowed him enough to be hit, but not quite enough for a fatal wound.

Back to the front step. 

She carefully picked up the towel, not letting the blood on it touch her clothes, and placed down a second, darker one over the remaining stain. With any luck, a casual observer would assume it was a rug. 

Of course, a casual observer was unlikely to view her elevated house from 20+ feet in the air. 

Alvira paced a slow circle around Vilnig, going around the pillar he was leaning against, one of the many that lined the entrance hall. 

She had time. 

Maybe not much.

Best to put the odds in her favor. 

Insurance. And a cover story.

A small explosive suspended in gel, applied to the inside of the chestplate right over the heart, would do the trick. 

If asked, she could always say she was scared he’d attack her. It was believable, given their past. 

A moment’s work was all it took to put the armor back on, bomb in place.

Now to wait. 

She wanted to hear this story. 

It took a few hours, by which time the stars were obscured by heavy clouds. Rain, she guessed, was on the way. 

His breathing changed. His eyes fluttered. 

They opened to find her sitting on the kitchen chair she had dragged over, on the opposite site of the hall from him. The door was between them; she hadn’t wanted to block it. 

His deep breath in ended in a groan, no doubt the pain registering. 

“So,” his voice was breathy, strained, “you didn’t kill me.” 

She shrugged. “Curiosity.”

A little huff of laughter, followed by a wince. “I’ll admit, I was counting on that.”

He’d played the odds. 

And he’d won. 

Damn. 

“The least you can do is satisfy it.” She flattened one hand on the perfectly pressed robe she’d arranged as she sat, pretending nonchalance. 

“The least I could do is get up and leave you in this- what on earth? Is this marble?” He was examining his surroundings for the first time, and his brows pulled together. “How much money does it even cost to pave an entire room like this? And it’s lit by one lightbulb?” 

It was, as she hadn’t bothered to pick out a chandelier. 

“And-” His questions continued- “Do you only have one kitchen chair? Goodness, Docca.” 

At her flinch, he paused. “Sorry. Uh, blame it on the drugs?” 

“Fine.” She ground the word out through a clenched jaw, then forced a deep breath into her lungs. “What did happen to you?” 

Vilnig grinned sheepishly. “I guess it would drive you crazy. All the times you tried to kill me, and I turn up here like this. Well, I guess you could say that you never had the right angle.”

Alvira snorted. “Angles hardly matter with a man who can make himself immaterial.” 

“You’re wrong.” He said it flatly, then waited a moment for her to absorb those words - ones she’d rarely heard - before continuing. “Every threat I have faced, I have done with my team. Except for the beginning of course, because back then we... well I- the worst threat to me was myself. And you helped me... what I’m trying to say is-” 

“Do not bore me with things I already know,” She cut in. “Tell me about this angle I never thought of.” 

“This attack came from within.” His hand came up, rubbed the back of his neck. “Blue Eyes turned on us.” 

From within. 

From WITHIN?

A laugh bubbled up in Alvira’s throat, emerging as a low, humorless chuckle. It rippled on for a moment before she cut it off, “You are lying.” 

He held her gaze, even under her accusation. His posture had stiffened, and his eyes were flinty, challenging. The same look that had made her pick him, all those years ago, for her project. 

Her project.

He was her project. 

And she had him back.

For now. 

If the rest of his pesky Super Friends weren’t coming...

Her mouth curled in a smile, and she leaned back. “Fine,” She conceded, “You have been attacked from within. What is your plan from here?”

Rather than answering, Vilnig set his hands against the floor and lifted himself to sit upright. He leaned one way, then the other, testing his wound. “This’ll take, what, two days before I’m back to full motion?”

“No more than thirty-six hours if you remain materialized the entire time. Less if you sleep.” She corrected him out of habit, eyes fixed on the bandage through the hole in his armor. 

“Well, after that I’ll go out and find my team.” He caught her eyes again with his own. “Come with me.”

What?

He couldn’t be serious. 

Except that he absolutely was serious.

It couldn’t be the drugs. Those had worn off. 

Well, his drugs had. 

“I am afraid you have mistaken prescriptions for miracles.” Alvira gestured casually to the line of orange plastic bottles, the only adornment on her countertop. 

“Nope. I was hoping for a change of heart.” 

He was so relentlessly cheerful. 

Insufferable man!

“But, failing that,” He continued unflappably, “I think I can persuade you that it’s in your best interest.” 

She quirked an eyebrow. “Go on.” 

“Alvira, you’ve worked your whole life for this accomplishment. If you come with me, I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done.”

No.

“Tell. Everyone?” She repeated the words carefully, as if they might cut her tongue.

“Yes.”

“What I have done?” She saw his eyes change, comprehension take hold. “The lengths to which I have gone? The lives I have endangered? The disgusting cretens with which I have allied? The betrayal I committed to preserve myself? Oh, I am sure the news would be well-received by everyone.” She spat the last word. 

He tried to back peddle. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Does it matter? The instant I become a public figure, odds are, the whole story will come out.” Her hands had balled into fists, nails cutting into her palms to hold back emotion. “No one will accept me as an accomplished scientist, only a mad one. No one will care what good I can do, only about that which I have failed to do. I defy you to find a single person who would trust me to work with them after what I have done.” 

Her routine poise had collapsed; the thin veil of control that the drugs allowed her had been shredded. She felt that pit of depression yawn wide before her, and almost wished to fall in, to stop feeling. 

Now he knew. 

He’d always known. What she was. 

But now he knew exactly how broken and worthless she was.

It shouldn’t matter. But it did. 

And it hurt. 

Alvira stared at her hands, but she heard it as he rose, slowly and painfully. 

Now he would leave. 

Leave her to the empty house. 

Alone with the plant.

But Vilnig’s footsteps drew closer to her, not to the door. He knelt next to her, making her wonder why he’d stood in the first place. His large, calloused hands gripped her own, stilled her tremors. 

“You defy me to find one person who would trust you? Well, I found one, and he’s right here.” She lifted her head and saw that same flinty look, so forcefully and indisputably honest. “You always talk about the odds. ‘Odds are’ this and ‘odds are’ that. You’ve aligned yourself with the odds your whole life, and never found what you seek: acceptance. Well, the way I see it, playing the odds has damned you.”

She hated those words, the truth behind them leaving her so starkly vulnerable. Her nerves hummed, raw and ready for his next words. 

“So damn the odds!”

Her core of steel sparked at the idea, her brain turning it over as he continued to speak.

“Find acceptance for what you value, not what you think others do! You’re not earth’s resident mind reader. If you were you’d be captured by Blue Eyes and I’d be here with Tasha- not the point. The point is, you’re not hopeless - even if you think you are. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever known. Can you think of another villain who tried to kill me thirty-six times?”

“Thirty-eight,” She breathed, absentminded. 

“Really? Huh. I think that just proves my point more, so I’m gonna roll with it. If you know anything about me, it’s that I’ve beaten the odds, and I don’t plan to stop anytime soon. Come with me, and I bet you will, too.” 

He stayed, kneeling in front of her, for a long moment. 

Could she really? Could she beat the odds?

She was so used to the odds beating her. 

Beating her down. Until she had nothing left. 

No plans. No ideas. No options. 

No friends. No family. 

Nothing. 

And she was tired.

Sick and tired of the cycle. 

The helplessness, the pain, the letdown, the burnout, the mistrust and abuse, ALL of it.

To hell with the odds. 

“Alright.”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Vilnig squeezed her hands. 

“You’re sure? Not trying to make you doubt yourself-”

“I have done nothing but doubt myself for my entire life, it is hardly new territory. And it has never led to success. Therefore, I have chosen to quit my preferred brand of insanity and might as well try yours, since it seems to have served you well. So yes, I am sure, Ollie.” 

He broke into a grin. She returned it with a tentative twitch of her lips. “Glad to hear it, Docca. So, we need to make a plan, and you should pack anything you need to bring with you.”

...

Thirty-six hours later, the chest of drawers was emptied of its few contents, the kitchen counter bare of its bottles, and the office relieved of its medical implements. Equipped with backpack and medical bag, Alvira stood on her front step, prepared to leave her house for the first time in years. 

“Do you have someone to watch the house?” Vilnig asked as he cautiously stretched. 

“No, there’s nothing to watch. Actually...” Alvira stepped back inside. Back to the small table with its single decoration. She emerged holding the plant. Vilnig helped her tuck it into the open side pouch of her backpack. As they descended on the small elevator platform, Alvira smiled. 

It was time to defy the odds.