Previous Post Hawk & Cougar: Homelands & Couplings (A Short Story Starring Mr. Epitome & A CrazySugarFreakGirlfriend!) Dominic Clancy considered leaving the kitchen as his super-senses detected her approach, but it was late enough at night, and he was feeling just tired and stubborn enough, that he decided against making himself scarce for the benefit of the Lair Legion mansion’s latest guest. Elisabeth Barrie wandered into the kitchen clad only in a slightly oversized T-shirt, with Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman on the front, and matching men’s briefs, before she noticed Dominic standing in his boxer shorts and sleeveless undershirt, as the plug-in kettle on the counter came to a boil. “Oh!” Bettie exclaimed in embarrassment, clearly unsure of whether to pull the hem of her shirt down or cross her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t think anyone else would be out and about at this hour -” “Just making some honey lemon tea for Kat,” Dominic deliberately averted his eyes, in an effort to ease her anxieties slightly, even as he pointed out with a touch of impatience, “You’re not the only ones spending the night here.” Bettie tried not to flinch, as she strode briskly toward the freezer. “I hope we haven’t been … disruptive,” she offered awkwardly, as she withdrew three tinfoil-wrapped discs of fried bread. “You’ve been … discreet,” Dominic allowed, declining to mention that his acute hearing could pick up on and make out every noise that she and her two companions had made in their currently shared bedroom. “Actually, I’m glad to have found you,” Bettie boldly asserted, even as she busied herself with unwrapping the fried bread and placing all three discs on a paper plate. “I was wondering if you might be willing to assist me.” “With what?” Dominic was genuinely curious now. “I’m planning to apply for American citizenship,” Bettie finally turned to meet his gaze. Dominic was the first to blink. “Well, that’s … certainly a commendable goal,” he shook his head in surprise and confusion, “but I suppose I’m wondering why you’ve chosen to do so. Legally, you should still be entitled to claim status as a British subject –” “Except that the Britain I knew has been dead nearly a century,” Bettie cut him off curtly, her lips pursed in a tight line. “I could go back and live in London, where I was born and raised, except it wouldn’t be my London, would it? It’s become this … thing, that’s grown and changed so much, that the bits of it that are still familiar only make the rest seem all the more strange and alien.” Dominic nodded. “But because you don’t have any memories of America …” “Only what I read as a child,” Bettie chuckled. “Cowboys and Indians, inhabiting an unsettled wilderness so vast that it dwarfed even the whole of Europe. It seemed like the setting of a fairytale back then, but after having lived in the actual land of Faerie for close to a hundred years, my former home seems far less real now.” “Why me?” Dominic needed to know. “Because whatever else you might be, you are very much a proud American,” Bettie grinned proudly at having pegged him, before she slid the paper plate of fried bread into the microwave, and frowned in concentration for a few seconds as she recalled which buttons to press. Dominic smiled in spite of himself. “Still,” he couldn’t resist rubbing it in, “you’re asking me, and not Foxglove?” Bettie winced. “During World War II, I’m guessing that the Allies did not, in fact, defeat Adolf Hitler by employing Captain America to entice him with Hostess Fruit Pies?” she checked. “I can start tutoring you next weekend,” Dominic rolled his eyes. “Splendid,” Bettie beamed, stealing a sidelong glance at him as she removed the reheated fried bread discs and began buttering them. “You don’t approve of us,” she discerned simply. It wasn’t a question. Dominic’s shoulders slumped in exasperation, as he stirred an extra dollop of honey into Kat’s steaming hot mug of lemon tea. “It’s not my place to say,” he evaded. “You’re right, it’s not,” Bettie shot back sternly, before she sighed wearily, “but if there was one thing I detested about the England of my era, it was how false the niceties of its society were. As much as I might be dismayed by the rudeness of modern manners, I consider dishonesty far more offensive.” “Fine,” Dominic growled. “You’re giving me permission to speak freely? Then here it is. I think your relationship with Foxglove and his wife is unhealthy. I think he’s using you, and her. I think he sees women as action figures, to play with and add to his collection, and I think you deserve better, than to let yourself get taken advantage of by someone who’s a child compared to you.” “Because I’m a weak old woman, who’s too lonely and doddering to tell when she’s being preyed upon?” Bettie snorted ruefully. “Because you should be acting your age, and not enabling the already out-of-control Oedipal complex of an emotional infant, whose mother did enough damage to him to ruin everyone around him!” Dominic bellowed. “If I acted my age, I’d drop dead on the spot!” Bettie shouted, a quaver creeping into her voice, before she swallowed hard. Dominic clenched his teeth, conflicted about whether he wanted to bark out a biting retort, or volunteer a terse apology. “I … didn’t mean –” “I solicited your opinion,” Bettie turned her back to him, to sprinkle sugar into the pools of melted butter on the fried bread, “so I can hardly cry foul when you submit it. This is why it’s better that you and I have this out. If it was you and Dream, you’d be waving your … penises at each other, like a parody of a swordfight.” “You’re not worried that he’s going to hurt you?” Dominic’s concerned expression was uncharacteristically earnest. “You’re not that much more mature than him after all, are you?” Bettie’s lilting laughter was brief and bittersweet. “There can be no love without loss. Some things are worth getting your heart broken for … even a second time.” A swift series of far-from-stealthy footfalls signaled the impending arrival of the subject of their debate, wearing fluorescent orange and neon green bikini briefs. “Hey, beautiful,” Dreamcatcher Kokopelli Foxglove whispered worshipfully in Bettie’s ear, after he’d practically sprinted into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “April wondered what was taking you so long, so I came to check on you.” “Dream,” Bettie gasped, as he devoured her exposed neck with kisses, “we have company.” Dream registered Dominic’s presence and reluctantly released her from his embrace. “Is he bugging you?” he scowled protectively. “Not at all,” Bettie patted his cheek. “In fact, Mr. Clancy has graciously agreed to assist me in my naturalization process. Gov. Rashomon’s advocacy helped push through the legislation that abbreviated the prerequisite legal permanent resident time for those of us who were considered contributors to the Parody War effort, but I still want to be prepared to take the citizenship test.” “Um … well, thanks, I guess,” Dream shrugged at Dominic apprehensively, before suggesting to Bettie in a theatrical aside, “Just make sure he teaches you the Bill of Rights, not Mein Kampf.” “Ha,” Dominic responded with flat sarcasm. “He was merely making sure I was entering into this for the right reasons,” Bettie reassured Dream, her double-meaning not lost on Dominic, “which is appropriate, I suppose. In turn, since I am an adult, I trust he will respect that, what I do, I do with my eyes open.” Dream squinted as he spotted the unspoken exchange between Bettie and Dominic, with Dominic tilting his head deferentially toward Bettie, whose gaze remained steady and level. But because Dream didn’t understand it, he set it aside, and instead swept up Bettie in his arms. “Grab the fried bread,” Dream reminded her, prompting her to pick up the paper plate, “and don’t spill any butter or sugar on yourself, or else I’ll have to lick it off.” Bettie blushed, clucked her tongue and swatted Dream on the shoulder with her free hand, as he carried her away with a bound, leaving Dominic to ponder his own affairs, alone.

I should probably know this but who's Elisabeth?